I Want It As Much As You Do

January 18, 2013 at 12:15 am (Death and Dying, Living, The Panniculectomy) (, , , , , , , , , , , , )

I get the gentle reminders, the emails, the comments in conversation. I hear them and I feel kinda guilty. I sit in front of my keyboard, the ragged notes hastily jotted down in the ICU by my side, and I try to describe the experience I had in the Underworld on December 28th.

Part of the problem is that I’m still remembering, bits and pieces hit me at the oddest times. I’ll be drifting off in thought and then another memory, in full technicolor, will hit me, one that I haven’t had before. I try to write it all down, try to make it fit into clunky, odd looking words, for myself if for nothing else.

The first challenge, I recently figured out with help from my friend Hugh (a wonderful writer and poet in his own right) is that there is no narrative to my experience. I cannot draw a timeline in which things happened in a precise order. I can try to force the images, the blocks, the pieces of patchwork into some sort of made up fictional narrative, but it doesn’t seem to want to be locked down like that. How does one tell a story without the sense of linear time?

Secondly, as I’ve said before, parts of it are deeply personal. It would take me more paragraphs to explain some of the symbols and images I saw, because you don’t live in my head, know my entire life story, or have the same reaction to certain archetypes/images/thoughts/feelings as I. It don’t know if the story wants to be weighed down in lots of explanations and footnotes, because it loses something in the process.

I don’t feel ready. One of the bigger messages I got is that this is a year of contemplation, and it may be that I’m supposed to go over these notes, try to recreate all the little scenes and memories over a much longer period of time. I am pretty certain some things that I remember will only make sense once I’ve had a chance to go a little further in this journey, like when an author drops a seemingly random piece of information about a character in chapter 2, never mentions it again, and yet it’s that tiny little factoid that solves the whole plot. In some ways, part of me is still down there, sitting on a rock having a big think, hoping that if I give it more time to marinate, it will make better sense to me.

I feel like I owe you a story, something, some piece of wisdom that came from my experience. So here’s something I feel like I can talk about, but ask me any questions and I’m likely to crumble.

Everything is a choice, she whispers. So many people, especially those ‘spirit worker’ friends of yours, makes everything in their life out to be an absolute, it must be this way, the Gods told me so. They speak of it as though this life was thrust upon them and now they’re just following orders. You can always say no. You can always walk away. At any point in time, if you are doing something, anything, and someone asks you why you are doing it, you should be able to tell them about your choice. Not all choices are fabulous and wonderful; sometimes the right or best choice is the drudgery and the discomfort. But it’s still a choice, still something that you made a conscious decision to do. Every single day, you choose to go to work, because you think if you don’t you’ll lose your job and go broke and be homeless and eventually die of starvation. You create this future in your head where the only right answer is the one you’ve chosen, and every other option ends in ruin. But how do you know that if you take today off, you might just run into someone at the Starbucks who’s looking for a new such-and-so, making twice as much money as you’re making now, in a part of the country you’ve always dreamed of living in?

Don’t get me wrong; there are wrong choices. Or at least, choices that have outcomes that are uncomfortable, and steer you away from your Purpose. But even if you’re going to make a wrong choice, you need to do it with an open heart, knowing that part of being alive is that you have complete autonomy over what your body does and does not do. You might have to make accommodations for things like disability and disease, but if you want to sleep 18 hours a day, you can make that choice. If you never want to see the sun again, you can get a graveyard shift job and only shop at 24 hour grocery stores at 4am. Nothing about your life is written in stone – not even what the Gods want you to do. We understand that you always have the right to say no, to choose something else, and then it’s our job to meddle and push and try to convince you to make a different choice, but there are plenty of people we approach for one reason or another who just ignore us, convince themselves we’re just a manifestation of mental illness, or purposefully choose to do something else because who wants to be in truck with an Invisible thing that might tell you what to eat, what to wear, what job to take…it feels like you’re surrendering that choice when you take on the yoke of working for us, but even in that we know, and honor, and are appreciative of, the choices you make that benefit us.

People say they can’t meditate, and you know the truth – it’s more that they cannot find a way to choose to meditate. It’s not like it’s a terribly difficult skill, and it’s easy to get better over time, but it means making that choice, every day, to set aside time to do it. People do this about prayer, about going to rituals, about celebrating their faith – they think that spirituality is a frivolous task, only to be undertaken by force, habit, or boredom. The reason we keep reaching out to people like you, Del, is because you can be living proof that choosing a life that puts spirituality at the top of the priority chain can still be a full and enjoyable life. So when you get together with your friends and gripe about what the Gods ask you to do, you’re working against this very simple Purpose.

This transitioned into talk about my friend Jon, who factored heavily into my experience with Hel, and I’m not ready to talk about that yet.

I want to share it with you. And I will. Over time. In pieces. As I get to better understand them, and glean what needs to be shared from what should remain personal. I am honored that you’re interested in what happened, that you don’t just dismiss the idea that something significant happened to me that day, but I need more time to write it out.

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He’ll Look Around the Room; He Won’t Tell You His Plan

January 1, 2013 at 1:59 am (Hospitalizations, Living, Living With Chronic Illness, Medical, Spiritual, The Journey Towards Diagnosis, The Panniculectomy) (, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , )

Maybe it’s all the opiates, but I keep wanting to say something profound about how this year was full of upheavals for me and sound all poetic and mystical and intelligent. But really, I think it would just be rehashing stuff I’ve already said and done, and after surviving my ordeal I have very little desire to look backwards anymore – at least for now. I am choosing to look towards potentiality, towards the empty status update box, the (mostly) empty Google calendar, the blinking cursor at the beginning of the open Word document, and taking a nice deep breath.

A lot of my recent Underworld journey* put my feet on a very specific path, and the first step, 2013, is about being a year of contemplation – and really, things have all fell in line to make that very easy. I’m moving into a house where I will need much less help taking care of myself; both in that it is all on one floor and therefore I can make my own food, do my own laundry, and the like, but also because I will be living with my full time slave who receives such joy in her service. (And boy howdy does it make a difference when someone who you rely on for assistance does these things with an open and happy heart, rather than a resentful and lazy one.) I have much less teaching commitments, and I’m not really planning on chasing down more. (My plan is to submit to events I’ve never taught at before, just to see what’s out there, and possibly choose to ::gasp:: attend a few new things, too.) I have enough money to pay my bills and just a little extra to have a nice day now and again. I have the ability to focus on doing a little more work from home when I need more scratch, and a little less when I don’t.

Except for the all the follow up doctor’s appointments and the regular medical merry-go-round, I really don’t have a lot of reasons I have to leave the house. I mean, I love my friends and will want to see them from time to time, but there’s something to be said for the fact that we looked really hard to find something in the much more accessible city of Frederick, only to end up in the much more out-of-the-way city of Hagerstown. A casual trip to Baltimore or DC would be much more of a drive now than it was before, and we really only have a handful of friends who live less than 30 minutes away from H’town. On top of that, we found a tiny little complex that’s mostly meant for senior citizens (who were cool with us moving in when they found out I was disabled), so I expect our neighborhood to be quiet and respectful as well.

After the crazypants monkeyhorseplay that was 2012, the idea of spending a year in sacred contemplation sounds absolutely, well, divine to me. I know it scares some of my closer friends and lovers, because I do have a tendency to cocoon away from the world and not notice how long I’ve been gone until someone comes in and pulls me back out again. But I will have to find a balance, because I need this time of quiet, stress-free thinking and feeling if I am going to truly figure out what happened to me on Dec 28th.

I know many people are waiting with somewhat baited breath to hear about what happened to me and why it was decided that I was to return to the land of the living, but unfortunately it’s going to take me some time to piece it all together. Instead of something like having a dream, or even a living/waking experience, it was more like I came to in ICU with a head full of foggy memories that weren’t there before, even though I didn’t have the physical connection to those memories. I am fumbling at words here, and most of the examples or metaphors I would use might only serve to confuse the matter. For those of you who have had ecstatic trance experiences, or dissociative episodes, or perhaps even possessory experiences when you were the seat/horse, it kinda felt like that – like you’ve come back to your body, and you know it’s seen and done things that your consciousness wasn’t present for, but every so often something triggers a memory, a foreign thought, that feeling of being right on the tip of your tongue but not quite there.

Luckily, Rave was at my bedside and ready to jot down notes of the things I remembered in the immediate hereafter, when I was still in ICU and hadn’t yet fully realized what my brush with death was. I just had all these memories that both did and did not feel like they belonged to me. Like I said earlier, I’m grasping at words and failing quite a bit.

Over the next few days, I did some talking to various mystical types who were able to just listen to what I had to say and give their insight when they had any. I know when I get to the new place and set up my altar, some of the images will coalesce. When I get time to journal freely, and to get back into a meditative practice, and do all the shaman/spirit worker type things I have been putting off for a while now, it will all come into view.

So for now, I leave you with two thoughts based on my Journey:

1. Everything you do is a choice. You may feel like you have no say, like it’s the proper thing to do, that it is required of you, but in the end, the only things you have to do is “stay black and die!” (-Joe Clark, Lean on Me) That is, everything that is outside of your autonomic system is a choice. Spend a day being conscious of all your choices, every one. Do you always drink coffee that way, only because it was the way your mom drank coffee and so that made sense to you? Do you have to be someone’s girlfriend just because you slept with them last night? Do you know why you chose not to shower today, why you put your hair up, why you were mean to your coworker? Think about it, and become painfully aware of every single choice you make, and wonder what would happen if you fell out of step, made a different choice, went in a completely different direction?

2. Every time I go into surgery, I get a song stuck in my head. I have no idea why this was the song of my panniculectomy, but it was also heavily used as the background music for my Ordeal. It is “Pumped Up Kicks” by Foster the People. It is about school shootings, so that you’re trigger warning.

I like this second version a little better; and yes, I first heard this song on The Voice. Sue me.

 

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