During trying times, short spells of denial may render us numb, thus allowing us to function, day to day. On the other hand, long spells of denial imprison painful truths, which cast dark clouds over a person's sense of well being. If, with the passage of time, perception and reality fail to match up, a nagging sense of inner conflict develops and peace of mind does not return until the truth emerges, at last.
With the passage of time, a mind in denial may feel so defensive as to revise memories—meaning that we may not consciously recall certain moments as they actually took place.
Unfortunately: Upon revising memories, we're condemned to repeat mistakes.
As repeating mistakes is counterintuitive to anyone's welfare, I tend to write while memory is fresh. Upon rereading certain stories, hindsight reveals patterns of which I'd been unaware at an earlier time. In short, I enjoy writing stories for many reasons.
Through story telling, I experience the sweet nostalgia of connecting with loved ones, who've passed. Each time I sit down to write and emotion resurrects, the subconscious portion of my brain whispers 'secrets' into the ear of my conscious mind. As 'forgotten' emotions emerge on my screen, I stare in awe as thoughts shape into insights, one word at a time.
Sometimes I write while my friend, Antonio, cuts my hair. One day, Antonio's scissors stopped snipping as he said: Annie, I love to watch you write. Everything you're feeling shows on your face, and I can't help but wonder what you're thinking when a chuckle follows a frown. Then he went on to say: If you ever write a story about me, make sure you say I'm 'straight'. That made us both laugh. For thirty years, Antonio, his scissors and I have enjoyed a warm, trustful friendship. He and his mom were amongst the first people to visit the second time I was in intensive care. Somehow they smuggled in armfuls of flowers, which were given to patients with few visitors, because flowers and intensive care don't mix. So though I'd describe my friend as more sensitive than Rocky, Antonio—who's newly single and takes good care of his three sons—is most certainly an Italian stallion, who loves the ladies. And one day, the hilarity of his stories will show up in my blog. I know this, because they've been saved to my hard drive, for quite some time.
As TWINKLE, TWINKLE LITTLE STAR was saved to my hard drive, years ago, I wonder what's causing my conscious mind to resist copying this document to my blog.
Upon reflection, this possibility arises:
For the most part my summer has been light hearted. Common sense suggests that once I uncap this well, my subconscious may release waves of grief, which may dissolve my sense of peace.
Though denial staves off 'truths', too painful to bare, lugging that kind of baggage around is what weighs our spirits down.
Hopefully, I'm closing in on closet cleaning time—again.
Though you've watched me work at releasing painful 'secrets' before, I've no clue what Mother Nature may have seen fit to withhold from my conscious memory when I was a terrified tot.
So if I'm conflicted about diving into the deep then what feeds my need to perch on this diving board, now? Experience suggests that inner strength will entice my resistance to wain, because as soon as baggage, buried for decades, emerges, any pain that's released will have been worth the wait. And this is why I go about my day, practicing patience, until readiness to reclaim a lost 'truth' ripens.
And while most of my mind tends to daily tasks, one slice will perch on this diving board until—another slice of reality frees me of this ghost, which has haunted my sense of well being since I was three.
Upon taking this slow but steady approach in which subconscious turmoil is released in measured amounts, I maintain a sense of balance while exposing the difficult parts of my story.
As to why I feel the need to write this post, today?
I usually awaken with an eagerness to write. Today, I awoke with a subtle sense of dread. Dread serves to signal me that a painful memory is pushing against a locked door, which I've developed the strength to remember. And in hopes of relieving my mind of this heavy load, which developed into a subconscious fear of who-knows-what, my conscious mind is tunneling toward the key to unlocking this 'lost' memory—once and for all.
As you can see, waiting for the fearful side of my mind to gather the courage to believe me strong enough to achieve this goal takes a ton of patience. In fact, I had my annual physical, today, and my internist has been ministering to my health for thirty-five years, so we know each other well. Upon listening to me explain how much patience it takes to get my subconscious to release information, he laughed. "I want the fearful side of my brain to accept my readiness," I said. "But it just won't believe me, yet!" After laughing, together, he and I agreed that when it comes to accepting reality or sharing it's deep, dark secrets, our brains take their own good time.
GRRRRRR!
JYour friend, Annie
PS
What do you do
When a slice of your mind
Is perching on a diving board
Like mine?
Do you eat everything in sight?
Lose your appetite?
Stay awake at night?
Blame others when some aspect of life remains lame?
Drink yourself into oblivion?
Smoke weed?
Shoot up?
Though I've done it all—
Except for the last three
Thank God I write and write and write
Because with each insight I absorb
My mind strengthens
Denial weakens
And insight is invited
To stoke my energy source
With positive focus
Until the sum of my parts—
That being my mind, spirit and body—
Function as a healthy whole
And having reached this stage of life
I give myself permission to ponder, perch, purge and heal
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