1468 D WAIT TILL YOU SEE WHAT A DIFFERENCE WAITING A DAY MAKES!

(Written last summer, recovered from drafts, today)
It's mind blowing to think that undiagnosed emotional trauma (experienced during
The earliest stages of a child's character development) remains empowered to
Wage war against a well-educated adult's wealth of solution-seeking skills until
PTSD has been astutely diagnosed:

Beginning at the highly impressionable age of three (at which time
Arguments, connecting death with guilt, raged back and forth between
Grief stricken adults), my defense system protected my vulnerable mind by
Erecting a mental block, separating my conscious awareness from
Feelings of guilt-ridden worthlessness, festering behind
My impenetrable wall of emotional denial, creating
The primary inner conflict, which divided my sense of wholeness in
Half, and resultant of that wall layering up as years passed
The existence of that Great Divide inside my brain remained
Unidentified until about two decades ago, at which time
My subconscious storehouse of deeply repressed angst felt
Too overwhelmed to stuff even one more painful reaction behind
That solid mental block, which had split my mind into
Opposing duelists following Janet's tragic death
And just like a dike that can hold back only so much rising water
My many-layered wall of denial begin to crack when
Will and I experienced deeply painful reasons to
Separate, two decades back, and resultant of
My lifelong repression of anger, no one felt as stupefied as me
To watch my spirit exhaust and fall flat on its face—so hard had my
Defense system worked to patch that wall of denial behind which
An overwhelming assortment of deeply repressed (and at times
Shallowly suppressed), hot blooded emotion felt like
TNT, threatening to explode—from within the very depths of
The portion of my self-assertive voice, which, having remained
Frozen in silence ever since I was three, suggested my not having
Developed the facility with words to clearly express (describe)
Complex emotions in desperate need of release, and since
The cracking of my wall of denial, layer by layer, felt
As tortuously painful as if I’d been breaking
My bones, one by one, I had no clue of the fact that
Psychological changes of monumental consequence in
Conjunction with the advancement of delayed
Emotional development were taking place, deep within
My psyche, which would, over time empower
The stalled development of my existential voice to
Seek out professional guidance, trained to encourage
My inner strengths to emerge, inspiring my sense of
Courage to work toward understanding my intuitive need to

Dismantle my wall of denial, layer by layer, so as to
Free subconscious fears, angers and longings, which
I’d resisted naming as my own, to be consciously
Experienced and embraced, suggestive of the fact that
Though painful, each painful growth spurt has proved to
Be a very good thing in terms of my psyche’s
Step by step achievement of personal gain by
Tapping into my lifelong need to rebalance
My undeveloped sense of symmetry between
Emotional complexity and logical solution seeking prowess

Over these past two decades, my wall of denial (which, over
My lifetime, had served to block my conscious awareness from
Identifying repressed fears and fury, burning my peace of mind to a crisp
Surfaced, from time to time in the unrecognizable guise of high anxiety)
Continued to crack, freeing spurts of repressed anger to seep through
My line of control (albeit my wall of denial) scaring my positively focused
Perception of myself half to death, catalyzing my survival instinct to alert
My adrenal glands to excrete such an over-production of adrenaline
(Readying me to fight for my freedom or flee for my life), which coursed so
Furiously through my inferior venacava as to race into the lower chambers of
My heart at so quick a pace as to flood my ventricles with
Unoxygenated blood until ultimately, the day dawned, during
The summer of 2015, when I, finding myself grilled in the hot seat, felt
My line of emotional control struggling not to buckle as my suppression
Of yesteryear’s terrifying sensations of deeply repressed fear of
Anger and pain threatened to burst through layers of denial, which
Thanks to my having chosen to courageously engage in
Reprocessing sessions of EMDR therapy, had been undergoing
A thinning out process in hopes of freeing my adult awareness to
Ready my sense of wholesomeness to re-experience
A steady stream of undefined pain, searing so deeply into
My chest as to make me surmise that this must be
Heart burn, suggesting my having had no conscious clue that
My overtaxed ventricle was expressing SOS signals of
Extreme distress until the overwhelmed state of
My circulatory system, which had normally functioned like clockwork
Had become physically disabled when the quickness of my pulse
Pumped so much blood through my inferior venacava, which
Upon reaching the heart valve leading into my flooded ventricle, found
No space to deposit additional blood rushing non stop through
My vessels, and though Will and I had not yet surmised that
My heart was signaling SOS, that changed as pain, thought to be

Heartburn, began to shoot down my left arm, alerting Will to
Pull our car into a McDonald's parking lot (we had been on
Our way to meet cousins for pizza) to call 911, and within minutes
A well trained team of paramedics, swept my body, now curled into
The fetal position, legs trembling as though begging for oxygen of
Which they'd been deprived, onto a stretch, where I went for
An ambulance ride that deposited me in a midwestern, suburban
ER, where an elevation of heart protein, as seen in
My blood test, offered the cardiologist on duty sound reason to
Prepare me for an angiogram, which clearly showed a portion of
My blood flooded ventricle's inability to contract, causing
Unoxygenated blood to well up within that painstricken
Chamber of my now overtaxed heart, leading to my being
Diagnosed with Takotasubo, necessitating my admittance into
The hospital's cardiac intensive care unit, where, having been
Medicated into a drug induced stupor, my survival instinct's
Over production of adrenaline decreased so steadily, overnight
As to restabilize my heart muscle, which resumed pumping
Unoxygenated blood so naturally from within my fully functioning
Free flowing inferior venacava as to unparalyze my ventricle, which
Upon contracting, naturally, proceeded to fill my auricles, which
In turn, released blood, depleted of oxygen, upward through
The valve opening into my anterior venacava which
Feeds the network of vessels that conveys streams of blood
Steadily into both of my lungs, where oxygen
Filtering directly into my bloodstream, nourishes every atom that
Makes my body as a whole function as smoothly as
Clock work as long as my circulatory system instinctively transports
Essential nutrients in an evenly distributed manner throughout
My highly complex, cellular structure once deeply repressed
Fear of rage and newly suppressed, heart wrenching stress, which
Together, had catalyzed an adrenaline rush to overwhelm
The natural cadence of  my circulatory system, causing
Oxygen-deprived, muscular tension to contract more
Severely than ever before until a drug induced sensory relaxation
Led to my overnight recovery at which time Will, making
Sound use of his voice, made me promise to never suppress stress
So deeply as to scare him so completely as had been true when
His surgical mind's eye had kept a constant vigil on my
Deeply drugged vitals throughout his sleepless night
Notably, being a surgeon, medical emergencies have historically scared
My husband's sense of safety to a much lesser degree than had
Proved true of me; however those tables had turned when
I'd promised Will that Takotasubo would nary again darken our door
And ever since then, I've sensed that, someday, my well-practiced
Intuitive powers will spotlight the missing insight, thus
Enlightening my conscious awareness as to how best to
Modify my defense system's habitual repression of
Extreme stress so as not to overload my vessels with
Such a flood of adrenaline as to cause unoxygenated blood to
Rush so hotly into my heart as to overwhelm
My ventricular function, creating reason for
Another ambulance ride to the ER, and by golly
It just dawned on me that my lengthy intuitive quest to dive
Ever more deeply within my mind until that coveted
String of insights, which had promised to emerge, has
Finally managed to surface, as though all on its own, this
Week, when I came to see my need to steady my memory's
Calm, cool, serene, clear-headed, self-confident sense of
Objectivity, most especially at those times when my best character traits
Feel strapped into the hot seat, so that rather than feeling grilled under fire
My connection to self worth remains as cool as a cucumber, through and
Through, as proves true, right now, when much to my heart's delight
Today's intuitive stream of consciousness has catalyzed
The conjoining of six years worth of stringing insights, together, in hopes of
Freeing my sense of wholesome innocence to feel worthy of love no matter
To whom or how often I feel need to say: No, I can't satisfy your needs over
Mine, today, because, at last, my development of objective self awareness has
Cleared my subconscious of undeserved guilt, suggesting my having freed
My rebalanced adult self assessment to give voice to my personal unmet needs without
Harboring conflicting feelings of being a bad, selfish disobedient child, at all!

Holy smokes!  Hip hip hooray!!!

Today's insight-driven, conscious stream of intuitive awareness has

Certainly offered my spirit's self confident sense of
Objective self worth sound reason to
Sparkle from within the serene, heartfelt depths of my soul, Amen!

1468C INSIGHT LADEN, INTUITIVE THOUGHT INSPIRES HEALING FROM THE INSIDE OUT

(Written last summer, recovered from drafts, today)
If you've been following my blog then you know that over most of my life, I'd had no conscious clue of harboring a set of interrelated subconscious fears, each of which haunted my peace of mind with sensations of, one day, being left to fend for myself,  feeling as alone as I had misconceived at the impressionable age of three during a span of utterly confounding, grief-stricken months in the aftermath of my grandfather's and baby sister's unexpected deaths, and here's how that set of inter-related, unidentified fears would be titled upon full disclosure to my conscious awareness, today:

FULLY-EMERGED SUBCONSCIOUSLY INTER-RELATED FEARS NUMBERING ONE THROUGH TEN

Curious for more?
Okay, here they come—one by one:

Fully emerged fear number ONE born of a childhood experience:
I'd had no conscious clue of harboring a subconscious fear of holding myself reprehensibly accountable for my baby sister's death ... (after hearing my God-fearing grandma charge my grief-stricken mother with being responsible for her baby's death ...)

Fully emerged inter-related fear number TWO born of a childhood experience:
I'd had no conscious clue of harboring a subconscious fear of explosive anger (casting blame upon the innocent heads of grief-stricken survivors of family tragedy), which proved far too complex for the undeveloped think tank of a three year old to fathom when every spirit, upon whom she'd depended, was seen drowning in the turbulence of emotional rapids that swirled darkly into depression based in the fact that unresolved anger, swallowed, turns inward, lying in wait to resurface some time in the future, releasing the dark side that had swallowed the spirit of a traumatized child (now grown to be an adult) whole.

Fully emerged inter-related fear number THREE born of a childhood experience:
I'd had no conscious clue of harboring a subconscious fear, charging my conscious awareness with hyper-vigilance in order to not be responsible for the future death of one of my children (though you'd have thought that my need to purchase an extra grave, several decades back, would have offered my conscious awareness a clue as to why my intuitive powers felt need to seek out a variety of therapists until one counselor had the insight to recommend another, who, having been well-trained in EMDR therapy, has astutely associated my episodic bouts of spiking anxiety with undiagnosed PTSD.  (Common sense suggests that a deep-seated fear, which remains unidentified over a person's lifetime, is close to impossible to resolve.)

Fully emerged inter-related fear number FOUR born of a childhood experience:
I'd had no conscious clue of harboring a subconscious fear of being seen as so fat as to be surrounded and painfully belittled by male derision, forever, as had been true of Miss Piggy when what was left of my subconscious self worth had been devoured alive by the lord of the flies on the school bus to Hell.

Fully emerged inter-related fear number FIVE born of a childhood experience:

I'd had no conscious clue of harboring a subconscious fear of making do with a lifetime of unremitting emotional and physically searing pain.

Fully emerged inter-related fear number SIX, born of a childhood experience:
I'd had no conscious clue of harboring a subconscious fear of feeling like prey, fated to endure rape, repeatedly, to feed raw animal lust lurking behind the attentiveness of a man who'd betrayed an innocent child (whose subconscious fear of angering authority figures had curtailed the on-going development of the self assertive portion of her voice, which having been too traumatized to clearly express her personal needs ever since the age of three, had led to her quiet submission, participating in acts that deepened her self esteem's sense of trauma ...)

Fully emerged inter-related fear number SEVEN born of a childhood experience:
I'd had no conscious clue of harboring a subconscious fear of personal worthlessness that ran so deep as to spontaneously depress my spirit if smiles did not answer every heartfelt vigil that my mind's eye focused upon my extended family's sense of safe keeping.

Fully emerged inter-related fear number EIGHT born of a childhood experience:
I'd had no conscious clue of harboring a subconscious fear of worrying over death separating loved ones before each felt free to reveal the depth of their bottled up love for each other, until, finally, my strength of spirit plum wore itself out, and devoid of energy necessary to safeguard anyone's safe-keeping, my survival instinct drew my body into my bedroom (as my mother before me had done after her mother had condemned her innocent daughter guilty of offending God by shopping on the Sabbath), whereby upon crawling under the covers, 63 year old me curled into the fetal position, feeling mentally, physically and emotionally spent with no conscious clue that this emergent, undiagnosed, full blown episode of PTSD had alerted my adult sons to pick up the proverbial baton of familial guardianship that I'd unknowingly picked up to safeguard my mother, first upon the death of my sister and then, again, upon the death of my father, when at the age of 87, her severely depressed spirit, which, yet again, could not rise from her bed, remained utterly resistant to admitting to her advanced age, and as such, her willful struggle to remain connected to her vanished youth refused to pass that baton to me ... and what else is new in the world at large when the older generation knows nothing about freely choosing to check into one's own subconscious fears, which give rise to stubborn attitudes that undermine loving relationships to the point of confounding and shattering everyone's peace of mind ... so sad, so true, too often ...

Fully emerged fear number NINE born of a childhood experience:
When told that everyone harbors a dark side, I'd no conscious clue of mine as having proved to be as dark as a black cat hiding under a ladder at midnight ...

Fully emerged suppressed (though not repressed) fear number TEN:
Fear that I'd never fully recover from episodic eruptions of PTSD, which would not have had reason to grow so severe had the vein-popping, furious finger of blame for the death of her child not been cast at my mother by her mother (a fact that my mother chose never to divulge to my father) during an impassioned argument, which I'd witnessed (several weeks after my grandfather's and then Janet's alarming 'disappearances') causing me, trembling with traumatized anxiety, to hide in a closet at the highly impressionable, terrified age of three—at which time, Mother Nature saw fit to save the highly impressionable mind of a small child's hold onto sanity by waving her magic wand, which erected a wall of denial behind which fears ONE through TEN layered up, taking permanent residence inside my brain until I sat down for my first session of EMDR therapy ... and ever since that day, I've thanked my therapist for guiding me patiently toward excavating my subconscious until one courageous, intiutive reveal tapped into a string of insights that led to the next—for example—

In summation of today's train of intuitive thought, memory has just released a moment in time about four decades back when I listened to a wearied, dispirited friend ask Will—Doesn't Annie ever get angry or sad or just plain tired?  I see her, every day when we pick up the kids from school, and she's always as cheerful, smiling and eager to be of help as if she'd never had a worry about anything—So strongly stacked had been my wall of denial as to have kept everyone's conscious awareness as clueless as mine, regarding my having harbored as many secrets from myself, fearfully locked within a dark side that proved darker than I or anyone who'd thought to know me well could have consciously imagined to be true behind my sunny smile.

And thus hath today's train of intuitive awareness offered my current sense of clarity the agility with which to identify this matched set of ten inner conflicts, which had from time to time felt stimulated by life experiences to release undiagnosed episodes of PTSD that, intermittently over my lifetime, had seeped out of (or blown straight through) my defense system's many layered wall of denial, leaving my peace of mind anxiously torn to shreds until the gentle approach of a therapist, trained in EMDR therapy, encouraged my intuitive intelligence to muster the patience, courage and humility necessary to determinedly and conscientiously tolerate the mental tension associated with proactively peeling back one layer of denial after another, resulting in my reliving multiple strikes of yesteryear’s unsealed high anxiety until this intersecting set of deeply repressed, subconscious fears emerged, all at once, and as knowledge is power, so serene has my attitude of self worth become as to note that penning today’s post hath not initiated so much as even a hint of spiking subconscious anxiety to interfere one iota with the strength of my thought processor's connection to clarity as each of these identified fears, bolstered by inner strengths, marched out of my intuitive memory, today ...

See why I couldn't expand upon yesterday's budding insights, which, though threatening to burst into full bloom, were overwhelming my think tank with anxious confusion until today's intuitive string of insights blossomed, offering me the readiness to name and absorb this matched set of fully emerged fears, which had need to ripen on the vine at a leisurely pace so as to flow ever so naturally out of my consciously aware think tank, today, as would a finely aged wine, today.  Whew!

Happy wedding shower to my mom, seen with her mom on her right and dad's mom on her left

Circa 1941

My father had no clue of the impassioned power struggles that ensued between my grandmother and mother when he was at work, while I, hiding in the hall closet (dodging arrows that pierced my mother's grief-stricken heart), scratched anxiously hoping against hope that my hero—who'd assumed that his wife was still taking to her bed, because she could not yet absorb her infant daughter's untimely demise—would walk in our apartment at the end of each day, miraculously creating a ceasefire that would see a small child leap to safety into her father's welcoming, stout-hearted arms ...

Today in our world of self help, a three year old little girl who'd smiled and pleased by day and scratched by night till both bandaged arms had need of medical attention would, no doubt, find her traumatized self whisked into therapy before she'd turned four ... 

 If you asked whom this little girl (see bandaged arms) would have grown up to be had she not had my good fortune to have felt the depth of my extended family's adoration (as Ravi is adored) before turning three, I'd reply: 

 I don't know whom a little girl who had not felt adored until the age of three would have grown up to be; however, she most certainly would not have grown up to be me ...

No wonder why my mantra—Never Give Up On Knowing Yourself in Depth— continues to ring true no matter how complex life and our love relationships tend to be, because scary secrets, concerning deeper truths that we keep from ourselves, once revealed, liberate our crestfallen spirits from anger turned inward, which awaits excavation from subconscious storage throughout every stage of each person's life!

RERETIEVED FROM DRAFTS: TOFIXORNOTTOFIXTHATISTHEQUESTION

Before the age of three
My imaginative spirit
Danced around singing:
I a princess
I a ballerina
I a cowboy
I a horsey
I a puppy
I a lion
(Ravi, being iPad savvy, sings:)
I Elsa
I Cindaella
I Ariel
I Spirit
I Simba

At the age of three, a child’s imagination has no bounds. I, like Ravi, was whoever (or whatever) I chose to be until tension, crackling like lightening through dark clouds of grief, engulfed my little corner of the world within a state of terror so darkly confounding as to have hotwired my intuitive powers to go to great lengths to save my loved ones from succumbing to relentless rip tides of emotional pain that dashed each other’s spirits to the rocks; however it was not until recent years that Fate offered me reason to grow so self aware as to perceive of my empathetic presence as having drawn forth a heartfelt sense of inner strength that proved much more soothing to others than I'd consciously known ... and at the same time that I'd remained blind to that deeper truth, my conscious awareness remained blind to this one, as well:  In addition to having swallowed my self assertive voice, I’d been taught to draw forth my smile to act as my umbrella whenever my spirit felt need to grieve over a heartfelt loss of my own, thus serving to exacerbate my sense of inner conflict by separating the depths of my pain from my conscious (self protective) attitude, which defied reality by clinging bravely to my perennial position of positive focus while tears, left unshed deep inside collected into a turbulent ocean of repressed grief, which was bound break through my dam, giving way to waves of angst so powerfully overwhelming as to crash through my wall of denial, drowning my life force of every last drop of energy, leaving my spirit, sans sparkle, feeling so gravely bereft of life sustaining sunshine as to suggest why my self protective smile, like that of The Cheshire Cat, was eventually seen languishing alone midair while the rest of me disappeared suggesting that at times when hope (for change for the better) feels utterly beaten by mixed-message-madness, tis wise to remind oneself that cats have nine lives!

At the age of three
I was not meant to seek refuge from anxiety itching for relief by scratching at night while my life Force drifted dispiritedly from one loved one's frown to another by day ... however that was my fate until such time as my defense system kick started my intuitive powers to snap to attention, breathing life into the silent, yet deeply observant witness, whose processor grew up to be an astute, self disciplined detective, assembling details that construct bigger pictures, concerning both sides of human nature, whenever puzzling situations arise, today.

Before the age of three
My survival instinct kicked in to jumpstart my intuitive need to leap over the classic nature of early childhood's egocentric development in favor of deeming myself The Family Fixer after subconscious fear had planted the seed of that ambitious 'plan' deep within the anxious portion of a precocious preschooler's brain when it became apparent that not one adult think tank could conjure up a magic wand so powerful as to banish dark clouds of sorrow, which had descended over our kingdom ever since our precious baby could not be awakened from her perrenial nap, and as no magical fairy or charming prince, cantering upon a prancing white steed, appeared to rescue any of our spirits from this tragic spell that extended over many months during
The confounding aftermath of Janet's irretrievable loss, and as
Nothing I did could lift the gloom resultant of my family's agony, today's intuitive stream of consciousness-raising offers us the clarity to spotlight why an imaginative child's innate power of association breathed life into stories highlighting Cinderella's heartfelt kindness, The Ugly Duckling's loneliness, Sleeping Beauty's awakening to love's first kiss, and most especially, Snow White, who like Eve, had need to bite into an apple before awakening to the knowledge that after her Rip Van Winkle-like sleep, she had many lessons to learn concerning personal need to muster the courage to empower her voice with a self confident sense of assertiveness, thus ensuring that she'd not look back some day to find that subconscious fear had denied her the freedom to live life to the fullest, and with that truth in mind, did I consciously embrace the humility to identify and nip my self defeating attitudes in the bud by rescuing my diminished sense of self worth from deflecting my lovability so defensively as to grow toward absorbing love flowing toward me as heartfully as my sincerity offered it, openly and freely, thus disempowering my self defeating pattern of defensive self protection from provoking misunderstandings that most assuredly swerved my survival instinct toward pitching curve balls that dizzied the heads of the most self assured batter, who'd stepped up to the plate, hoping we’d connect, only to find himself striking out, back in the dugout, scratching his head ... And that begs the answer to a series of questions, which, having dizzied my smarts, catalyzed my conscious awareness to feel stymied concerning my subconscious need to embrace one of three roles:

Was I the character in my life story in need of saving?


Or
Was I the voice-over narrator?
Or
Was I the character whose valiant sense of courage had
Gained the lovestruck inner strength necessary to break every wicked spell that the fickle finger of Fate might cast across the peaceful path of any person whose distress chanced to intersect with my life, like the lonely stranger whom I’d invited to Thanksgiving dinner, one year, followed by the stranded damsel in distress, whom I'd met by chance at our airport and welcomed as a houseguest for three days while everyone who knew me rolled their eyes, shook their heads and laughed aloud as if to say ... there she goes again, saving the world, one person at a time ... and though the brevity of those anecdotes describe the generous nature of my empathetic spirit, let's be reminded of the anxious side of my mind, which had laid in wait for the other shoe to drop as if by dropping my guard, I'd feel as abandoned and lonely as had been true before the age of three, which, corresponding to our precocious Ravi's age, today, brings to mind a little girl, whose active imagination, knowing no bounds, literally stands before us in her princess gown, waving her 'madik' wand over our heads right before her sweet kisses soothe our boo boos away just as our kisses magically soothe hers ...

Interesting isn't it that the word grave slipped ever so
Quietly into today's train of thought, early on ... as though
Janet's tragic demise made all the difference, concerning
The choices I've made over most of my life until such time
As my magical mind and my smile’s irrepressible strength of spirit
Collapsed into a state of utter exhaustion, and having known
How much my spirit had loved to laugh and learn, and
Fondle, tickle, tease and frolic ... you can see why
Every atom that had shaped itself into a woman named
Annie felt utterly compelled to figure out the primary
Source of my inner torment, and unless you're new to
My blog, you pretty much know how I grew from
A frightened (yet always strong spirited) child, whose
Conjoined fears of death, emotional abandonment and
Bullying-mean-mindedness had silenced the assertive
Side of  my voice from rocking boats until recent
Growth spurts inspired by self respecting leaps of faith to
Offer my sense of emotional intelligence reason to develop the matured sense of self assured readiness to work single-mindedly, toward restructuring a refortified sense of my diminished self worth by discharging myself from feeling personally accountable for ensuring my extended family's connection to emotional safety, thus freeing my creative center to refocus my think tank upon conjuring up 'Three Step Fix-It' plans (which inspired my sons to develop existential voices of their own) so as to tame subconscious bouts of anxiety by shoring up a peaceful sense of self disciplined mental serenity at those times in life when others seem to have more screws loose in their heads than my intuitive sense of deeper truth suggests is true of me, and in hopes of working to sit my defense system in time out in order to free my processor to think smart while remaing heartfully connected to minds so reactive as to spin toward defensive angst as quickly as our Dreydls spin each time Chanukah rolls round, I’ve grown to control my emotional reactions from dizzying my sense of equilibrium to spiral off its newly rebalanced axis by calming my natural uprising of anxiety with this deeper truth:  By drawing forth patience I can rely upon my intuitive awareness to coach my mind's proactive need for positively focused change to maintain the peacefulness necessary to relax inner tension before my spirit runs out of gas causing my brainstorming solution-seeking plans to fall short of success
And thus do we come to see why: 
My intuitive powers thought the time was ripe to invite
The word grave to make a cameo appearance at the beginning of 
Today's post, highlighting my inner need to grieve and
Bury, not hope, but rather my subconscious attitude of
Negativity, which had waited for the other shoe to drop ever
Since I’d felt emotionally abandoned within a nightmare at
The highly imaginative age of three, when Fate undermined
My strength of spirit, which, if deeper truth be so bold as to
Speak aloud today would most assuredly declare
My wholesome sense of innocence utterly determined to
Free itself of angst-driven anxiety so as to feel as
Positively focused, through and through, as is
Humanly possible for any person wit an egocentric
Defensive survival instinct to be, though
Another deeper truth suggests reminding myself that
None can stoke the human mind to feel
Perpetually happy, hopeful, creative, serene, courageous
Positively focused and high spirited when the political
Powers of leadership act so crazy as to turn blind eyes and
Deaf ears to the thunderous fears that are running
Rampant throughout our entire world, today
And though this is not an up note to end on, tis time to
Recharge the intuitive wand inside my head that taps into
The mindful magical majesty of memory, which, conjoining
Proactively with the creative center that exists within
Every human brain, inspires my heartfelt eagerness to
Switch tracks from writing of grief and guilt and graves toward Fetching Ravi, whose happy spirit feels as eager to enjoy
Today's mutually enriching play date as is true of my own ...

And if I surmise that my writing style, which tends to rhyme from time to time, falls closer to
The Cat In The Hat than The Sound And The Fury then finding myself landing midway between those literary giants is not a bad place for a writer to take a stand, suggesting if it ain’t broke don't fix it and if it is broke it might not be mine to fix ...

A BIT OF REVIEW FOLLOWED BY SEEING IS BELIEVING

Tis good to know that I feel at peace with the fact that the train of thought posted yesterday had not been published, last summer when originally penned, because this is the first time that thoughts of sexual abuse have not stimulated yesteryear’s unresolved anxiety to spike—smiting today’s inner strengths with undeserved guilt—and this conscious change for the better, concerning my connection to personal growth, makes me wonder if my intuitive intelligence had a hand in setting this post in drafts until such time as my processor felt so clear of muddled emotion (associated with the death of a loved one) as to review insights, which had begun to emerge around the time of Jeremy's passing, offering my subconscious memory reason to compare the very first, gravely sad time that I'd experienced a confounded sense of emotional turbulence in the aftermath of Janet's death when I, having lost sight of my self worth, could no longer hear my assertive voice attempting to speak aloud, because the original key to unlocking deeply buried secrets that I'd kept from myself could not be retrieved until my intuitive adult readiness sought out ‘the teacher’, whose knowledgable, patient guidance appeared, just like magic, several years back—and hopefully, this post and those to follow, which will also be retrieved from drafts, may lead my inner sense of wholeness toward inviting you to enjoy the magic carpet ride that will open our hearts and minds to absorbing insights regarding early adult experiences, which had once been mine, so as to show you how my absorption of undeserved guilt had catalyzed a subconscious fear that my personal survival depended upon swallowing my assertive voice whenever my thoughts differed from that of my parents ... though my subconscious need to quest toward retrieving the key to free my fearless independent spirit awaited a growing sense of intuitive readiness ... forever.

And that last insight leads me ask:  Have you a clue as to which childhood memory serves as the key to open the door in your wall of denial, behind which your existential spirit awaits the freedom to embrace your heart’s desire, which perpetually feels just beyond reach?

No matter how bold you see yourself to be, deeper truth suggests that every brain harbors a wall of denial behind which subconscious fear flogs your spirit with spikes of anxiety based in negatively focused inner conflicts (concerning your self worth), which narrow your choices, and that insight leads me to ask:  If you’ve not yet fully recovered from the primary childhood experience that had catalyzed your fledgling self-worth to feel so harshly chastised and spiritually disgraced as to condemn the innocence of the wounded child within to carry forth a subconscious sense of undeserved guilt throughout every stage of your life, might today’s intuitive train of thought offer up the turning point whereby your intelligence freely chooses to muster the courage, humility and patience to work toward creating a conscious change for the better by questing ever more deeply within your psyche in hopes of inspiring your intuitive powers to penetrate your wall of denial so naturally as to tap into strings of insight spotlighting raw spots of subconscious pain thus igniting hindsight to empower your conscious adult intelligence with the key that opens the door in the wall relieving your processor of the mental block that forbade you to free your adult spirit to soar as high as had been true before the heavy burden of undeserved guilt had been absorbed by the vulnerable nature of a child’s think tank, pressuring you to over achieve, beginning with this most highly impressionable stage of your life, and once intuitive hindsight illuminates insight into the anxious sense of guilt that has confounded your processor with mixed messages concerning your self worth, overlong, the portion of your existential voice that remains stuck in your throat to this very day will feel free to assert itself naturally and clearly each time your mouth opens, releasing a sense of blocked emotion that flows forth as spontaneously as an undammed river, rushing past its rocky rapids, as though seeking to flow peacefully and harmonically into the open arms of the welcoming sea ...