Starry Night

One of the few things I can do to help myself with the pain is to “go somewhere else” in my mind.  If I follow my muse, it leads me out of the path of the abyss, one of my favorite places to hang out when I’m on the pity potty.  Speaking of which…and as an aside…my sister in law sent me this link to a company called “Squatty Potty”  It’s about helping with chronic constipation by squatting, instead of sitting, which is a relatively new concept (the past 100 years or so).   I realize my issues are somewhat unique, but this is a simple thing that just might help.  Visit the site if you like: http://www.squattypotty.com/ and see what you think.  My order is shipping to me this week, so we shall see.  I am back to being constipated again…one extreme or the other, if you get my drift.

Back to disappearing myself into another place, another time.  It’s not quite meditation; more like a shamanic conversion, as I mentioned in another post.  I do it sometimes when I’m writing…that drifting off thing everyone does, only when you are focusing on one thing, it’s a bit different than zoning out.  And it’s not the same as being high, though I don’t get high from my drugs.  They either help with the pain or not.  Still, I don’t drive after taking something, or smoking my medical marijuana.  It’s weird, because on rare occasions, I WILL feel a bit high, but it’s not often at all.  Almost never, actually.  That’s why the whole drug thing for pain patients is so outrageous. Under medicating someone in agony is torture.  Our drug laws around this issue (for pain) could be used against the enemy as a form of torture, I kid you not.   But unless you are dealing with intractable, chronic pain, you don’t know.  That’s okay, not to know.  But to judge is not okay.  Read my entitled “Pharmacists and other Sordid Judges” It’s an earlier piece, but addresses this issue.  To have people who don’t know you from Adam sit in judgment of you is horrible….but it happens all the time and certainly not just to people like me.  People are judged in the media instantly.  I always try and remember that whatever is being discussed, most likely I wasn’t there, therefore I don’t know.  Period.

I want to find a quiet place to rest my weary bones, my weary mind, my weary mind.  A safe place, where I am not in pain, not fighting for every penny.  And to be grateful for what I DO have, which is a lot.  I was out on my deck this evening, putting grates back up between the slats so Oliver can go out there safely.  Of course, those hummingbirds look pretty good to him, so I have to watch him….he doesn’t like it much out there these days anyway…too cold.  Anyway, when I was done, I turned around and looked inside my living room.  One light was on, my throws were tossed on the couch, a book was opened and music was playing.  I stopped and looked at it in awe and thought to myself, imagine you are homeless.  Imagine you are looking at someone else’ s safe, warm, dry place, with food in the cupboards, a fireplace for real fires, and of course, Oliver   I was so overwhelmed I almost started crying.   I mean, I think of these things and give thanks for what I have, but looking at it in the eye is different.   Whatever it is, it’s important to think of what you do have, not what you don’t.

And having what you want or what you think you want is unimportant because it’s impermanent.  But wanting what you have is a different thing all together because it includes the bad, the stuff we think we don’t want.   But everything we have or don’t have teaches us something.  And accepting it, embracing it, giving thanks for it….that’s the ticket to the other side.  I don’t mean death; I just mean the other side of the coin of life.

Blessings