the "Inside PTSD" collection:
- inside ptsd
- inside ptsd, the mad list
- inside ptsd, backstory
- inside ptsd, fleeing
- inside ptsd, two
- inside ptsd, remediation
- inside ptsd, three, rage
- inside ptsd, transaction costs
- time shift, inside the ptsd
- time shift three
- time shift two, still inside the ptsd
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode
- survive vs heal
- inside ptsd, body knows
- inside ptsd, body knows, part one
- one hour
- that same afternoon
- inside ptsd, more than a recollection
- inside ptsd, body knows 2
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 2
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 3
- inside ptsd, a student of trauma
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 4a
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 4b
- inside ptsd, the addiction episode, part 5
- inside ptsd, more than a recollection, part 2
- inside my midlife ptsd
- one day—the daylight part—inside ptsd
- inside ptsd, mere survival
- inside ptsd, economics
- one day, at night, inside ptsd
- on the outside, looking in
- inside ptsd, in the wind
- inside ptsd, in the wind, two
- a is for anxiety
- inside ptsd, the last match
- inside ptsd, addicted to addiction
- inside ptsd, outside looking in
- Day Three, Haunted
- inside ptsd, what it is
- inside ptsd, it takes time
- inside ptsd, the plea for understanding
- before the aftermath
temporary obliteration of self
as noted elswhwere, [surviving mindfulness] one of the challenges of ptsd + mindfulness, is that some days suck. or rather, the day is fine, lovely in fact, like today, 79 degrees and flowers and trees in refulgent expression of their beautiful lives.
but me, i, us, the royal we, the soul and person i have to live with, the voice that tells my fingers what to type b/c it's what we're experiencing right now, but we sometimes don't like certain days, and this is one of them.
maybe you recognize, and if so my work for today is complete; you don't feel so alone in this. i'm there, where it feels like i need Oh-Four, instead of Oh-Two—Oxygen. Where my feet don't fit my shoes and i limp for the discrpecy that i can't fix.
what i want is to feel better: soul in body with mind along for the ride. mind wants me to drive so s/he can can hang her head out (i guess gender shifts more than i noticed [breathe]). mind feels pre-menstrual, body wants to be unrestless and my fingers want to type. these words are small relief, truly, for the counter desire without this desire is temporary obliteration, of obligation and tethers. Dancing might suffice, too, but that's not this essay.
i notice the desire to obliterate my own mindful awareness of my current experience of life, sort of like an attentive, almost reckless plunging in. Mindful mayhem and mania, like i want to buy a fast motorcycle and drive it around Portland right at the speed limit, mad safe for all living beings.
but there's a line i know now that i rue ever forgetting.
this may be one of the most important understandings i've come to, that there is more to us than just us.
i had these moments, often lengthy, and not infrequent for a spell a couple of years ago, where i was able to step outside of my earth-bound self, and literally rise above, to a height of ~4 miles, not as high as a cruising jet, and from the height i could see how each of us is like a stream of energy in the sky, like clouds but many more colors, and more vertical than horizontal, and more numerous and smaller than clouds, and moving, like sea grass sways undersea in a middling current.
but it became absolutely clear that we are connected; we literally not only inhabit the same atmosphere, sunlight, gravity and terra, but we are co-members, all of us, of a fabric of energy that holds us like countless mobile safety pins pierced through a massive quilt, or tons of quilts much smaller—whatever allusion helps you see that we are distinct, but the edges between our selves and the shared fabric is fuzzy, the boundaries are not crisp, and our energies and that of the fabric fluctuate. we were/are like ice cubes in a giant punch bowl, each our own particular mix of color and history, intention and countenance, body-specifics and will. and slowly, over time, we erode back into the punch, we return to the source, and the source is Love so that's part two of all this.
to recap, there are two realizations
we are more than we are - when i was able to step outside myself, i could see myself whole, total, complete—yet another soul careening through time and space on planet earth, and by gaining that vista, i could love myself as deeply as i loved anyone else. and everyone's else's mistakes or shame or mayhem, i could understand. But for the grace of God go i.
Love - that fabric mentioned above, that's All Love. It's the fifth dimension to our third and fourth, it's our container and the answer to every question. Love, and do what you will.
That's why we're here.
But back to our story.
So today was rickety: i didn't accomplish anything of value that i could easily guage, i felt out of sync from waking till now, early evening, pre-dancing. I didn't fit into today.
So the desire arose to erase my capacity of noticing all this, to reduce myself to a simply sensate create experiencing a physical body with nothing more than primal desires: no thoughts, plans, suggestions, critiques, deliverables or assignments. No shoulds or what abouts, just a simple, nearly mindless passing through the next few hours.
But two things are different this time around, me being in my fifties rather than 19. One, i can see this desire from afar, and behold it. I can contemplate it and still derive some of the gain i would get for actually plunging in.
And two, should i decide to imbibe heavily, say, or forgo sleep in order to become more disoriented to these grubby planes of existence, i will do it while watching me do it.
Now, i'm still subject to the laws of physics here, no matter how many vodka martinis someone like me could drink on any given early evening. i will still pay the price tomorrow, will sleep shitty tonight, but that might be worth the price of temporary oblivion.
Because paying attention is exhausting half the time, when all is want is to Love well, but i doubt my own capacity to do anything than suck oxygen for 16 waking hours.
Thank you plants. Maybe if i say thanks like that enough i'll earn my rent for the day. [link to daily-rent]
next level observation was this: yes, each of us is like a towering tree of energy, an mobile drifting rooted cloud of mini-icebergs, and we each are, as much as anything, driven by desire.
i want to get up, so i do i want to work, so i do etc
anyway, where it all begins, according to some sages i seek to dwell with, four gents i strive to be worthy of hanging out w/ in the other realms. Anyway, it's desire.
That's why we're here in the first place. [see desire-gratefulness]