Bipolar Life

A lot of time my mind is so clear,

So awake, so aware,

But also, so overwhelmed,

Even with what seems like paranoia.

My thoughts move so fast,

That I can’t keep up with them.

I’ll be so tired, and I’ll lay down,

But I can’t turn my mind off.

It is like a speeding train,

Trying to go around a sharp curve.

The strain of it all, sometimes,

Causes me to wonder if I can stand it,

If, like that speeding train,

I will run off the tracks.

I try to control, to be practical,

To distract myself, take meds,

But I can’t always do that.

Sometimes I am caught in an atmosphere

Where I feel the need to escape,

But I don’t really want to,

I want to participate in life, feel it,

Be there, interact with whatever

Or whomever is around.

Maybe I need more discipline.

Maybe I need to be more careful.

But I don’t always want to hide.

Sometimes I don’t want to be rational.

We all occasionally do stupid things.

And sometimes, I regret it.

Sometimes my wife has to reel me in,

Get me back to reality.

I am grateful for doctors, counselors,

Family and friends.

It does help to have support.

I just have to take it one moment at a time,

Doing the best I can.

That’s all I can expect of myself.

More Than Usual

I don’t feel normal, at the moment,

Not sure if I ever have, it seems,
But not normal for me, anyway.

I’m tilting, off center, more than usual.
Everything, more than usual.

More elated, more depressed,

More scared, more sad.

More overwhelmed, if there is such.
I have help near me,

In the bed with me, at the moment,

My spouse, my mate, my caregiver.

So cold that seems, I know.
But I’m trying to keep

As much distance from my feelings

As I can, for fear of breaking,

Under the strain. A strategy, at least.
A possible plan exists,

Plan A, with sub plans 1 and 2.

Plan B, with the same.

Trying to stay logical, a chore.
So, will I make it?

I have commitments,

Some more important than others.

How will I fulfill them?
What if worse comes to worse,

And I am environmentally incapacitated,

So to speak. What then, I plead?

What of my mate, my lovely, innocent,
Sweet, but somewhat dependent mate?

Who will assist her? We have friends,

A few. There is always family, not far,
Too far, anyway. She asked me,

Should I ask them to come?

I said, not yet, later, when I’m gone.

Extras throw variables into the equation,
Drama I’m not prepared to deal with,

Right now. Keep it simple, please,

That’s what I always want, just simple.

I have enough variables in my own body,

For God’s sake. I’m a logarithm unto myself.

So she stays with me, keeps distracting,
She does her best. No social media,

She orders. Delete it. Take it off your phone.

It’s a disaster waiting to happen,

She claims, but I know she’s right.
I might have to disappear for a while,

Remove myself from normal contact,

For the most part. I hate it. I hate it all.

I hate life right now, not her, though,
Though I do get stressed, from all

The checking, the instructions,

The alarms, the constant reminders.

It gets old, after a while.
But that’s the least of my problems,

The very least. I’m not too worried.

I’m safe, for the most part.

I’m safe, you can be sure.
Though on the verge of tears,

Every other moment,

I am in control, at least,

I tell myself that, and she agrees.
We both have doubts,

As to how long that will last.

It’s a scary territory to be in,

You understand. You must understand,
If I am to continue. Let’s be partners,

For now, like my spouse and me,

We’re a team, an old team,

We know how each other works,
We know the strengths we can lean on,

The weaknesses to look for,

The buttons to push, and not.

Most efficient. Most reliable, so forth.
So, now that I’ve been vague,

I’ll keep it up, it works, right now.

Crisis mode, on alert for anything,

Everything more, all but more. 

The Search for Goodness

Paradoxes have always both fascinated and frustrated me. I’m reading a wonderful book right now called Between the Dark and the Daylight: Embracing the Contradictions of Life, by Joan Chittister. The theme of the book is that every paradox of life has a goodness that we can gain from each side of it. The catch is that we need to be willing to accept, learn and grow from them, and in my experience, that is more difficult than it sounds. She believes that God is a part of our healing, but she lays it out in a very nonjudgmental way, full of psychological knowledge and wisdom from a sage whom has been there in the darkness and can point the way out.

In Chapter 13, she addresses an idea with which many of us struggle: trying to be perfect. The title of the chapter is called, “The Temptation of Sinlessness.” Many people are immediately turned off at the mere mention of the word “sin.” I think that is because it has been used so inappropriately in our culture. As far back as the times of Jesus of Nazareth, there was a struggle between people who wanted to remain sinless and Jesus, who said to a rich man that the only way to be “perfect” (not sinless) was to sell everything he had and give the money to the poor. Then he would have treasure in heaven. Jesus said to “then come and follow me.” The term “perfect”, as it was used then, did not mean sinless. Chittister would say it meant holy, which I understand from her use of that word to mean healthy and loving.

Well, jump forward to the times of Saint Augustine, one of the Fathers of the Christian Church, and whom Sister Chittister points out in the second paragraph of Chapter 13 as “the expert on sin, confession and repentance,” and the plot thickens, in my opinion. Augustine said, “This is our perfection: to find out our imperfections.” The thought that came to me as soon as I read this was that he is not saying perfection is to avoid sin, and he’s certainly not saying that perfection is to stop sinning. He just says to find out what your sins are. Chittister points out throughout the chapter that this awareness is for a special purpose: Acceptance. Stop rejecting yourself, and then you will stop rejecting others.

I have spent much of my life trying not to sin, and I think many of my Christian friends and family have done the same. In some ways, it is just a part of the “Christian American Way.” So, how much time, effort and energy have you spent trying to stop sinning? Do you think it is possible, or do you agree with Jesus, and Chittister, that all this obsession with sinlessness is really a form of hatred of ourselves, which is then projected onto others? I think the first step in the process of healing, what Chittister would call “holiness” is accepting God’s infinite, unconditional love for us. The next step is accepting and loving ourselves.

I have bipolar disorder, and one method I have used to cope with various symptoms is called “thought suppression.” Sometimes, I seem to avoid conflict, and that is probably what I learned when I was young. But, these days, I have learned that a better solution is mindfulness, the mental process of focusing on what is happening in the here and now. It takes practice, but it works great for redirecting energy and attention that would usually go to worrying, anxiety, obsessing, acting inappropriately (like in a meeting at work, in therapy, or while just “listening” to a friend or family member. Wow, I know). The reason I mention all this is that it is a healthy way to get out of the “I’ve got to be perfect” mindset, and we aren’t constantly stressing ourselves out with self-loathing or self-hatred, and then projecting it onto others. I still struggle every day, but I think I’m moving in the right direction, and that’s what really counts!

The process of discovering our sins is simply one step in an effort for personal growth, not to make us become sinless, but to make us aware of our needs, so that we can be capable of loving ourselves, loving God, and loving others. At the end of the chapter, Chittister repeats Augustine’s words, then says “we never need fear our capacity to sin against God by sinning against others.” I instantly anticipated the flip side which is covered in the next chapter. I struggle with this other side of the paradox as well. She calls it, “The Struggle Between Guilt and Growth.”

I worry constantly in fear of doing the wrong thing, and being punished for it, judged not by God, but by other family, friends, authorities and anyone else I meet on a daily basis. I struggle with guilt, shame, and, occasionally, telling the truth, when I am too afraid of what might happen if I do. I happen to be an artist. I write poetry and draw abstract pictures. Most people say my creations are hard to understand, but some say they are beautiful. I have a really hard time accepting the second part. I look at my art, and it looks ugly, sickening, perverted, demented, scary and dangerous. I think about thoughts that occasionally pass through my mind, or feelings I’ve had, or memories of things I’ve done that I’ve perceived as wrong, or tried to cover up because I was afraid to tell the truth about them. Terror fills my soul about these things. And so, Sister Chittister would agree, in those areas, and perhaps in others, as my fears grow, I’m not psychologically or spiritually growing. I’m stuck.

Another author that I’ve read, Ram Dass, in his book, “Be Here Now”, would say the process is to notice these dark thoughts, feelings, even actions, and say “yes, that” “it does exist” and to accept it, which enables you to not be mastered by it. The next step is to redirect to what is happening now, to be where you are, in the moment, and move on to life in the present, which means freedom, serenity, love, the place where we all need to be. I hope and believe I am on that path, very slowly, full of hiccups and failures, but I’m trying, I’m making an effort, and I’m growing. I believe we all can do it, no matter how many problems we have, or how many times we’ve failed,  or even how bad those problems or failures have been. We can all get there, maybe not right away, certainly not completely. Life is a journey. We are all on that journey together. We just need a little courage, and the willingness to try, and to keep trying. Let us go together, in search of goodness.

Sap

Star fix not flicks some round tank ordersHear fang stack flower allow forge ancient

Hollow beauty seen shallow untied smooth

Angel talent taken enable swallow hell end

Rank enter tube trudge calm grin veer kick

Quite whoop quality strike mere rude bid

Move mite put stoop preach real huge hit

Judge salvage swoop twang thrust thirst

Hill run range route roll ill rule mule mill

Motley cue vault view mew reel seal meal

Stool stiff want speed spot spark quark

Mock stilt wilt miff meek wallow stalk sap

Free Again

Done moving conquer strive overcomeRound the pen I pace, I fly, I cry for relief

Endings come among the changes time

Expands in my mind healing starts with

Every expression loud leaps angry weeps

Cages blood knives lodged in the heart

Pain flows like oxygen through my lungs

I must breath breath breath so I can empty

Those dreams and trade the darkness in

For light shine on everything it is all good

My empty yearns to be full my desertion

Claims another mountain I want to climb

I want to receive the blessing I am baptized

With holiness I receive the cleansing spirit

Of peace and all fear disappears oh how

I know there is hope and healing in my heart

I want to expand my life so I can give away

All the things that beggars need and I do not

Want I am chained I want to break free help

Label

Height not apple range motley stand
Angel man never pond taught lots tandem

Neat eel rude tender tool tile tall manger

Mate teal prevent tangle mere tube kneel

Nile swoop near tub boot root need table

Toward mood eat like lock pocket toot

Loot model noodle stool knuckle muck

Stuck struck slack slob ladle stable style

Mare stare rare air make rake are stale

Veil ale snail mail nail able enable label

Our Father (Far Away)

Our…How could you let that happen?

Who art…where are you when I need you?

Hallowed be…what am I supposed to do with that boy?

Thy Kingdom…I am afraid to show my face there, ever again.

Thy will…how can I ever live up to their expectations?

On Earth…please, please take my life, kill him or me, I can’t take it anymore.

As it is…will I burn in hell for my sins?

Give us this…I need help, right now!

Forgive us our…I am so ashamed of who I am as a person, and though I try with all my might, I can’t seem to change.

As we…I will never forgive him for what he did to me. Never!

Lead us…I know I should never have gone, I knew what would happen to her, and I let it happen. How can I live with myself?

But deliver us…No, I can’t. Please, no! Stop!

For thine is…I hate myself. I hate all of them. I’ll never go back. Then, they’ll be forced to understand.

Forever and…This will be my last message.

Amen.

A Time for Whites to Listen

The Black Lives Matter Movement
It has been my experience that the Black Lives Matter movement has started a discussion to take place between people of color and whites, and between whites and whites, about white privilege, racism, prison reform, climate change, minimum wage, the welfare state, law enforcement, and the fact that every human being should have dignity, freedom, equality before the law, a livable wage, clean air and water, a safe and clean place to live, a good education, and everything else that whites have always taken for granted, while wholly or partially denying them to people of color, since the founding of the United States of America.

A Broken Justice System

People of color have always been “second class”, shamed for their “deficiencies”, blamed for allowing or even “instigating” discrimination, persecution, torture, imprisonment and death, all carried out by white figures of authority, who, in the face of confrontation or criticism, were protected by a justice system that targets people of color with severe and unreasonable punishment, while whites are the social center of attention, being showered with support, legal defense, biased police officers, attorneys and judges, and politicians, all of whom should be aware of the injustice of a system that is centered on racist treatment of people of color, and favorable treatment of whites. For the most part, the punishment for convicted felonies corresponds directly to whether the criminal is a person of color, in which case their sentence by judges and their treatment by law enforcement and prison guards would be severe; or, if the criminal is white, the sentence is much lighter, and the treatment of the criminal is much more humane.

Issues, Issues and More Issues

That’s to say nothing of the plethora of examples pointed out by the BLM movement of inhumane treatment, harassment, torture and murder of completely innocent people of color, just living their lives without bothering anyone, simply because of the color of their skin. Not only is it ridiculous, insane and irrational, it is completely wrong. It is wrong, for people of color, because they are the victims of a society that creates an atmosphere of anger, resentment, bitterness, inhumane and demoralizing treatment, violence, torture, rape, harassment and murder towards people of color. But it is also bad for whites, who, when people of color challenge the system of white privilege and white power and white superiority, constantly defend the inappropriate actions of the white authority figure, and blame the victim because of their race, even if the victim is innocent and the treatment is inhumane. Then they become angry, resentful, bitter, violent and insensitive to the injustice and unfair, unequal treatment of other people of color. It is really a vicious cycle that spirals downward, and finally bursts out into expressions of racist remarks, jokes and harassment, at the least, and abuse, neglect, abandonment, rape and other forms of violence towards people of color, gays, immigrants, women and, last but not least, other whites.

Whites Need to Listen

So, what can we do to change it? I believe the dialogue started by the BLM movement can be continued and really gain meaning in our personal lives by using this news as an opportunity to strike up a conversation with a person of color about what it’s like to be them, and to earnestly and sincerely listen, without interruption, or feeling the need to defend oneself, or ones race. This is a wonderful opportunity for healing, of the expression of compassion for that person, and empathy for their feelings about how all this stuff affects them in their daily lives. In this way, we can learn to see each other as real people with dignity and respect, encouraging each other, fighting for each other’s rights, and maybe surrendering some of those destructive tendencies we are so used to taking advantage of, white privilege, white power, and white superiority. Let it go. It’s worth the risk. 😊

The Underside

Mealtime.

Southern flair hides the truth.

Mangled reputations build from the gossip.

Turncoat private comments, issue it in.

Lies shown from the underside,

Heat up the relationship,

Until it burns to a crisp, then falls to nothing.

I like the atmosphere, it’s comfortable,

To a point. Nature is beautiful up here.

Hills and oak trees sway my soul to relax.

I wonder sometimes, how I am deceived,

But sooner or later, it shows its face.

I like it still, for some reason.

Am I the same? Sometimes, I wonder.

Sure, I lie, I am two-faced in desperation.

Walking through danger,

I am like everyone else.

Can I prove myself,

To challenge the status quo?

I hope so. I want to be different.

We all have our weaknesses, I guess.

So, what is yours?

Aching Suits

Mellow feelings swamp the age-old serendipity meet-ups. Weird laughs call to real-time walls of political divides on strange highs from too much criticizing. Can we stand by as so much disrespect happens on the main stage media displays? I can’t conceive of wheels and brakes screeching one another among random gallabants with innocent eyes. Strong leaps to high tops of blue skies and loud calls to nearby tribes echoing for miles. Do you hear the cries to lonely, meandering children? I hide, as giant rock stars fly high above the effeminate, somewhat strange scenery, wearing clothes that don’t fit, and chains made of gold. I love the night, one says. I hear the sighs, sliding onto French fry honey molasses car chases, wondering about sly invectives, holding back the tears that long to drip into green glasses only half full. Calling nature brings selfish searches to upside down creatures, loud as any animals you can imagine in your fondest dreams.  I long to soothe angry souls, sorting among old clothes for the smallest pieces of meaning, a profession that only pays food and shelter, no more. Hallways crawl with evergreen, swallowing angels, finding roaches in their soup. Softly they search for all the pizza they can bring themselves to pee on, wondering if crazy mice-strewn hailstones can cover sailing ships to Japanese life boat callings. Happy lives filled with cherry pie feel empty as hound dog referees in drag queen marksmen. Flicking tiger tales fill African searing sunburns around railroad cars, leaping from crazy psychologist books. How do you solve European mountain goat milk bones inside merry mazes with too much spaghetti inside? I leer at wrongheaded fly traps, fearing the atheist thunder cankers today, creating false fireflies. Don’t crush too many intestinal worms when feeling around in surgery tanks. Crunching soundless train wrecks, a artichoke high can mean you’ve consumed too much marijuana odors in your leather best, forest fire shoes. Rivers of delight confuse puzzle pumps toward wandering, foul-mouthed, South American peering peels of onion blues. How do you feed treacherous sullied feet, when all you can follow is tightwad peers, who hunt tall, handless, funky leap frogs? I aired out my weeping, worn, cooled-down feature films in empty halls of adventurous, yellow pieces of quilt-hewn picture books. Hell, if steering wheels weren’t so damn sick in Alaskan sailboats, I’d sell my aching bumble bees to Kleenex barks! Won’t feature licks kick cute and ugly motorcycles? I love field pies inside subway sores! Jungle gyms fit psycho babbles geeky  strips, don’t you? Hearing this , the jack of all trades laughed, cunningly keeping all the cards in his backyard pimple boots.