Be a light unto oneself–The Buddha… Awareness is a state of mind in which the observer with its choice is not–Krishnamurti… History as a whole is a progressive, gradually self-disclosing revelation of the Absolute–Schelling… The secret of life is to be who you are, true to yourself– Joseph Campbell… The dream is the small hidden door in the deepest and most intimate sanctum of the soul–Carl Jung… Life’s work, the study of things themselves in the streets of life in the night–Jack Kerouac…
And what is your favorite quote?
“Go on and break you crazy heart” –Hank Williams
Another battle of the Heart versus the Head…
This should have been a day of joy and happiness… a celebration; but I chose not to attend and thus ruined the party for all concerned. Well, maybe not all concerned as some were glad the party didn’t take place at all.
But what do I feel and doesn’t it count for anything? That little intuition inside me kept saying, “no way, you can’t go through with this” even though I fought it tooth and nail out of fear that I was destroying a life. Better to ruin my life than another. Is that not the chivalrous thing to do?
What nonsense, cried our Pilgrim. Be true to thyself!
Yes, whispered the heart, fingers crossed, bowing slightly to the head. Likewise exclaimed the head winking back to the heart.
Under the influence of the dark side of a dark moon, or was it an angel?
I was lying in bed one night and saw colors on the ceiling… colors in stripes of reds, blues, yellows and greens. The room was black so the tint of these colors was dark but distinctly each their own shade.
It was while I was considering the display on my ceiling that I first heard the music. My hands felt my ears for headphones, but I didn’t have any on. It was as though the sounds were coming from within me, from my being. And it was beautiful music; I kept thinking I’ve got to remember this melody. All the while I knew I was hallucinating, none of this was real. But the song was such that I couldn’t possibly want to forget it… as it was becoming fainter and fainter, floating away like a cloud and then it was gone along with the colors from above.
Continue reading Part 7- Hallucinations… Song in the Key of ‘P’
The darkest stretch of night is just before the dawn. So one cannot help but be enthralled by the silent majesty in a cold dark winters morning; Brother Moon sits overhead in a pool of stars with Venus, the Virgo queen, in her disguise as the morning star, hovering close behind just as the eastern horizon gives birth to the first panes of light emerging from the sun.
One such morning, I noticed a thin line of clouds that lay in the sky and as the new-born light appeared the clouds became a boundary between the light and the dark. It seemed I could have entered into each of these worlds upon request. And these same clouds turned a fiery orange as the corona of the sun crept into the horizon and seemed to burn away into the hemisphere.
I see poison arrows aimed towards me like the accusations that I can’t comprehend. I am dumbfounded as to their origin as I ask myself, “Why are they pointed at me?” So I become defensive and try to deflect even though I haven’t a clue as to why or where or when. I lose a piece of my soul with every explanation and every altercation. I am tearing myself apart. Until one day upon leaving without a key to return, I figure maybe this has nothing to do with me.
“Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.” -Oscar Wilde
“On the outskirts of every agony sits some observant fellow who points.” -Virginia Woolf
The program director for Raleigh Research called me up the other day and asked if I’d partake in a two-day overnight clinical trial to test a device which sticks to your skin much like a nicotine patch. It measures motor symptoms such as balance, stiffness and slow movement, to name a few, their decline is the result of Parkinson’s disease. But the most obvious motor symptom it will measure is ‘tremor’; the consistent uncontrollable shaking of one hand, as is the case with my right hand.
Continue reading Part 6- Tremor… I’m All Shook Up
In time I also heard a singular voice whisper to me as though it were an echo of words spoken long ago that keeps going and will forever sound through the epochs of time as long as love and compassion inhabit this Earth… “There are many ways to touch and kiss the sky.”
Pure imagination, without form, the absence of ego, vertical, the freedom of an oak, the rhyme between two words, the silence between two sounds, an open book, a lost manuscript, the knowing that knows it knows not, the rhythm in blues, Perceval in search of the Grail, a student of all, a teacher on call, a joyful boat, a river that runs, a pond with no ripples, a son of the light, a light in the dark, a smile, a good word, the rider of a horse that knows no reins, the left hand way, the dark side of the moon, acceptance, hope, faith, intention, a symphony, a play, a comedy, pure spirit, centered, mindful, altruistic, an enlightened rogue… at peace.
“The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it,” -John 1:5
It was the medical treatment with an emphasis on medication, exercise and mindfulness that came to my rescue from the deep-sea of cognitive and physical disparity. Those who knew me at the beginning of this ordeal and see me now comment on how much better I seem. With excited eyes they infer that the doctors must have made a mistake, the diagnosis was wrong, you’re not sick! So when they ask how, I tell them the truth, “I’m on drugs.” Suddenly they get this quizzical look on their face, not knowing what to say. I reassure them, “it’s still the same me shaking under this mask of medication. I’m in control with a little help from my friends… for now”. Then it suddenly occurs to me, what an absurd statement that is; am I ever really in control. Yes, on some days you have to look a little closer to see if I have Parkinson’s at all. But it’s there and never really gets too far away, tied at the hip it seems constantly waiting for the next adventure. Continue reading Part 5- Meds… The Art of Symptoms and Side Effects
“If you would tell me the heart of a man, tell me not what he reads, but what he rereads,” -François Mauriac
In an old cave or a treasure chest it may seem, scattered throughout pages and to-do list, I have collected fragments of writing without a home, with no prospects in sight. These words are to the point and do not own any lavish pretenses of grandeur. They simply speak their truth as directly as possible, such as the truth a child will convey out of sheer innocence. I fear that these ‘short verse’ will fill volumes if I allow them as much and bring me to task for my truth. But I will do away with my unwanted proposition of fear and let this winding road of words take me to where they may lead.
“I would hurl words into this darkness and wait for an echo, and if an echo sounded, no matter how faintly, I would send other words to tell, to march, to fight, to create a sense of hunger for life that gnaws in us all,” -Richard Wright
*adapted into Echoes In The Dark