Monday, March 22, 2010


Pain is an interesting phenomenon. At least with me. The past five weeks or more I have been battling with a couple of fractured ribs and a fractured vertebrae. They have won; every day, every consuming moment of that day. Thankfully pain has receded. I am now able to sleep through the night, and while awake, sit at the computer without pain. But the former pain crushed hope, and belief, and others. There was no desire to commumicate; only survive. Alone, even helpers, welcome and generous as they might be, were in an outside world. Needs were shared; but not feelings or thoughts. Which brings me to my point in all this. Sorry to those loyal or adventurous readers of this blog for not posting any written work . I am beginning to write as you can see...and think...beyond the demanding selfish embrace of pain. More sunlight, I promise to you, tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. More "tales told by an idiot" to follow.

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

Escaping the Hell of Semi-Consciousness

Last night I went to bed at 2 AM. I was tired, so I thought with exhaustion and Ambien I could go staight to deep sleep, escape the bother of semi-consciousness, wherein, in that state before deep sleep, dreams surrounded the peaceful self, and, in that state,I repeat the day's activities, the years, my entire lifetime: seeking change, to better organize the choices I made.

How silly; as if history, the past, were malleable to betterment. It is as it is; and we must accept it. With acceptance comes sleep; with or without Ambien. The past is a pillar of salt. To look back is to locate it forever.

Why do we return to the past? I've always thought a return to the past was an attmpt to correct it, find a way to truly fix it. Then last night, during that semi-conscious agonizingly repetetive returnings, I received a reply to all my failed yesterdays; just before the grateful, peaceful sleep, it dawned on me: we return to the broken, unfulfilled past to desperately find a reason not to blame ourselves for its outcome; to find some exogenous 'other-than-self' reason why Sally left us, we didn't get into the college of our choice, or why the condo we bought high and sold low couldn't have been otherwise. It is a futile search, and once we accept the personal responsibility to our fate, the self-architecture of our own design, we sleep.

I woke up, having finally had a long peaceful sleep, and saw starkly before me a long life absent the courage to be right. I had learned to be compliantly wrong, almost sensual in my adaptation to others. My straight back was now curved fitting to others' opinions, reflecting a lifetime of wrapping wrongs against my chest, as if to nourish them, to give milky succor to their lies and errors, stupidity and sanctimoniouness.

To others I gave up the god within me. And now these others smile, hiding the sneer that goes with their success. My child of destiny is gone. The only comfort is that my failure will soon be irrelevant; semi-wakeful fear will no longer brutally beat against me, stinging in its mirrored truth. Soon I will close my eyes forever, and eternal death will end the pain of that final reflected clarity.