Like a Pterodactyl

OK, so I'm not up-to-date on my dinosaur names and maybe it isn't called a Pterodactyl anymore and I'm probably even misspelling it. I don't care. It's the dinosaur I'd most like to be. There's a song by Led Zeppelin called "The Battle of Evermore." Whenever I listen to it, I close my eyes and I become that flying dinosaur, gliding through the night, far above the shadowed treetops of a forest. I can feel my wing muscles tense, then relax, when I need to move my wings to maintain altitude. The air is warm and humid. I'm not hunting. I'm heading for the crags of a nearby mountain, to rest. Here's a link to the song, in case you're curious to know how it transports me so thoroughly into another being. And, no, I wasn't on hallucinogens, legal or otherwise.

http://youtu.be/WGAKeHQUx-U

I didn't get quite the same rush when I got up in my new wheelchair today, but it was a heady feeling, getting dressed, sitting up, and seeing something other than my room. I landed in the midst of a Halloween party, which was fun. But, as I had predicted, I was parked in one spot and left there, unable to move myself the smallest distance.

My lower back, which is not used to holding up my weight, began to get painful after an hour or so. I toughed it out for awhile, but finally asked to go back to bed. I want to get up tomorrow for my session with Therapist Mike, though. He's never seen me anywhere but in a bed, and wearing nothing other than a hospital gown. It would be nice if I appeared to be a normal human being for a change.

I feel like I should be elated and don't understand why I'm not. I'm happy about getting up in my chair, of course. Maybe I'm just worn out. It's amazing how tiring that was.

Also, my good friend, Jeff, will be out of town for a few days. Since he's my only visitor, other than my therapist, I miss him when he's gone. Life's a little extra lonely while he's away. But, this is the way my life tends to be, with a lot of alone time, and I've pretty much adapted to it. And now that I can get up, I can make some new friends. I had a lovely conversation with a lady named Mrs. Williams while we both waited in the hall, waiting to be taken to our respective rooms. That was extremely enjoyable. I look forward to more.

So I guess I can only be a free-flying dinosaur with a brain the size of a peanut in my daydreams. Daydreams are good, but making progress in reality is good, too. I can't choose between them, so I'll just find time for both.

Let yourselves fly free, dear friends and family. Life can change completely in an instant. Give into your daydreams sometimes. Total practicality isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Looking Backwards

Today has been a day of remembrance. Why, I don't know. Maybe it has something to do with the upcoming holidays. They've lost their charm for me since Lyra died. She was an enthusiastic ghost on Halloween, doing her best scary stuff. Thanksgiving was, for her, a chance to visit and give love to her family. But Christmas -- now THERE was something she looked forward to. Now, for me, it's just another day.

I watched the video of her Celebration of Life, but this time I didn't get sad. I felt as though Lyra was with me, watching it too. There was a feeling of extra warmth in my heart. Maybe that was just my imagination, but I prefer to believe it was real. And who's to say it wasn't? Whatever the case, I have a sense of comfort that I wasn't feeling before.

I'm convinced that we are eternal spirits with no beginning or end. Open one door, live your life, learn as much about love as you can, then go to spirit and open another door.

I'm not nearly experienced or knowledgeable enough to really explain how I feel. Sometimes it's like floating, letting my intuition guide me. Sometimes I get caught up in my intellect and find bits and pieces of the answers I seek, even though I have no idea what the question is.

But I do know this is a necessary process for me to go through.

Thinking of Lyra makes me happy. Remembering how she demonstrated unconditional love and found so much joy in difficult circumstances inspires me. I was privilged to have her in my life, even for so short a time. And I'm lucky now, to sometimes feel that love and joy surround me.

I am also lucky to have many caring friends and family. I once felt that I was unworthy of their kindness. I'm still amazed by it, but am getting to a point where I can accept the goodness inside me and believe I might have something worthwhile to give back. Don't worry. It isn't in me to become a raving, egocentric maniac.

I wish you all happy memories full of love and feelings of warmth in your hearts.

Here are some pictures of Lyra, being a fearsome ghost.

The Millifiori Blues

Some of my friends may have been spammed by a company named Nomorerack, with the e-mail saying it was from me. I didn't send them, I promise. What I must have done is log onto their site and said OK to logging on with my Facebook account. I never do that, because it allows them access to my Facebook friends. Many apologies for slipping up. I will do my best at never making that mistake again.

My quarry on their site was a bracelet that had millefiori glass beads with blue and pink flowers inside them. It didn't cost much and I was in love with it. Which, of course, doesn't excuse my faux pas.

In other news, I have not been out of bed yet. Maybe tomorrow. I hope.

The rest of my days and nights have been taken up with coughing up the phlegm-fest in my throat. It gets a little less disgusting every day. I'm down to ”old-man-in-trenchcoat-flashing-people-in-a-park” disgusting, but I have hope that, by tomorrow, I will be fit for polite society again.

As for spiritual growth, I've begun to understand what, exactly, I'm up against. There is a river of cynicism running through my personality that is much too deep to forge. I've gone about 25 steps back now, mostly taken in retreat from being sick. That always sets me back. And this "thing" on my back, which hurts almost constantly, isn't helping me get back on track, either.

Whine, whine, whine. Yeah, I know. Would you like some cheese with that? Yes, I would. A nice smoked Gouda would do nicely. Another bad thing about nursing homes. There's no Happy Hour.  They don't even serve wine here. 

I just made myself hungry. And, what I would give for a glass or two of sweet wine. I'd even take Boone's Farm Strawberry, my wine of choice when I went to University of Texas at Austin a long, long time ago. (I was quite the connosseur back then. In a pinch, I would gladly take a bottle of Sangria instead. Or, even better, both.)

Ah, my glory days, when I cleaned apartments as partial payment for my rent. I will never forget the bathroom of an apartment where two guys had lived for several years. I won't go into gritty details, but steel wool, as a tile-cleaning tool, was used. I probably should have used pure hydrochloric acid, instead. I would have had to wear a Hazmat suit, or a suit of armor with a gas mask, but I actually should have already been wearing one. it was that bad.

I also worked in a self-serve gas station, which had so little business I had plenty of time to study. That was cool. I got paid to study.

What does this have to do with my struggle? Practically nothing. But it does show that I'm still working on both fronts -- physical and spiritual. And it shows that, when I really want something, I'm willing to do almost anything, including scrubbing nasty bathrooms, to get it. And I want as much independence as I can get, so bring on the physical therapy. If I get a chance, I'll work my tail off. Just try me. You'll see.

Hang tough my loved ones. Keep well and always look for good things to be around the next bend in the road you're on. ❤

Blarphggthspithdyrghtzk!

The only positive thing about getting the flu is that, once it's over, you feel so damn good. There is the pesky old phlegm to deal with, though that has improved. Now I sound less like a creature from another galaxy when I try to cough it up and more like the Tasmanian Devil. I can tell my neighbor across the hall is doing better from the Warner Brothers cartoon-like noises she is loudly emitting.

I think I mentioned the spot on my back that Doogie Hauser said was nothing. I've been taking Bactrim for a few days, which is an excellent antibiotic, but the spot gets more sensitive and painful by the day. I don't know what, exactly, to think. Guess I'll give the Bactrim a chance to work. And if this turns out to be the harbinger of my demise, so be it. But, somehow, I don't think it will kill me. I've been a lot closer to death than this many, many times. Either I'm a tough old bird or I have some purpose in life that I have yet to fulfill. If so, I sure wish I knew what that is.

There's not much to say. The flu always leaves me feeling weak, like a wrung-out washrag, so I don't have a lot of energy. Plus, there's the infection, which shall (evidently) remain nameless, as if its identity is a threat to Homeland Security. In fact, it's so need-to-know that my doctor hasn't ordered a culture to find out what we're dealing with. I'm betting on staph, which seems to be my body's bacteria of choice. However, if it goes on long enough, the staph will begin to feel so at home that it will invite a bunch of its little bacteria friends in and they'll all party hearty! They'll probably get so festive that they'll expand the party to other areas of my body. After all, they ARE near my spine which is kind of like the on-ramp to my bloodstream, which is the superhighway to the rest of my anatomy.

But don't worry. As I said, Bactrim is a really good antibiotic. 

Now that I've digsusted you, alarmed you, or caused you to stop reading altogether, I will stop. I have some phlegm to hack up, and I have a pain pill waiting. My back is begging piteously for me to hurry up and take the damned thing.

Remember, not a word about my infection to anyone until I give the all clear. Shhh. 

You, too.

Be well, good people. You too, not-so good people. You all deserve the world and what lies beyond it.

It's... ALIVE !

At last! I can breathe again, my aches and pains are gone. The only problem i'm having is the phlegm that settles at the base of my throat. When I'm compelled to eject it, I make unladylike, often inhuman noises

I will have to wait until Monday to try out my new chair because the PT person wasn't here today. I hope she hasn't caught the flu. Jeff caught it from me, and some of the aides have it, not to mention the other residents who came down with it when I did. Pretty darned contagious, it seems.

I was searching for some nice, soothing music to type by, and chose an app that has all kinds of music from all over the world.  I searched for "meditation."  I got a list of stations and chose one. Ahhh. Soothing music greeted me.

Then, for no apparent reason, a loud, fuzzed out guitar began to play heavy metal, or thrash metal. Then the drummer joined in. It sounded like he was rolling around metal garbage cans filled with ricocheting bowling balls while simultaneously pounding the cans with a ball peen hammer. My automatic reaction was to scream in anguish while randomly slapping the screen of my iPad, trying desperately to turn it off. What the hell? Is this some new kind of meditation I haven't heard about, like Masochism Meditation? Yegods! Count me out.

Now I have no music playing. But I CAN hear the television my neighbor across the hall owns, on which she turned the volume up to "nuisance." Living in a nursing home is a lot like living in a college dorm, only without the weed, alcohol and wild parties. About the wildest it gets around here is when two people win at Bingo at the same time.

That's it for now. Stay safe and warm, y'all. Much love and peace to you.

(The people in this picture are, perhaps, a bit TOO wild. I wouldn't turn my back on the woman who is standing, clutching a dart in her hand.)

Coughing Like a Waterfall

Didn't sleep. Coughing wouldn't allow it. The cough has broken up so much that now,  every time I cough, I feel like i'm drowning. But things are better, otherwise. No more fever, body pain is mostly gone, and the cough has let up some.

Maybe I really will feel like getting up in my new chair tomorrow morning. That would be great.

Been playing catch-up on some favorite shows on my CBS app. That, and dozing a lot. Nothing else.

I am supposed to get antibiotics soon. Remember that spot on my back that was hurting, but the new Wound Care Doctor, who looks like he's about 12, said it was nothing but scar tissue pulling on the surrounding skin? It's much more painful now, and it's been draining. That means to me that there's an infection under the skin. You know, for some reason it makes me nervous when I have an oozing infection right next to my spine. I just have this hunch that it's a bad thing. I'm supposed to see him again Friday. So far, I'm not impressed with him. Maybe he'll grow on me, like an abscess.

Unless I start describing the plots of the tv shows I've been watching all day and night, there's nothing left to say. I stopped in the middle of a Criminal Minds eposode, and I want to see what happens next, so adieu for now.

Stay in good health, y'all, and be happy.

The Worst Bad Timing Ever

Well, my chair arrived yesterday. I haven't seen it, because the they didn't bring it in my room to show me. They took it into the Phyical Therapy room to keep it safe. Then, they brought it back down this morning and left it in the hall while they crowded into my room, all smiles. "Ready to get up?" They asked.

I couldn't answer because my voice was gone. Also, my entire body was in pain, and I was running a fever. I felt too weak to move. So, after waiting all this time, I couldn't get up.

Now it's hours and hours later. I feel a little better, my voice is about a quarter of its normal volume, and I have just enough energy to write this entry. Throat still hurts, and my cough is breaking up, but is still very present. 

Bleh. Several other people here who got the flu shot also have the same symptoms. I can hear them coughing away across the hall. 

I'm so disgusted.

I figure I'll feel well enough to get up by Thursday morning. At least, I hope so. Meanwhile, I plan to sleep as much as possible, in anticipation of that speeding up my recovery.

Have I mentioned that, sometimes, life sucks? Never mind. I'm never in a good mood when I'm sick, especially when it keeps me from doing something I really want to do. 

I did learn about the Gospel of Judas on a Youtube video. Interesting stuff. I watched it three times, because I kept falling asleep, and never did see all of it. I'll watch it again tonight because, evidently, it's an excellent soporific.

Stay well, my peeps. Here's a pretty picture for you to enjoy.

And I Flew Through a Flaw With the Flu

...flu shot, that is. I got a flu shot yesterday and, after having 60 gazillion flu shots over the years with nary a reaction, NOW I have one. I ache all over, have a relentless cough, and my throat is scratchy. Other people in my hall are having the same symptoms. You think maybe the state has special doses with live viruses in them that they only send to old folks' homes, hoping to kill off the oldsters who are on Medicaid? After all, since Oklahoma turned down the Federal Medicaid Expansion Program, they're having trouble balancing the Medicaid budget.

Am I being too paranoid? Yeah, probably. I tend to be unreasonable when I'm sick.

So, again, I got nothing done other than sleep. A lot. And play on my iPad.

No spiritual revelations were made today. I am firmly anchored to the physical realm because of this reaction to the shot. Maybe it won't last long. Let's hope, because tomorrow is supposed to be the day I get my new chair.

I'm going to get this entry done with, then see what kinds of Netflix, Hulu, and Amazon Prime shows I can sink into. Wish I had an endless supply of hot chocolate available. Oh, well. If wishes were horses, I'd be in big trouble because my half of this room isn't big enough to house a horse.

Health and happiness to you and yours.

Here is a soothing picture I grabbed off a friend's Facebook post. She's always posting beautiful pictures. I thought this one was special. Besides, just before the sun goes down and it casts golden shadows is my abolute favorite time of day. Thanks, Susie.

Blowing the Day

I have done nothing but waste time and eat cookies today. I distracted myself, mostly. I did talk to my son this morning. He is unhappy because people he loves are in pain. What could I tell him that would help? Basically, it all boiled down to "I love you and no matter how old you are, you'll always be my little boy who I'll love until the end of time." He can't fix his loved ones' problems and it's driving him crazy.

I know the feeling well. I'm pushing with all my might against that feeling of helplessness. I want to make everything OK for my children and I can't. I can't even make everything all right for myself, except internally, and I'm currently failing pretty miserably at that.

A long time ago I told my son that life never goes in a straight line. It's more like a lightning bolt, with ups and downs. I told him that the only thing you can ever be absolutely certain of in life is change. Another time, when he was even younger, I told him that the secret of life is enjoying where you are, who you're with, and what you're doing at any given moment. Not always easy to do, but it's possible, even under trying circumstances. Sometimes you just have to practise it extra hard.

I have wished that I could live in a home of my own, with a silly old cat and somone to hold me and tell me everything will be all right -- someone to watch my back. But circumstances are such that I can't have these things. I have to deal with my problems alone, with the exception of the hour my mental health therapist spends with me once a week. I have wonderful friends who cheer me on, and don't think I don't appreciate them. But, ultimately, making progress is up to me, even if I have to throw a snarling, growling fit to get attention. But I'd rather be more civilized about it. Turning into a beast is just too exhausting.

Tomorrow, Sunday, is usually the day I spend reading, studying, and learning about my spiritual self. I'm feeling down and frustrated right now, so I need extra-much to concentrate on those things at present. I know the answers to my problems and confusion lie within me. The more I struggle and rage, the further away from me they get. Hopefully, tomorrow will be a day of calm without too much interruption. 

It's kind of funny. I need to learn to be assertive without losing my temper first, while at the same time I'm seeking answers internally. Those don't seem to fit together. In fact, they seem, to me, to practically be the antithesis of each other. But I must find a way to make them compatible. I must --and will -- make progress in my physical life. And I must -- and will -- float spiritually toward how to expand my consciousness. It all takes time and effort to find the right paths. Maybe I'm making the spiritual side of my ventures harder on myself, but I sense that, unless I forge my own way, I will not be on the correct path. I need to find my own way. And in this quest I am so ignorant of what I'm doing I may as well be spiritually blind.

I've always enjoyed challenges during my life. Little did I know those challenges were only warming me up for the bigger challenges ahead. Hoo boy!

I wish you inner calm and the ability to find good in the bad. Love to you all.

Homemade Cookie Love

I just ate two homemade oatmeal-raisin-chocolate chip cookies that my big sister mailed to me. I haven't let her know I got them yet. I should, but every time I think about them, I want to reach over and grab another one. I don't know if she reads my blog or not, but I'll thank her here, too. Thank you, Big Sis! The cookies are too yummy for words!

I saw my (mental health) therapist today. We had a serious session. All business. He asked me why I have to get angry to stand up for myself. I honestly don't know. He seems to think that when I do get angry, I always lash out and am not able to behave myself. At least, that's the impression I get of his opinion. When I told him I talked to the state ombudsman office, he started to give me instructions on how being pleasant will get me further than being unpleasant. I realize that getting angry and sticking up for myself are new to me, but I am capable of being nice even if I am angry. 

So he started saying, "When you get really angry, you..."

I cut him off and told him, "When I get REALLY angry, I get very quiet and use really big words." And this is true. Being overtly angry has never been something I've done much of. I've always been the type to put up with things, and put up with them, and... until I've had enough, then I exact some sort of revenge. I've been very passive-aggressive most of my life.

I started this early on. My mom told me a story that happened when I was only 2 years old. Seems my sister, who was 5 at the time, had been picking on me all day. Mom said I didn't complain or do anything about it; just took it. Then my sister got all her paper dolls out, sat on the floor and began to meticulously arrange them very neatly, while I sat on my haunches and watched. She finally got them just right. I immediately reached out with both hands and became Tornado Kay, sending paper doll paraphernalia flying in all directions. Then I jumped up and ran away. I'm sure I had just made myself very happy. Sis, of course, was outraged, but I received no punishment. My mother, who always kept a watchful eye on us, told my sister that she had deserved it.

But now i'm supposed to lose the "passive" part and tone down "aggressive" to just "assertive" and be pleasant about it. Being pleasant is easy. I was pleasant to the ombudsman rep at the state office, if somewhat firm about my complaints. My problem is that I can be so pleasant I can end up not sticking up for my best interests.

I don't know. It's a daunting prospect to change habits I've had for more than 6 decades. But it didn't take long, once I landed in a nursing home, to realize that it was up to me to advocate for myself. And that means I need to be assertive without having to get angry first. Geez, it's not easy being me.

All this wears me out. But I danced today. Just can't resist dancing to Istanbul (Constantiople) by They Might Be Giants. Boy, that was fun!

Dance, love, and laugh, my lovelies. Life is to be enjoyed. Don't let the dark clouds get you down, and other platitudes. You choose which ones are most appropriate for you. ;-)

Totally Zoned

No snarling today, I promise. I pretty much wore myself out yesterday, physically and emotionally, so I've retreated to my hiding place where I feel nothing much and nothing really matters. I call it "the zone." I don't like it here, though, so I'll be making my way out soon.

Good news, if it really happens. I'm supposed to get a Geri-chair Monday afternoon. They have, evidently, decided to purchase one. It's not a final solution, but it will enable me to get out of bed, as well as getting me to the Physical Therapy department for therapy.

The head of the Physical Therapy department actually came to my room to tell me about the chair. While she was here I asked her why I haven't been getting any therapy so far. She gave me the old song and dance about how "range of motion" therapy isn't important enough for a therapist to do it and the aides will have to do it. I've been told this for months and it has never happened.

So I pointed out (yet again) that (1) the aides won't ever find time to do it, (2) there is a large turnover of aides so they'll be spending a lot of time training people because (3) I won't let untrained people to give me therapy since, unless they know what they're doing, they could break my leg, hip, lower back vertebrae, etc.

She said that most places hire a certain person who is trained and is in charge of doing all the minor therapy like what I'm needing on my legs. But we don't have one here. She said she would bring it up in tomorrow morning's meeting. I wish her luck.

I see my mental health therapist tomorrow. He probably won't like hearing how rough this week has been, especially since it started by my bursting into tears the minute he left after last week's session. I have definitely fallen, emotionally, but not as far as I used to. I'm afraid to get my hopes up about the chair. I don't know how well I would handle disappointment while I'm in this mood. So I'll just take it as it comes. Doing that is actually a good survival skill, so yay me.

I knew I'd have bad days or weeks at times. The struggle since last week is only temporary and shouldn't be as hard to work my way out of. I have a head start because of the hard work I've been doing learning about letting go and being positive. Right now I'm feeling more cynical than positive, though. It's been a refuge from pain for me for most of my life, which is a long time for this old lady, so it's easy to fall back into its protective arms. Problem is, it keeps away good feelings, too, so I'm not going to stay cynical for long. I want to get back to looking forward to seeing what's around the next bend in the road I'm on.

I think I'm trying to convince myself of this more than anything else.

It's never to soon to make an effort, so I'm listening to soothing music. I had a bath and shampoo and that feels good. Then I applied some sandalwood and rose lotion for stress-relief aromatherapy. So I smell good. Maybe I'll never walk, or worse, dance again (I used to love to dance), but there are other things I can do. 

One night, when I was feeling rowdy but couldn't do anything about it, I had an inspired idea. I found a Youtube video of people dancing to infectious music, put the back of my bed as high as I could stand it so that I was sitting up. Then I put my earbuds in, cranked up the volume and DANCED! From the waist up, anyway. I waved my arms in the air and swished my hair back and forth (it was long then) and put everything I had into it. Oh, god that felt good! I've thought a lot about doing it again. I've been so tired from lack of sleep that I haven't had the energy. But there's nothing stopping me from dancing during the daytime. So what if I look stupid? Better that than pitiful, right? So what if people outside see me through the window and laugh? I'd just be glad that I could make them happy.

I'm way too sleepy to dance tonight, but not too tired to line up some Youtube videos to dance to.

I'm too stubborn and willful to stay numb for long. I'll be working on making things better, for both my inside and my outside. Want to come dance with me? Everybody's welcome. Bring a mirror ball and we'll turn down the lights. :-)

Love, joy and delight to you all.

Grrrrrr

I wrote an entire blog entry. It disappeared. Twice.

This is turning out to be a bad day, Mr. Racoon. You should be more careful. 

(From "Mr. Raccoon's Bad Day" by Richard Scarry.)

A Very Bad Word

I try not to swear too much on my blog. Yeah, there's an occasional "hell" or "damn" at times, but I was not brought up to say bad words. I never heard my parents say the mildest of swearwords when I was growing up so it isn't something I do much of.

I'm going to break that rule in this entry, because I have something to say and saying the word is unavoidable if I'm going to get my point across. I'm going to say the most evil word of all time: politics.

I went nearly my entire life following a strict personal rule to never discuss two things with people: politics and religion. I've broken that rule recently and see now how wise I was before. Arguing politics, in particular, is about as logical as punching yourself in the face. There is no hope of having a civil debate about it most of the time, and trying is more likely than not going to cause hard feelings.

My attitude toward political ideologies is that people can have whatever beliefs they choose, as long as they're not using those beliefs to hurt others. I feel that way about a lot of things, not just politics. I guess I am just a nurturer who tends to watch out for the little guy. I've been that way since I was a kid and I WAS the little guy. So this isn't a political issue. It's more of a personality trait.

Anyway, since I've been seeking inner peace, I've been backing away from political involvement. It comes as no surprise, I'm sure, that the two don't mix. I can see that I will need to accellerate that backing away. I see an awful lot of hate being expressed on both sides under the guise of political ideology and it's so harmful to the hater and those they hate that being exposed to it is causing harm to people who aren't even involved in it. Hate is utterly destructive. It has no other purpose.

This is the only time I will talk about politics in my blog. The more progress I make toward spirituality, the tinier politics' importance becomes to me. The urge to protect and watch out for others is very strong in me but, though I will keep track of what's going on in the world, i will be training myself to stop participating in political discussions, especially on Facebook. I will do this to preserve my peace of mind and to maintain my friendships with people I love whom I just happen to disagree with, politically.

Nasty word, politics. It can do a lot of harm if it gets too deeply embedded in one's heart.

I wish you peace of heart, kindess and love.

Muppets in the Afterlife

Think there are any?

I watched Jon Stewart's interview with the author of Jim Henson's recently released biography and it started me thinking about Muppets, death, the afterlife, and all kinds of things. Jim Henson went to spirit a long time ago, longer ago than it seems. I remember hearing about it, and how he succumbed to "galloping pneumonia" in just three days. I was shocked. He seemed so young at 53 to die and leave so much undone.

Now I wonder. I look at his wonderful creations which have touched so many and taught important, caring lessons to the world's children, and how the Muppets live on. It's almost as if he's still alive, too. So maybe it was time for him to go back to spirit. Since our souls are eternal, who knows? He could have gone on to greater things by now.

It may seem silly to ponder these things. I ponder a lot of silly things these days, and lots of not-so-silly things, too. I was told, for instance that my mom's cancer wore out her body so that she went to spirit before she was finished here. So I wonder if that was true for Lyra, too. Intuition tells me no, she went when she was meant to.

I'm living with the idea that I, also, will go when I'm meant to. There is no assurance that I'm right about this, but I feel like it will only be a few years from now. It has been pointed out to me that paraplegics don't usually live extra-long lives. I actually know nothing about that. I know it drastically reduced lifespans a hundred or more years ago, but have never investigated current statistics. You'd think that would interest me.

It hasn't because, until fairly recently, I had been living with the assumption that eventually I would become overwhelmed by my misfortunes and what was actually a morass of self-pity, though I didn't see it like that the time, and would end up choosing the day and method of my demise.

 I no longer have that attitude. I assume that something, someday, will go wrong with my body and it will be ignored until it's too late to save me. I remind you, and should remind the authorities, that I have a living will that specifies Do Not Resuscitate on file here. Because dying doesn't scare me. It's not a bad thing, except for those who are left behind. I promise, with absolute certainty, that after I go to spirit, I will watch over my friends and loved ones and those who are open to it will feel my love surround them from time to time. Just call my name. I promise you, there will be no ghostly appearances, just the faint sensation of a gentle, loving hug.

But that won't happen for awhile. We have plenty of time to love and learn and laugh and explore and make a difference in each others' lives. And once we meet in the afterlife, that will only get better.

Love, peace, and joy, y'all.

Crystal Child. Maybe.

I've been learning, just today, about star children. Three categories seem to have the most information about them -- Indigo, Crystal, and Rainbow. Those and Star children and Starseed children, who are children of Star children after they have grown up.

I haven't read enough or viewed enough videos to pretend I can explain all this, or to even buy into all of it. Like I've said before, I don't do anything impulsively. But the world has purportedly been entering into a new era of peace and love which started many years ago and these star people, including all the types of children I mentioned, are here to help with the transition. I'm old enough to remember being part of the Age of Aquarius when I was around 18 or so and was part of the Hippie peace and love generation. It resonated very much with me then, and has all my life. If this a repeat of that, then I'm all for it.

I don't presume to be one of these Star children. I may know a few on-line, but without meeting them, it's difficult to say for sure. I'm drawn to them, though, so there may be something to that.

All this inevitably made me think of Lyra. She exuded love for everything and everyone and was radiant with joy. She had her moments of stubborness and anger. Who doesn't? But most of the time she shone, and everyone who met her was positively affected. Even after she was diagnosed with cancer and was miserably ill from her treatments, she still had a cheerful, caring attitude.

One of my favorite moments from her Celebration of Life Ceremony was when the preacher at her church said that he could always tell when Lyra entered the church building. He couldn't always see her or hear her, but, he said, the energy in the room shifted. 

She routinely, every Sunday, hugged everyone in the church, being careful not to leave anyone out. One week-end she stayed home with me instead of going to her daddy's house, so I took her to church with me. She did the same thing. Right before the service I watched her hug every person in the sanctuary, always with a huge smile, and I watched their postures change and a smile spread across their faces. They all fell in love with her that day. She had that affect on people.

Was she one of these children I've been learning about? I don't know. I don't even think it matters. She was a teacher. She showed how to express unconditional love and how to find joy in everything. Well, almost everything. There were exceptions, like when her daddy lost a computer game. She was empathetic with him. And, understandably, when she tried to turn her head just after she'd had brain surgery. That was rough. She didn't crack a smile for about two weeks. Then one day, she was watching a cartoon and started to giggle. You don't know how that lifted our hearts. She was back to herself after that.

I know that she had a purpose for being here, though, to spread love and joy. And to save my life when I got meningitis. If what I read is true and souls choose their lives before they incarnate, then I'm honored she chose me to be her Mommy. She also chose her birth mother well. They had a very close and loving relationship and I will be forever grateful that Lyra's birth-mother gave us the gift of adopting and raising Lyra. That was an incredible and loving thing to do. And, oh, how Lyra adored her daddy! They were wonderful together.

So whether or not Lyra was one of those special children, she was special in her own right. And I feel she must have fulfilled her mission in this life because she left it so soon. I used to cry because I felt like my heart had been torn out, but I don't do that anymore. I'm still sad and wish I could be with her, of course, but my heart rises when I think of her spirit in a place of so much peace, love, and joy. I think she brought some of that with her to spread around while she was here with us.

What does any of this have to do with my struggles with my physical disability, you might wonder? My struggles are mostly internal and spiritual. I realized, finally, that I must find peace within myself before I can improve my life, not just intellectually, but spirit-deep. So that's what I'm working on. I have to sort the wheat from the chaff, so to speak, so it's kind of slow. I have to rely on my intuition a lot. So, first, I had to learn to listen to myself. Still practising that. I didn't think it would be easy, and I was right.

Enough now. Remember how I asked my spirit angels for sleep yesterday? I slept for 13 hours. Didn't even wake up for meals. So, thank you, angels! Could I do that again tonight, only for 8 hours instead, please? I have some more learning to do tomorrow. Thank you. ❤

Lyra  at about 2-1/2. She could be inventive. She made camouflage. She was quite pleased with her art. Yes, it was permanent ink.

Freefall

I saw my therapist today. We talked some politics until his phone rang and he had to take the call. After a brief conversation, he hung up and we started talking about painful things from my past. I keep telling myself it's good to get them out. We touched on my second husband, but there is an entire truckload of things regarding that decade in my life that my therapist and I need to dig through. I've blanked out most of it. Unfortunately, while I was blanking out the bad stuff, I was also blanking out the good stuff. I have no memory of my son learning to pull himself upright. I don't recall his first little drunken-sailor wobble steps. I try not to revive my memories from back then, though. I still have nightmares about it. I'll probably have one tonight.

To my astonishment, just after my therapist left, I started crying. It was like falling backwards off a steep cliff. I thought I was on firm footing, then suddenly my emotions were falling down and down and down.

So I fooled around on the internet to distract myself. That's something I am a qualified expert at doing. First, I went clothes shopping, pretending I could afford anything I wanted, really, anything at all. Then I watched some Hulu and Netflix. A wound care doctor came in and examined what I thought might be another abcess on my back. Good news. It's not. Then the Social Worker came to talk to me.

I had done some more research about the Dwayne Gwinn Foundation, which is associated with the Dana and Christopher Reeve Foundation. They're the people who might -- and this is a long shot -- build me a special wheelchair at no cost to me. I gave the info to the Social Worker and she said she'd call them to see how to get the ball rolling on that.

I also applied at the Dana and Christopher Reeve Foundation to see if I could get a mentor to help me cope with my paraplegia. I don't hold out much hope for that. This is, after all, Oklahoma and it is pretty much a wasteland for disability resources. The Foundation doesn't even have a branch here. But at least I'm trying.

Getting things done helped brighten up my mood, but I still feel like I'm trying to swim through a sea of mud.

Maybe a good night's sleep will help. Once again, spirit angels, please help me get a full night's sleep. Thank you.

I guess I can't expect every day to be all sunshine and wildflowers. Today may have been a drag, but there's always another chance. 

I can't think of anything else to say, except I love you. Thanks for sticking with me.

Sticks and Stones, Mostly Stones

I didn't write a blog entry yesterday because I had absolutely nothing to write about. Nothing happened all day. I was in a stupor, mentally, because I had zero stimulation, mental or otherwise. The day and night just flowed on with nary a ripple. That happens less often than it used to. In the not-so-distant past, practically every day was like that. I was too depressed and hopeless to rouse my interest in anything and there was certainly nothing in the vicinity of my bed that was in any way interesting. I'm reminded of that '70s song by Steve Miller, "Fly Like an Eagle" that went, "Time keeps on slippin', slippin', slippin' into the future...."

I gotta watch that kind of thing. When my son Mike was in high school, he and his friend, also named Mike, were hanging around the house. His friend said, "I'm bored!"

My son very quickly said, "No you're not! You're not bored!"

His friend, just as quickly said, "No! I'm not bored! Why am I not bored?"

I had a house rule that there was no excuse for boredom, and if they couldn't think of something to do, I would FIND something for them to do. It probably wouldn't be something they enjoyed, but they wouldn't be bored.

I still have this philosophy, only about myself. Now that I'm not overwhelmed by the darkness of hopelessness and despair, I really have no excuse for boredom. There's so much to do and learn via my internet connection. I don't know what I'd do without it. I may not be able to get out of bed, but I can go anywhere with my iPad.

Today I was learning about the spiritual uses of blue tigers eye stones. I read that it tends to soak up negativity so it's important to cleanse it regularly. I can't run warm water over my stones, and I can't set them on the window sill in the sun.

Then I read that if you gather your crystals around hematite, that will cleanse them. So I read about hematite. Interesting stuff. Then I found out that hematite is magnetic. I'm from the old school of computer users. To me, magnets and computers are a no-no kind of combination. I have limited space on my table, and keep my crystals in front of my iPad. So forget the hematite.

I also read that you can cleanse your crystals by blowing gently on them. That I can do. I can't say I'm completely convinced of the efficacy of using stones and crystals to accomplish spiritual things, but it's been years since I've touched anything of the earth -- not a leaf or a bush or a tree or the grass. The closest I've come are the dandelions my therapist and Lyra's daddy gave me. So these stones and crystals are not only beautiful, they connect me to the earth.

So that's how I kept myself from boredom today. There's so much more to learn and explore, I find myself looking forward to tomorrow's adventure.

Physically, nothing has changed. I'm still bedbound, still no sign of the special wheelchair I was promised more than two months ago, still no physical therapy I was promised a couple of weeks ago, still no treatment for a probable abscess that appeared on my back over a week ago. Looks like I'm going to have to throw some fits to get what I need. Sigh. I don't like doing that, but it's apparently going to have to happen if there's going to be any progress.

What's changed is my attitude and my perspective. I'm not mad at anyone, I don't even dislike them. This is just another bunch of obstacles I'll have to overcome.

Love and peace. May your road be smooth, but if it isn't, may your determination be strong.

These are blue tigers eye stones. Pretty, yes? As for the advertisement across the top, it's only fair for them to get credit for their photo, but I have no opinion one way or the other about this shop. I'll probably visit them after I'm done here. Might be a good place for me to visit.  I just grabbed this picture off Google Images.

At the Moment

There is a sect of Buddhism that believes there is no past and no future, only now. I can't remember its name. That Eastern Philosophies class was a tough one and there were a lot of Buddhist sects to keep sorted out in my mind. So I made up jokes to help me remember them. The joke that went with this sect went like this:

Master to pupil: "Pupil, would you like to know the answer to life?"

Pupil to Master: "oh, yes, Master! I would! Please tell me!"

Master to pupil: "Too late!" 

I'm pretty sure nobody is falling out of their chairs, laughing, so I'll try another joke, this time about Zen Buddhism, a philosophy you may be more familiar with.

Question: How many Zen Buddhists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Answer: I ride into the temple backwards on an ox.

In case you didn't get it, Zen Buddhists meditate by thinking about unanswerable questions called Koans. One you've probably heard of is "What is the sound of one hand clapping?" 

I'm by far no expert in any form of eastern philosophy, much less Zen Buddhism, but my paraplegia and my life are, to me, koans. They are unanswerable no matter what question I ask myself about them. I am spectacturally bad at meditation, especially with my roommate on the other side of our dividing curtain, singing unintelligbly to herself, interspersed with conversations with someone no one but she can see. My brain is already like a 3-ring-circus. I don't need any help finding things to distract it with.

Is there a point to being disabled and bedbound? Who the hell knows? I sure don't. I have a lot of time to myself. That can be a plus OR a minus, depending on my mood. Sometimes I get so awfully tired of being alone. Usually when I'm bored. Other times, when I'm deep into something, I resent every intrusion. The lonely times far outweigh the busy times, though.

If I didn't believe there was something left for me to do here, or some life-lesson I need to learn, I'd go on to spirit and go Home again. But there's one big problem. I know those things exist. I just don't know what they are. Until they drift into my consciousness, I suppose I'll just carry on, moment by moment.

Dear spirit angels, help me see what is just beyond my sight. And some sleep tonight would be nice, too. Thank you.

Blessed be all my friends and family, especially those who help me for no other reason than the brightness of their souls. ❤

Lost in the Twilight Zone

I just heard the Twight Zone music drift in from across the hall. That resident doesn't hear well, so she shares her favorite tv shows with the rest of us. 

This place is a bit like being in another dimension. In fact, my entire life these days is empty of time or dimension. For all I know, this entire nursing home, grass and all, is floating in the black void of space. I wouldn't know. I never leave my room, and it's been ages since I was in a wheelchair and able to look out the front door.

If I sound a little twisted, blame it on the old black and white episodes of the Twilight Zone. I was about 10 when it first came on. My dad was a sci-fi fan, so we watched it every week. Every. Single. Week.

Before long, I put a radio on my bookcase headboard, volume just loud enough for me to hear it. I did that so, if I woke up in the middle of the night, I'd hear it and know that everybody else in the world hadn't died. That was back when humans ran radio stations. I lay backwards in my bed so I could reach the window next to the bottom of my bed and put my head on the windowsill. I often fell asleep this way, drifting off while watching for alien spacecraft.

Then I saw an ad -- just an ad on a b&w tv, mind you -- for The Blob. The image of people running, terrified and screaming, out the front doors of a movie theater while The Blob lumbered after them, squishing its way through the door openings is etched indelibly in my memory. I was scared out of my socks. There wasn't much I could do to protect myself from it, so I cowered in my bed until the ads stopped showing.

I don't remember why, exactly, I came up with my next paranoid plan. I had a lot of stuffed animals. I reasoned that, if I covered myself with my stuffed animals while I slept, then if anybody came in and tried to stab me, he would stab the stuffed animal and I'd be saved. Poor stuffed animals. I loved them, but was ready to sacrifice them in order to save my own neck.

I think the crowning occurance in my little paranoia-land was going to the movies with my dad. This had never happened before, to my knowledge, so it was a rare treat. I loved my daddy an awful lot, so I was happy to go anywhere with him.

The movie we saw was The Incredible Shrinking Man. I don't remember much about it, except for the tiny man fighting a giant spider with a sewing needle. That was it for spiders, as far as I was concerned.

I began to ride my bike all the time, often having daring adventures as Zorro's sidekick. It was much healthier for me. I eventually grew out of the paranoia. Mostly.

So if I seem a little odd, just a little twisted, with a tinge of paranoia, blame it on Twilght Zone. I do.

More Lessons Learned From Lyra

I've spent today listening to soothing music, studying spirituality and reading a book called "The Afterlife of Billy Fingers" by Annie Kagan. I'm not quite finished with it. It's given me a lot to ponder. It's one of those books that I need to let soak in for awhile, or I'd be writing about what it made me think about  in tonight's entry. Instead, I'm going to share a companion column to yesterday's offering, published when Lyra was 5, not long before she started showing symptoms of her brain tumor.

This was published in the Stillwater Newspress, stillwater, Oklahoma, November 3, 2007

More lessons from Lyra

Kay Thompson, Editorialist 

If I look closely, I find that my 5-year-old daughter, Lyra, has plenty to teach me. I’m constantly learning new things from her, whether I want to or not.

Cheer for others’ accomplishments. We were watching “Wheel of Fortune” one day, and Lyra started yelling, “Yay, girl! She won! Yay girl!” Lyra didn’t know the lady’s name. She probably didn’t even understand what the game was about. But she knew that the woman had won, and she was happy for her. What a good idea! I realized I should get excited about other people’s accomplishments, as excited as I would about my own. I’m glad for other people when things go well for them, but I could celebrate better — really feel the excitement.

Get up and dance. When Lyra hears a good tune she gets up and dances to it. She doesn’t care if anyone is watching. She just does it for the sheer joy of it. I would be self-conscious, even if I were alone, but not Lyra. I had the opportunity to get up and dance in front of some friends the other day, but I remained sitting in my chair. I wish I had danced, now, even though I’m pretty sure I would have looked silly to others. I would have had fun, though, and life’s too short to pass up a chance like that.

Stand your ground. When I’m exasperated, I think Lyra’s stubborn. She has a bad habit of ignoring me when I tell her to do something, especially if she’s otherwise busy at that moment. 

After all, brushing her teeth isn’t as important to her as finishing her game on the computer, and why would she want to get dressed when she’s engaged in playing with her toys? 

These may seem like stubborness to me but, to her, she’s just being persistent.

 

Sometimes I need to be more persistent and stand up for the things I believe in. I can be too accommodating, I fear — too willing to give up the things that are important to me, to acquiesce to others’ desires.

Look at flowers close-up. When there were still wildflowers growing in our little patch of yard, I watched Lyra get down on her hands and knees to look — really look — at a flower. I can’t do that. I’d never get back up again. But I do often look at things from too great a distance. I don’t inspect things in my life — don’t touch them, smell them, really examine them. Lyra found wonder in a stalk of crab crass. She picked it, felt it, even tasted it before I could tell her not to. To me, crab grass is a nuisance. To her, it was a fascinating thing, worthy of great wonder. How many things in my life have I brushed off as nuisances, when I could have found wonder in them?

Yes, I have a lot to learn from my little girl. I hope I never stop recognizing these lessons, because, I admit, I’m a more than willing pupil. And Lyra, even though she doesn’t realize it, is an excellent teacher.

###

Lessons Learned from Lyra

Today is Saturday. Guess what happened today? Nothing. Nada. Zilch. This is about how long my entry would be if I wrote about that. So, instead, I'm sharing one of my favorite columns with you. I hope you enjoy it.

Published January 27, 2007, in the Stillwater Newspress, Stillwater, Oklahoma

LESSONS LEARNED FROM LYRA

Kay Thompson, Editorialist

I have a 4-year-old. Lyra is, by birth, my granddaughter, but we adopted her when she was a baby, so I think of her as my daughter. I do my best to teach her, but recently have noticed I’m learning as much from her as she is from me.

We should congratulate ourselves more often. I sang her a little song and, when I finished, she yelled, “Yaaay! “ so I did, too. Then I noticed how good I felt about it. I’m not saying we should yell out loud when we do something we like, but a little internal cheering doesn’t seem amiss. She’ll also congratulate herself by yelling “I DID it!” when she’s done something she considers particularly hard. What would be the harm if we gave a little cheer to ourselves when we did something we considered an accomplishment?

We should be more polite. Lyra is always thanking me. It’s very pleasant to be thanked for doing something like blessing a sneeze, or getting a drink for her. I try to be as polite as she is, which makes the cogs of our particular interactions run smoothly. She even apologizes when she says no to me. “Sorry,” she’ll say gravely, “no go to bed.”

Sing even when you don’t know the song. I overheard Lyra singing a song along with the TV. She didn’t know the words and she didn’t know the tune, but that didn’t slow her down. She sang out loudly and clearly with great enjoyment. Why are we so afraid to enjoy ourselves? I hope she never loses that ability to sing out, unabashed and unafraid.

Say what you feel. When Lyra is mad, she’ll just say it: “I’m MAD!” I can then immediately talk to her about what’s wrong. I don’t have to guess. There’s no question that she’s mad about something. All I have to do is get to the bottom of the problem. We’d be so much better off, as adults, if we could just say, “I’m mad.” or “I’m hurt” instead of waiting for the other person to read our minds.

Take pleasure in small things. I was washing dishes, a chore I don’t really like to do, and Lyra was standing on a stool, watching me. Then she said, with clear pleasure, “Bubbles!” 

And sure enough, there were bubbles on my hands — tiny, iridescent and delightful. I had been so intent on getting my chore done, I hadn’t noticed the wonder that was right in front of my eyes. How much better off we’d be if we noticed the small, but delightful things that life presents to us.

I’m sure I have many more lessons in front of me and feel equally sure I have a good teacher in my daughter. In the meanwhile, I’ll determine to pay better attention. I’d better learn fast, before she becomes a teenager and I don’t know anything at all.

Lyra, age 4.  She was a mischievous imp sometimes.

My Evil Deed

Forgiveness. It's important, I understand, if I ever want to "awaken", "become enlightened", ."reach Nirvana", "get to Heaven" or whatever name you call it by.

For me, forgiving others is a snap. OK, maybe not that easy, but I can reason myself out of grudges. After all, I hurt myself much more than I hurt the object of my anger and doing that makes no sense. I may as well just punch myself in the face whenever I have anger toward a person. I would probably do less harm to myself.

But forgiving myself? That's a thousand times more difficult. You see, I had a beautiful calico cat named Rosie.  We adopted her and her sister, Gilda, the summer of 1994. And, when she was 14 years old, I caused her death. And I knew what I was doing.

My daughter, Lyra, had been battling cancer for a couple of years, and her immune system wasn't in good shape, so we had to be careful. Then, for no reason that I could understand, one of the cats started pooping on the comforter on Lyra's bed. I couldn't figure out which cat was doing it, so I tried to catch her at it.

No luck. I finally decided, though I wasn't absolutely certain, that it had to be Rosie. I spent days calling around, trying to find someone who would adopt her. No one wanted her. The Humane Society didn't take pets from individuals. Finally, the only resource left was the animal control center.

So one afternoon I put her in her carrying case and drove across town to the animal control. I was crying my eyes out.  Finally I'd filled out the paperwork and the worker opened a cage door. I pulled Rosie out of her carrier and put her in the cage. When I let go of her, she turned around and looked at me with bewildered eyes. As if she spoke it out loud, her face asked, "Why are you doing this to me?" It was a look of betrayal and utter heartbreak.

The next morning, I walked past Lyra's room and there, on her comforter, was a pile of fresh poop! I'd blamed the wrong cat. I immediately called animal control and, when the lady answered, I asked her how much it would cost to get my cat back. She ascertained which cat I was talking about. She said, "oh, we don't have her anymore."

I was mystified. Had the Humane Society taken her? I didn't understand, so I said, "What do you mean?"

The woman said, "We put her down early this morning."

How could that be? Rosie hadn't even been there 24 hours. I found out that they'd decided she wasn't adoptable, so they just... killed... her. And it was my fault.

I cried for two days straight. My counselor came around for our session, but all I could do is cry. Lyra would stand by me, looking worried, pat my arm and say, "Don't cry, Mommy!" But I couldn't stop. Taking Rosie to the pound was the most evil thing I ever did. I sacrificed her. I betrayed her love and her trust. It is unforgivable.

My sweet Rosienose. I hope, after I die, I will be able to see you again so I can tell you how sorry I am and how much I love you. Maybe then I might be able to forgive myself.

If self-forgiveness is a prerequisite to reaching this place with its many names, I'll never get there, because there's just no way I can ever forgive myself.

No two calicos are alike, but Rosie looked an awful lot like this cat:

Late for the Sky

(Thanks to Jackson Browne for the title of this entry. I sure wish I could find a copy of the Reneé Magritte painting that was on the cover of this record album. I love Magritte's art. So playful.)

So now I'm sleeping, sometimes during the night for awhile, and sometimes during the day for awhile.  Sometimes both. It happens at random times. I feel like I'm inside a shattered mirror, looking out, trying to make sense of what's going on out there. Is it day? Is it night? Is it still yesterday? Or maybe it's already tomorrow. Who knows?

I've never been good at sticking to schedules, but this is ridiculous.

Despite this empty randomness that is my life, and the lack of promised antibiotics, and the Alice-through-the-looking-glass perspective, I still feel like I'm on the right track, spiritually. A lot of it is observing myself under different circumstances. When I hear that children are being denied food because of this pointless government shutdown or that children with cancer are being denied treatment at government-run research centers, it breaks my heart and I get plenty steamed at the House Republicans, especially the Tea Partiers who put all this in motion. Anger is not good for my well-being. Nor is the frustration I feel about being absolutely helpless to change anything about it.

There are times when this life with all its challenges seem far away, as if I am looking at it from a great distance. From that perspective, floating high above the clouds, none of it touches me. It's restful. Things are so far away, they have nothing to do with me. I always go back. That's a given. I still have things to do here. Also, I'm not ready to give up all the delight I get from learning and seeing what's around the next corner. And, for reasons I don't quite understand, even if I go around the next corner and find something monstrous waiting, I still welcome it, in my heart, because I know it's part of my learning process. Sometimes -- hell, most times -- it causes me some kind of pain, but as I said before, if my body can't deal with it, my spirit will.

I feel one of those sleepy-time episodes coming on.

This is the closest I could find to the album cover of "Late for the Sky." Evidently, Browne's cover artists altered it a bit. That's OK. Both paintings are good.

Sleep well. Be happy.

Strange Journeys

I have an new abcess on my back. I had one, in the same spot, before. This happens, I believe, because I'm constantly lying on my back. It's not as bad as the one I had a few months ago, thank goodness. I'll spare you the gory details of having had that lanced with a scalpel, having liquid expressed from it manually, then having packing stuffed into it with only a squirt of topical anesthetic sprayed on it, a method which failed miserably at numbing the pain. I'll also spare you a graphic explanation of the high-decible inhuman-like screams of pain I emitted, nor of the gasping sobs and the feeling of suffocation they caused.

Someone, a nurse, I think, said that it didn't hurt that much, and that I was just being dramatic. That was not said in my presence, of course. If it had, I believe the jury would have found me innocent on grounds of justifiable homicide.

So this time I was just prescribed antibiotics. That may change if the Wound Care Doctor sees me Friday and decides it needs excising. I wouldn't mind so much if she does that. She's awfully good at numbing the area and she will promise to stop if I tell her to, if it's hurting me. She treats me with respect and understanding. I like her.

I wish I was better at communicating with my guardian spirits. I'd ask them for a few answers, like why the repeating abcesses on my back? I'm well aware of how dangerous a location that is to have an infection, and it's painful. And, of course, I'm always lying on my back, which makes it hurt. So what's the point? I need a little guidance here.

Being in pain has a way of dampening one's mood. I'm not afraid of it, but it really slows down my learning process, not to mention my enthusiasm for life. I know there are people who suffer with much worse chronic pain and I send them vibrations of healing, love, and joy. And peace. Much, much peace.

I feel a need to read, now, about things pertinent to my questions. Occasionally, answers will pop out of the blue, but most of the time I have to search for clues myself. When I find something useful, it's like I hear a tiny "bingo!" In the back of my mind, so I know I'm not totally alone in my quest.

What a strange journey I'm on, which we all are on, on our separate paths. If it's true that we choose our lives before we incarnate, I must have had an awful lot of lessons I wanted to learn. I think maybe I got a little overenthusiastic. Still, i am having fun now that I've begun being conscious of some of the lessons my soul is learning, and I can't wait to see what's coming next. If my body can't handle it, then my spirit will.

I'm so glad your paths and mine have met. Namaste. Happy traveling.

Imaginary Moon

I haven't seen the sun in years. The moon, either. They are figments of my imagination now. Oh, I see sunlight out the window when I can get someone to raise the blinds. To my roommate, it doesn't matter if the blinds are up or down. When they're down, she is in no way confined to this universe. Tonight she saw a boy looking at me. Just for a nanosecond, I saw him. He was cute -- a roundish face with dirty-blonde hair falling across his forehead. Much too young for me though.

I'm not losing my mind. That was just a bit of whimsy I indulged in. Why shouldn't I? I've spent far too much of my life being serious, worrying about the future, fretting about how to pay the bills, and all kinds of grown-up things. As The Doctor said one time, "What's the use of being grown up if you can't be childish sometimes?"

Somehow, when I was in a freshman in college, i figured out that floating on the wind was the right thing to do. Following that philosophy led me into some interesting adventures and not just a little trouble. But I had, and still have, a strong innate sense of responsibility.

So after I found myself on my own with a 10-month-old baby girl, I traded whimsy for responsibility. That was fine with me. I don't know how she survived me, though. I'd never even held a baby before she was born.

What is worse than a woman who has a strong sense of responsibility but nothing and no one to be responsible for? A lost bed-bound, isolated woman with no outlet for those feelings.

So now I need to turn loose again and find all that old whimsy which was such a good and joyful companion when I was younger. Giving into it is so exhilarating. But, so far, I'm like a balloon with a 3-inch string tied to it. 

Maybe the trick is to stop being so afraid to use my imagination. I must. If my body is so restricted, my only other choice, other than giving up altogether, is to let my mind fly.

Is that boy still looking at me? Maybe he and I can take a walk together and gaze at my imaginary moon. That would be peaceful and companionable. And we could create a universe of bubbles.  :-)