Written and posted, today, Monday, August 19th ...
With each episode of PTSD ( or in my case PLTG as in pain leading to gain) my hard won inner strengths eventually expand and deepen like the roots of a tree, which serve to nourish and stabilize its trunk—or in my case, the core of my self worth—which, while branching out ever more securely, also grows so well grounded as to weather each next storm that reality suggests must be borne.
As to what I need most whenever a current situation overwhelms my thought processor (by sucking my self worth into a subconscious eruption of yesteryear’s haunting, daunting, little house of horrors) is threefold—unconditional love, emotional support and time wisely spent with my therapist, who, being well trained in EMDR therapy, guides my processor (ever so patiently) toward spotlighting and rewiring each newly exposed, deeply traumatized, self depreciating pathway of thought, which, upon feeling stimulated to emerge from subconscious repression, distorts my current self image to match whatever I’d misconceived about my three year old self during the months following my baby sister’s death when nothing I did could hold back the emotionally reactive storms that had ‘declared’ any natural demonstration of ‘naughtiness’ on my part to be a burden too great to bear for every broken heart that I’d loved. And just as spontaneously as lightening had struck our home twice within a matter of weeks, initially, each uprising of PLTG burns my personal sense of self worth to a crisp right after anything that currently awakens an unprocessed fear left unidentified during childhood’s most traumatized moments prods each next episode of PTSD to erupt from its subconscious hideout to suck my processor’s connection to logic and personal safety into the little house of horrors, yet again, where, likened to my three year old brain, my adult think tank is stripped of its hard won, acquired inner strengths, leaving my processor feeling utterly powerless as well as furious that I’ve not yet wrestled this subconscious adversary to the mat—I mean seriously—as valiantly as I work to retrain my brain—where is my Rocky moment?
Please know full well that while I’m making my way ever so slowly but intuitively through this most recent eruption of deeply repressed childhood unprocessed pain, my well practiced power of intuition continues to muster the courage to take yet another leap of faith over yesteryear’s emergent fears concerning my unworthiness toward seeking insight into the specific causalities that triggered this lengthy strike of anxiety to spike so high as to stimulate my defense system to protect my stressed-to-the-max processor from bursting a cerebral blood vessel and stroking out by knocking out my think tank with one wallop of a punch, thus ‘shanghai-ing’ my connection to logic ... forcing my brain, which had been in a relentless state of overdrive for several months—beginning last October, when I was unable to ungarble my speech—to consider nothing other than my exhausted need to cocoon so as to—rest—rest—rest ... until deeply strained mental pain leads to gain, as in PLTG
Annie
PS
After sending this message
My heart, missing my friend, stirred
And much to my surprise
I chose to see her for a brief spell
The very next day ...
Monday, August 19, 2019
Thursday, August 15, 2019
LETS DEEPEN OUR UNDERSTANDING OF PTSD
Sometimes emotional reactiveness swirling around inside our brains is too overwhelming to think straight ... and that is definitely true of those who experience episodes of PTSD, most especially when sneak attacks of PTSD remain undiagnosed over most of one’s life.
Being that some of my self perceptions, concerning subconscious expectations, are still perfectionistic, I tend to feel much more angry with myself than with those who have wronged me, and that dichotomy creates swirling sensations of inner conflict so overwhelming as to spin my processor’s connection to logic into a state of dizziness that disrupts my think tank’s hold onto mental clarity. I have come to call episodes of PTSD ‘sneak attacks’, because they sucker punch my processor without so much as a hint of warning that my inner strengths, having stretched beyond human endurance, are succumbing to spiking anxiety that feels so darkly fearsome as to knock out any conscious connection to logic before I can acknowledge that, once again, mental exhaustion releases ghosts, long repressed, which blindside my awareness to the fact that yesteryear’s unprocessed terror has been freed to emerge from subconscious repression, casting my brain into no man’s land where my smarts are overwhelmed by the sudden descent of childhood’s unresolved depression as if I’ve stepped off of a sandbar only to feel myself sucked into a riptide so swiftly as to feel unable to stop myself from floundering, breathlessly, feeling utterly unmoored —drowning in a downward spiraling mind maze—yet again ...
The first time that this subconscious spinning sensation of drowning sucked my connection to emotional safety into the depths of the dark side of my brain occurred two years after my father’s death when I’d unconsciously begun to relive the daunting nature of haunting experiences, which were based in my repressed belief (at the age of three) that any time my mother’s frown appeared, I was somehow at fault for not meeting her needs, and therefore I’d felt subconsciously unworthy of her love.
Over recent years, time well spent in therapy has offered me insight into understanding many emotional triggers that stimulate an episode of PTSD to suddenly erupt, though there are times when I have no conscious clue as to what has stimulated a mind swirling episode of PTSD to arise from within the depths of my dark side, striking down the vibrancy of my spirit so spontaneously as to suck all of my think tank into yesteryear’s unprocessed, dark house of horror, yet again, as was the case, early last week ...
So, if, beginning at the age of three, my self worth has depended upon my taking care of my mother’s needs (evolving to include the needs of everyone I loved) by denying the very existence of my own and if, during recent years, I’ve been choosing to love myself, vulnerabilities and all, then perhaps my current challenge is to identify, voice and meet my needs without worrying, subconsciously about feeling so selfish as to find myself unloved and alone whenever my needs and those of my loved ones conflict—I mean, I wish anxiety would not spike as soon as I feel need to say: Truly, I wish I could say yes to your request but I can’t—so deep runs my fear of disappointing anyone so as to feel as adrift and alone as had proved true of a deeply confounded, terrified three year old child, who’d had no clue that human emotional reactivity knows no bounds during lengthy times of intense grief, and thus does today’s train of thought reveal a lot about the emotional pressure that I’d mistakenly absorbed to be whomever my birth family had needed of me beginning at the highly vulnerable age of three, when the development of a child’s self worth is determined by voice tones and facial expressions that shine or scowl in his/her direction before the undeveloped nature of the young think tank can even begin to fathom the emotional complexity of irrational human interactions ...
As I’m just beginning to emerge from the self protective cocoon that my defense system felt need to weave around my whole being during last week’s spiraling descent into the dark side of my brain (no light sabers in sight to offer my power of intuition spotlights of insight concerning why my processor felt so suddenly, utterly engulfed within an emotionally suffocating depression until yesterday), I’m planning to publish trains of thought that my think tank felt compelled to write, over these past few days, though my power of intuition did not feel ready to reveal these thought for public consumption until my descent into PTSD began to lift, today. Why not? Thus far, Insight has offered me no conscious clue ...
I’m not planning to publish these thoughts in any order, because most of my processor was still feeling swamped within a darkened state of subconscious disorder when one string of insights after another seemed to filter out of my depths on its own ...
The human brain, having suffered early life trauma, remains as mysterious a phenomenon as is true of the magnetic attraction that pulls one person toward another though strangers they may be ... offers me reason to believe that feeling intuitive need to seek out deeper truths, which we do not know that we’ve hidden anxiously from our conscious selves, will always feel more fascinating than fiction can hope to be ...
Being that some of my self perceptions, concerning subconscious expectations, are still perfectionistic, I tend to feel much more angry with myself than with those who have wronged me, and that dichotomy creates swirling sensations of inner conflict so overwhelming as to spin my processor’s connection to logic into a state of dizziness that disrupts my think tank’s hold onto mental clarity. I have come to call episodes of PTSD ‘sneak attacks’, because they sucker punch my processor without so much as a hint of warning that my inner strengths, having stretched beyond human endurance, are succumbing to spiking anxiety that feels so darkly fearsome as to knock out any conscious connection to logic before I can acknowledge that, once again, mental exhaustion releases ghosts, long repressed, which blindside my awareness to the fact that yesteryear’s unprocessed terror has been freed to emerge from subconscious repression, casting my brain into no man’s land where my smarts are overwhelmed by the sudden descent of childhood’s unresolved depression as if I’ve stepped off of a sandbar only to feel myself sucked into a riptide so swiftly as to feel unable to stop myself from floundering, breathlessly, feeling utterly unmoored —drowning in a downward spiraling mind maze—yet again ...
The first time that this subconscious spinning sensation of drowning sucked my connection to emotional safety into the depths of the dark side of my brain occurred two years after my father’s death when I’d unconsciously begun to relive the daunting nature of haunting experiences, which were based in my repressed belief (at the age of three) that any time my mother’s frown appeared, I was somehow at fault for not meeting her needs, and therefore I’d felt subconsciously unworthy of her love.
Over recent years, time well spent in therapy has offered me insight into understanding many emotional triggers that stimulate an episode of PTSD to suddenly erupt, though there are times when I have no conscious clue as to what has stimulated a mind swirling episode of PTSD to arise from within the depths of my dark side, striking down the vibrancy of my spirit so spontaneously as to suck all of my think tank into yesteryear’s unprocessed, dark house of horror, yet again, as was the case, early last week ...
So, if, beginning at the age of three, my self worth has depended upon my taking care of my mother’s needs (evolving to include the needs of everyone I loved) by denying the very existence of my own and if, during recent years, I’ve been choosing to love myself, vulnerabilities and all, then perhaps my current challenge is to identify, voice and meet my needs without worrying, subconsciously about feeling so selfish as to find myself unloved and alone whenever my needs and those of my loved ones conflict—I mean, I wish anxiety would not spike as soon as I feel need to say: Truly, I wish I could say yes to your request but I can’t—so deep runs my fear of disappointing anyone so as to feel as adrift and alone as had proved true of a deeply confounded, terrified three year old child, who’d had no clue that human emotional reactivity knows no bounds during lengthy times of intense grief, and thus does today’s train of thought reveal a lot about the emotional pressure that I’d mistakenly absorbed to be whomever my birth family had needed of me beginning at the highly vulnerable age of three, when the development of a child’s self worth is determined by voice tones and facial expressions that shine or scowl in his/her direction before the undeveloped nature of the young think tank can even begin to fathom the emotional complexity of irrational human interactions ...
As I’m just beginning to emerge from the self protective cocoon that my defense system felt need to weave around my whole being during last week’s spiraling descent into the dark side of my brain (no light sabers in sight to offer my power of intuition spotlights of insight concerning why my processor felt so suddenly, utterly engulfed within an emotionally suffocating depression until yesterday), I’m planning to publish trains of thought that my think tank felt compelled to write, over these past few days, though my power of intuition did not feel ready to reveal these thought for public consumption until my descent into PTSD began to lift, today. Why not? Thus far, Insight has offered me no conscious clue ...
I’m not planning to publish these thoughts in any order, because most of my processor was still feeling swamped within a darkened state of subconscious disorder when one string of insights after another seemed to filter out of my depths on its own ...
The human brain, having suffered early life trauma, remains as mysterious a phenomenon as is true of the magnetic attraction that pulls one person toward another though strangers they may be ... offers me reason to believe that feeling intuitive need to seek out deeper truths, which we do not know that we’ve hidden anxiously from our conscious selves, will always feel more fascinating than fiction can hope to be ...
Sunday, August 11, 2019
KINDNESS
Three things in human life are important
The first is to be kind
The second is to be kind
The third is to be kind
—Henry James
During the heyday of Henry James
Insight into the fourth thing that’s important
Had not yet been spotlighted by psychology’s
Expanding definition of sound mental health
The fourth thing in life that’s known to be
Important, today, is a heightened awareness of
Intuitive powers guiding each of us to
Sense when to be kind to oneself
And kind to myself is what
I need to be, right now—Why?
I’m feeling anxiously overwhelmed and have
No conscious clue as to why that is true
The first is to be kind
The second is to be kind
The third is to be kind
—Henry James
During the heyday of Henry James
Insight into the fourth thing that’s important
Had not yet been spotlighted by psychology’s
Expanding definition of sound mental health
The fourth thing in life that’s known to be
Important, today, is a heightened awareness of
Intuitive powers guiding each of us to
Sense when to be kind to oneself
And kind to myself is what
I need to be, right now—Why?
I’m feeling anxiously overwhelmed and have
No conscious clue as to why that is true
Wednesday, August 7, 2019
IS MY FIXER IN TRANSITION FROM BOILING OVER TOWARD HOT TUBBING, AT LAST?
The train of thought below was written on Monday, August 5th, to a dear friend who has been patiently awaiting my readiness to enjoy time, together since I arrived on the coast—
Ever since Thursday, July 25th when Will and I drove from the desert to the coast with Ravi in tow (where we three celebrated Ray’s eighth birthday with extended family), time spent alone is what I’ve craved most. Why? I’d stretched much too far mentally, emotionally and physically during the three weeks that Steven had need of me to take care of our four year old grand daughter in the aftermath of his house flood, and ever since he and Celina (both of whom joined us on the coast several days later) drove back to the desert on Sunday, August 3rd, with Ravi in tow, I’ve listened seriously to my mind, body and spirit’s deeply personal need for peace and quiet. As to why Ravi came with us, everyone in the family, including me, wanted her to be on the coast in time to enjoy her cousin Ray’s eighth birthday party (celebrated on Saturday), and Steven couldn’t leave the desert till Sunday. So I, loving how close knit my family proves to be, repeatedly, chose to stretch my exhaustion—again.
During this past week, while my three sons enjoyed each other and their families at the time share resort where our whole family eagerly convenes, every summer, I made good use of the self assertive portion of my voice, and as everyone observed and respected my exhaustion, I chose to spend most of my time alone. Craving time alone when my family is together is very new to me. But respecting that inner need is necessary. Though everyone is always undergoing some stage of personal transition (for better or worse) I, feeling myself moving through an active state of mental change, have not yet identified which self debasing character trait I may be in the process of shedding.
Though this unidentified change taking place inside my head feels somehow distressing, growth spurts experienced in the past encourage me to take a leap of faith toward believing that as challenging as this period of transition proves to be, my fully recharged mental strengths will land on both feet in a place that feels as intuitively natural as would a well practiced Olympiad gymnast, having challenged her/himself to achieve a quadruple spiral through the air.
While undergoing this mentally challenging change, I am early to bed, late to arise. I feel resistant to talking and am writing much less than usual. In fact—I’m cocooning.
Makes me wonder if shedding old wings before sprouting a wider wing span at each stage of life is as painful for adults as it is for a baby cutting molars, which will wiggle around, bleed, and fall out before wisdom teeth come in ...
Actually, while expressing all of this to you, I’ve just clarified a lot for myself concerning what's taking place that I can feel but not see inside my think tank's cocoon. In fact, I wonder if it’s too much to hope that a conglomeration of tensely compressed, deeply repressed emotional reactions stemming from a host of steamy, long lasting frustrations, each of which proves way beyond my control to repair, is in the process of morphing from compressed complacency toward realistic combustibility while my defense system's rebelliousness readies itself to accept that which I cannot change so that, as unprocessed angst emerges all at once (like a pot of stew boiling over while the blind, leading the blind, continue to turn up the burner on the stove, notch by notch, time must pass before this geyser-like, subconscious release can be accurately assessed as to the depths of my fury (concerning each frustration) by the conscious portion of my naturally intuitive brain (Aha! here comes my imagination, thinking wishfully that with emergence, the whole stormy lot will evaporate into thin air. Gosh! Wishful thinking aside, wouldn’t a release of deeply repressed, utterly congealed angst prove to be a wholesome change, indeed, for a mind as active as mine, which proves in need of relaxing by consciously offering itself more down time to rest if I am head off episodes of PTSD before I pass exhaustion's point of no return. Then, I signed the text with an emoji heart preceding my name.
Hmmm—I sure hope that most of the text (paraphrased above) is not wishful thinking—oh wait! I just spotted My Fixer reaching for my sunscreen while readying herself to slip into my bathing suit so as to head out to the hot tub overlooking the resort's serene ocean view! Sounds good, right? In fact, I’m about to pull today’s train of thought into a rest station so that the sum of my parts can slide wholly into the water that’s bubbling up in a most inviting way as though warmly welcoming my decision to stop writing in favor of relaxing—
Hey!
Hold the presses!
Tis light bulb flashing time inside my mind!
Insight has just spotlighted this probability—
My first thought (about cocooning while shedding a self-debasing trait) was not my best thought, because rather than shedding a self-debasing trait, the conscious portion of my mind has just landed upon this reality: One of my positively focused traits has been actively gaining strength, and the name of this high self esteeming, self confident trait is my self assertive voice, which in the past could not say no to certain loved ones, because I’d felt that their needs had preempted mine—namely my three sons. However now that each has grown to full-fledged manhood—my vision of my mothering self (which has actively been in flux for quite some time), can clearly see that I’ve been shedding my think tank's idealistic attitude concerning motherhood in favor of expanding my processor's wingspan!
Without a shadow of doubt based in undeserved guilt, ‘tis my time in life to expand my wings so as to offer my spirit the freedom to soar, not above the classic dramas of family life, but high enough to enjoy and re-energize my good health by inspiring my think tank to wholly accept my need to retire The Fixer as well as my Control Freak, who has long been pounding away at my neo Cortex, begging my intelligence to ready itself to admit to need for subconscious release. And as today’s sense of clarity glances reflectively over the past several decades of my life, I come to see that these two traits have comprised my Thing One and Thing Two, who, left on their own, had overwhelmed my peace of mind by sweeping my think tank into the eye of one gritty sandstorm after another, most of which had not been mine to clean up, over most of my life!
In short, as Oliver Livingston Seagull had need to learn—I've consciously known it unnecessary for me to lead the flock; however, subconsciously that's not what I'd felt—leaving my peace of mind torn in two. In fact, I had to exhaust, several times, in order to feel that tis way past time for my middle aged wings relax and fall back within the formation, knowing full well, that as hard as the winds blow, the minds of my three sons, each heading his own flock, are as well rooted in family values as their spirits have been free to scout out the great unknown that lies ahead of each of us as well as our family's flock as a whole. And thus does today's intuitive train of thought spotlight the string of insights, which, given time to process and absorb the monumental restructuring of this change for the better in my attitude, will refocus my think tank toward more consciously and consistently upon relaxing my mind before exhaustion sucker punches my mental strengths, freeing PTSD to entrap and swallow my intellect's hold on logic into that little house of horrors, where three year old me had mistakenly held my positively focused smile accountable for empowering everyone I'd encountered to join in my mission to overcome their dark sides without doing a whit of internal work necessary to achieve the universal nature of one of life's most arduous tasks. If knowledge is power, and if seeking knowledge concerning the complexity of the human brain is my advocation, then where did I go wrong?
I'm as naive as the next person, who remembers that the exploration of the human brain is in its infancy. I have not studied neuropsychology. I studied communication skills—and I thank my lucky stars for that, because otherwise, the bright side of my brain may never have grown so intuitive as to communicate openly and honestly with the dark side of my imagination.
As to whether the probability penned above will prove to be a factuality—time will tell. As for now, my need to cocoon while surrounded by my beloved family makes sense! And since today's thought process has made its way through yet another foggy segment of emotional combustion within my brain space so as to spotlight common sense beckoning my think tank to come in for a soft landing, followed by a hug, peace of mind has been naturally restored—at least momentarily.
Seriously—up until today, I’d had no conscious clue that, over this past year, I’ve been working to expand my mindset (wingspan) so as to develop the ability to state (simply, clearly, self confidently and graciously) that respecting my needs as I age is as important to me as satisfying my adult sons’ need of me. I mean what devoted mother says that aloud? The answer to that last question is—a mother who, though devoted to every member of her family, intuitively comes to see that she cannot expect anyone to respect her needs unless she can calmly, patiently and with good nature intact—assertively clarify her needs to one and all—including me—especially my need to recognize when to replenish my energy source, which, with every birthday, runs out of steam more quickly while demanding more downtime to refuel. Speaking from experience, even the white whiskered Energizer Bunny (which had once-upon-a-time twinned with me) has need to be replaced or restored to full capacity upon morphing into a rechargeable variety—and that’s the truth.
Ever since Thursday, July 25th when Will and I drove from the desert to the coast with Ravi in tow (where we three celebrated Ray’s eighth birthday with extended family), time spent alone is what I’ve craved most. Why? I’d stretched much too far mentally, emotionally and physically during the three weeks that Steven had need of me to take care of our four year old grand daughter in the aftermath of his house flood, and ever since he and Celina (both of whom joined us on the coast several days later) drove back to the desert on Sunday, August 3rd, with Ravi in tow, I’ve listened seriously to my mind, body and spirit’s deeply personal need for peace and quiet. As to why Ravi came with us, everyone in the family, including me, wanted her to be on the coast in time to enjoy her cousin Ray’s eighth birthday party (celebrated on Saturday), and Steven couldn’t leave the desert till Sunday. So I, loving how close knit my family proves to be, repeatedly, chose to stretch my exhaustion—again.
During this past week, while my three sons enjoyed each other and their families at the time share resort where our whole family eagerly convenes, every summer, I made good use of the self assertive portion of my voice, and as everyone observed and respected my exhaustion, I chose to spend most of my time alone. Craving time alone when my family is together is very new to me. But respecting that inner need is necessary. Though everyone is always undergoing some stage of personal transition (for better or worse) I, feeling myself moving through an active state of mental change, have not yet identified which self debasing character trait I may be in the process of shedding.
Though this unidentified change taking place inside my head feels somehow distressing, growth spurts experienced in the past encourage me to take a leap of faith toward believing that as challenging as this period of transition proves to be, my fully recharged mental strengths will land on both feet in a place that feels as intuitively natural as would a well practiced Olympiad gymnast, having challenged her/himself to achieve a quadruple spiral through the air.
While undergoing this mentally challenging change, I am early to bed, late to arise. I feel resistant to talking and am writing much less than usual. In fact—I’m cocooning.
Makes me wonder if shedding old wings before sprouting a wider wing span at each stage of life is as painful for adults as it is for a baby cutting molars, which will wiggle around, bleed, and fall out before wisdom teeth come in ...
Actually, while expressing all of this to you, I’ve just clarified a lot for myself concerning what's taking place that I can feel but not see inside my think tank's cocoon. In fact, I wonder if it’s too much to hope that a conglomeration of tensely compressed, deeply repressed emotional reactions stemming from a host of steamy, long lasting frustrations, each of which proves way beyond my control to repair, is in the process of morphing from compressed complacency toward realistic combustibility while my defense system's rebelliousness readies itself to accept that which I cannot change so that, as unprocessed angst emerges all at once (like a pot of stew boiling over while the blind, leading the blind, continue to turn up the burner on the stove, notch by notch, time must pass before this geyser-like, subconscious release can be accurately assessed as to the depths of my fury (concerning each frustration) by the conscious portion of my naturally intuitive brain (Aha! here comes my imagination, thinking wishfully that with emergence, the whole stormy lot will evaporate into thin air. Gosh! Wishful thinking aside, wouldn’t a release of deeply repressed, utterly congealed angst prove to be a wholesome change, indeed, for a mind as active as mine, which proves in need of relaxing by consciously offering itself more down time to rest if I am head off episodes of PTSD before I pass exhaustion's point of no return. Then, I signed the text with an emoji heart preceding my name.
Hmmm—I sure hope that most of the text (paraphrased above) is not wishful thinking—oh wait! I just spotted My Fixer reaching for my sunscreen while readying herself to slip into my bathing suit so as to head out to the hot tub overlooking the resort's serene ocean view! Sounds good, right? In fact, I’m about to pull today’s train of thought into a rest station so that the sum of my parts can slide wholly into the water that’s bubbling up in a most inviting way as though warmly welcoming my decision to stop writing in favor of relaxing—
Hey!
Hold the presses!
Tis light bulb flashing time inside my mind!
Insight has just spotlighted this probability—
My first thought (about cocooning while shedding a self-debasing trait) was not my best thought, because rather than shedding a self-debasing trait, the conscious portion of my mind has just landed upon this reality: One of my positively focused traits has been actively gaining strength, and the name of this high self esteeming, self confident trait is my self assertive voice, which in the past could not say no to certain loved ones, because I’d felt that their needs had preempted mine—namely my three sons. However now that each has grown to full-fledged manhood—my vision of my mothering self (which has actively been in flux for quite some time), can clearly see that I’ve been shedding my think tank's idealistic attitude concerning motherhood in favor of expanding my processor's wingspan!
Without a shadow of doubt based in undeserved guilt, ‘tis my time in life to expand my wings so as to offer my spirit the freedom to soar, not above the classic dramas of family life, but high enough to enjoy and re-energize my good health by inspiring my think tank to wholly accept my need to retire The Fixer as well as my Control Freak, who has long been pounding away at my neo Cortex, begging my intelligence to ready itself to admit to need for subconscious release. And as today’s sense of clarity glances reflectively over the past several decades of my life, I come to see that these two traits have comprised my Thing One and Thing Two, who, left on their own, had overwhelmed my peace of mind by sweeping my think tank into the eye of one gritty sandstorm after another, most of which had not been mine to clean up, over most of my life!
In short, as Oliver Livingston Seagull had need to learn—I've consciously known it unnecessary for me to lead the flock; however, subconsciously that's not what I'd felt—leaving my peace of mind torn in two. In fact, I had to exhaust, several times, in order to feel that tis way past time for my middle aged wings relax and fall back within the formation, knowing full well, that as hard as the winds blow, the minds of my three sons, each heading his own flock, are as well rooted in family values as their spirits have been free to scout out the great unknown that lies ahead of each of us as well as our family's flock as a whole. And thus does today's intuitive train of thought spotlight the string of insights, which, given time to process and absorb the monumental restructuring of this change for the better in my attitude, will refocus my think tank toward more consciously and consistently upon relaxing my mind before exhaustion sucker punches my mental strengths, freeing PTSD to entrap and swallow my intellect's hold on logic into that little house of horrors, where three year old me had mistakenly held my positively focused smile accountable for empowering everyone I'd encountered to join in my mission to overcome their dark sides without doing a whit of internal work necessary to achieve the universal nature of one of life's most arduous tasks. If knowledge is power, and if seeking knowledge concerning the complexity of the human brain is my advocation, then where did I go wrong?
I'm as naive as the next person, who remembers that the exploration of the human brain is in its infancy. I have not studied neuropsychology. I studied communication skills—and I thank my lucky stars for that, because otherwise, the bright side of my brain may never have grown so intuitive as to communicate openly and honestly with the dark side of my imagination.
As to whether the probability penned above will prove to be a factuality—time will tell. As for now, my need to cocoon while surrounded by my beloved family makes sense! And since today's thought process has made its way through yet another foggy segment of emotional combustion within my brain space so as to spotlight common sense beckoning my think tank to come in for a soft landing, followed by a hug, peace of mind has been naturally restored—at least momentarily.
Seriously—up until today, I’d had no conscious clue that, over this past year, I’ve been working to expand my mindset (wingspan) so as to develop the ability to state (simply, clearly, self confidently and graciously) that respecting my needs as I age is as important to me as satisfying my adult sons’ need of me. I mean what devoted mother says that aloud? The answer to that last question is—a mother who, though devoted to every member of her family, intuitively comes to see that she cannot expect anyone to respect her needs unless she can calmly, patiently and with good nature intact—assertively clarify her needs to one and all—including me—especially my need to recognize when to replenish my energy source, which, with every birthday, runs out of steam more quickly while demanding more downtime to refuel. Speaking from experience, even the white whiskered Energizer Bunny (which had once-upon-a-time twinned with me) has need to be replaced or restored to full capacity upon morphing into a rechargeable variety—and that’s the truth.
Tuesday, August 6, 2019
BOOK ONE—END FIRST KISS Part 12: NO WAY, JOSE!
Might
Life be easy, breezy if
Unearthing Boogie Men buried alive
Deep inside our minds proved
Less challenging once
We feel intuitive need to
Pull them back out and
Confront them, eye to eye?
No way Jose!
Because
When it comes to
Life or love
If it's not one thing
Driving us crazy
It’s another
And that's The TRUTH!
BTW in case you’re wondering why
Part 10B skipped straight to Part 12
The answer to that riddle lies in this fact:
Somehow, I managed to delete Part 11
Suggesting that inner conflict, concerning
Boogie Men haunting peace of mind, is not
The only mental conundrum to
Drive a sane person close to crazy
Life be easy, breezy if
Unearthing Boogie Men buried alive
Deep inside our minds proved
Less challenging once
We feel intuitive need to
Pull them back out and
Confront them, eye to eye?
No way Jose!
Because
When it comes to
Life or love
If it's not one thing
Driving us crazy
It’s another
And that's The TRUTH!
BTW in case you’re wondering why
Part 10B skipped straight to Part 12
The answer to that riddle lies in this fact:
Somehow, I managed to delete Part 11
Suggesting that inner conflict, concerning
Boogie Men haunting peace of mind, is not
The only mental conundrum to
Drive a sane person close to crazy
Sunday, August 4, 2019
BOOK ONE—END FIRST KISS PART 10B ELVIS AND ED—September 9, 1956
As time goes on
Facts jumble up inside our heads like
Jelly beans on a trampoline
And once facts have leaped from
Here to there, guess what layers up?
Mythology, and once
Mythology makes mincemeat of facts
Few may recall how much
The truth matters to peace of mind for
One and all
Paraphrasing Wikipedia:
Sullivan’s Show of Shows
Was the first show that
Televised The King on national TV
Whoops! Glancing back at
The previous statement
One word is missing, which
In its absence, transforms
Truth into fiction—so
Before moving on
Let’s each take a moment to plug that
Missing puzzle piece into its proper place
Ah! That feels better!
Wouldn’t it be great if retrieving
Missing puzzle pieces, buried subconsciously
Proved that Easy Peasy!
Quoting Wikipedia:
“Elvis mythology states that Sullivan censored Presley by only shooting him from the waist up. Sullivan may have helped create the myth when he told TV Guide, ‘as for his gyrations, the whole thing can be controlled with camera shots.’ In truth Presley's whole body was shown in the first and second shows.”
While considering the statement directly above
I came to see that my brain sure did fool me!
Though I’d watched Elvis perform on Ed’s
Show of Shows, I’d believed the myth about
TV cameras having been focused above his waist
Over most of my life
And thus has today’s train of thought
Illustrated sound reason to suggest that
Your intuitive inner spy may be
As inclined as mine to feel need to
Dive into the deep end of your mind from
Time to time so as to spotlight
Missing puzzle pieces, which
Upon being plugged back into
The true story of your life, will expand
The bigger picture in ways that naturally
Brighten a portion of your self image, which
Had darkened when you were too young to
Think clearly and objectively for
Yourself about yourself
If we stop to reflect for one more moment
About those two statements, concerning
Elvis and Ed, we can see how easily
Fact transforms into fiction with
The elimination of
Just one not so insignificant word
At this point, you might like to state that
Neither of those discrepancies matter, today
However, what does matter as
Time marches on is the attitude that
We choose to employ upon
Growing aware of the fact that
Our best character traits have been
Slandered by a person whose narrow minded
Egocentric focus has perceived that he or she
Has something to gain by causing us pain
Just ask Simba—he knows of what I speak
Facts jumble up inside our heads like
Jelly beans on a trampoline
And once facts have leaped from
Here to there, guess what layers up?
Mythology, and once
Mythology makes mincemeat of facts
Few may recall how much
The truth matters to peace of mind for
One and all
Paraphrasing Wikipedia:
Sullivan’s Show of Shows
Was the first show that
Televised The King on national TV
Whoops! Glancing back at
The previous statement
One word is missing, which
In its absence, transforms
Truth into fiction—so
Before moving on
Let’s each take a moment to plug that
Missing puzzle piece into its proper place
Ah! That feels better!
Wouldn’t it be great if retrieving
Missing puzzle pieces, buried subconsciously
Proved that Easy Peasy!
“Elvis mythology states that Sullivan censored Presley by only shooting him from the waist up. Sullivan may have helped create the myth when he told TV Guide, ‘as for his gyrations, the whole thing can be controlled with camera shots.’ In truth Presley's whole body was shown in the first and second shows.”
While considering the statement directly above
I came to see that my brain sure did fool me!
Though I’d watched Elvis perform on Ed’s
Show of Shows, I’d believed the myth about
TV cameras having been focused above his waist
Over most of my life
And thus has today’s train of thought
Illustrated sound reason to suggest that
Your intuitive inner spy may be
As inclined as mine to feel need to
Dive into the deep end of your mind from
Time to time so as to spotlight
Missing puzzle pieces, which
Upon being plugged back into
The true story of your life, will expand
The bigger picture in ways that naturally
Brighten a portion of your self image, which
Had darkened when you were too young to
Think clearly and objectively for
Yourself about yourself
If we stop to reflect for one more moment
About those two statements, concerning
Elvis and Ed, we can see how easily
Fact transforms into fiction with
The elimination of
Just one not so insignificant word
At this point, you might like to state that
Neither of those discrepancies matter, today
However, what does matter as
Time marches on is the attitude that
We choose to employ upon
Growing aware of the fact that
Our best character traits have been
Slandered by a person whose narrow minded
Egocentric focus has perceived that he or she
Has something to gain by causing us pain
Just ask Simba—he knows of what I speak
Friday, August 2, 2019
BOOK ONE—END FIRST KISS PART 10A PASS THE 'MUSTERED'
If all good things
Must come to an end
That's not to say that
Another good thing
Can't begin as soon as
One side of the brain
Stops
Fooling
The other
Resulting in
Personal perception
Actually matching reality
At last
Once personal misperception
Does not conflict with reality
It’s likely that
Progressive changes for the better in
One person’s attitude will serve to
Jump start a reversal of a negatively focused
Cycle, which had proved painful for
Everyone concerned
So
If we can
Muster the courage
To (clearly) see and (courageously) accept
The fact that both sides of
Human nature exist within us all then
Rather than feeling need to
View life as though we’re peering into
A fun house mirror (which narrowly distorts
The truth), we can more readily gain insight into
Clearly keying into our intuitive powers so
Objectively as to re-assemble the bigger picture of
Our lives in such a detailed fashion that
‘Missing puzzle pieces’ (which had been
Subconsciously repressed) filter through
Our self protective walls of denial, and
As these missing pieces slide into place
Misunderstandings that had weighed heavy on
Everyone’s spirit naturally turn a corner where
Lost sheep of every color feel warmly welcomed home
As the perceptions of children are
Classically literal in nature
Annie’s potential to make
Sound use of her intuitive powers will not
Kick in to say—
Please pass the 'mustered'
To spice up my personal sense of
Self confident courage—
For decades to come
So if, at this point in our story
Your sense of intrigue feels need to
Ask why Annie’s instinctive response to
Joseph's ardor was to smack him
All around the head instead of
Kissing Mr. Cool back when
Receiving his kiss had been
Her heart’s fondest wish ... Well
If I were to speak with Annie’s adult voice, today
Here’s what my self confident, acquisition of knowledge
Would know to say:
As long as Annie’s mental state of denial
Continues to divide her preteen memory into
Two separate parts (one clear, one foggy)
The conscious portion of my brain will remain
Stuck in a sadly perplexed rut as to
Why my friendship with Joseph
Was fated to suffer such a sudden demise
In fact, as long as
My prepubescent brain’s
Many layered wall of denial
Stands self protectively in place as though
Guarding subconscious secrets that I’m afraid to
Reveal to myself, my intelligence will remain
Mentally blocked from reflecting back on
My life so objectively as to consciously see
My instinctive reaction to Joseph’s outburst of
Passion as being partially responsible for the fact that
True love had been painfully buried alive on both sides
On the other hand
You can
Bet your
Sweet bippy that
Once preteen Annie grows up to be
Inquisitive ME, my intuitive intelligence will
Inspire the conscious portion of
My brain to set out upon
A self motivated, life long quest to
Mine the depths of both sides of
My memory so as to
Come up with strings of
Interrelated insights, which
Upon being strung together like
Strands of pearls, will clearly formulate
Deeply meaningful
Trains of thought focused upon
Arousing my curiosity to dive ever more
Deeply and thus thoroughly into my past in
Hopes of spotlighting the main root of
The lost puzzle piece that continues to haunt
The subconscious portion of my brain, today
So
Since we know
Adult Annie
To be thorough when
Stringing together
One insight after another
Let's support her personal quest to
Separate fact from fantasy in order to
Identify, release and thus relieve
Layers of yesteryear’s emotional pain, which
Currently remain so deeply repressed that
From time to time, this woman on
A mission has need to remind
Her strong spirited intuition to
Rest and recoup the mental energy that’s
Necessary to empower her patience to
Muster the courage to dive
Ever more fearlessly into
The depths of her subconscious where
Mother Nature saw fit to lock up memories
Too ferocious for a child’s sanity to bear/bare
Must come to an end
That's not to say that
Another good thing
Can't begin as soon as
One side of the brain
Stops
Fooling
The other
Resulting in
Personal perception
Actually matching reality
At last
Once personal misperception
Does not conflict with reality
It’s likely that
Progressive changes for the better in
One person’s attitude will serve to
Jump start a reversal of a negatively focused
Cycle, which had proved painful for
Everyone concerned
So
If we can
Muster the courage
To (clearly) see and (courageously) accept
The fact that both sides of
Human nature exist within us all then
Rather than feeling need to
View life as though we’re peering into
A fun house mirror (which narrowly distorts
The truth), we can more readily gain insight into
Clearly keying into our intuitive powers so
Objectively as to re-assemble the bigger picture of
Our lives in such a detailed fashion that
‘Missing puzzle pieces’ (which had been
Subconsciously repressed) filter through
Our self protective walls of denial, and
As these missing pieces slide into place
Misunderstandings that had weighed heavy on
Everyone’s spirit naturally turn a corner where
Lost sheep of every color feel warmly welcomed home
As the perceptions of children are
Classically literal in nature
Annie’s potential to make
Sound use of her intuitive powers will not
Kick in to say—
Please pass the 'mustered'
To spice up my personal sense of
Self confident courage—
For decades to come
So if, at this point in our story
Your sense of intrigue feels need to
Ask why Annie’s instinctive response to
Joseph's ardor was to smack him
All around the head instead of
Kissing Mr. Cool back when
Receiving his kiss had been
Her heart’s fondest wish ... Well
If I were to speak with Annie’s adult voice, today
Here’s what my self confident, acquisition of knowledge
Would know to say:
As long as Annie’s mental state of denial
Continues to divide her preteen memory into
Two separate parts (one clear, one foggy)
The conscious portion of my brain will remain
Stuck in a sadly perplexed rut as to
Why my friendship with Joseph
Was fated to suffer such a sudden demise
In fact, as long as
My prepubescent brain’s
Many layered wall of denial
Stands self protectively in place as though
Guarding subconscious secrets that I’m afraid to
Reveal to myself, my intelligence will remain
Mentally blocked from reflecting back on
My life so objectively as to consciously see
My instinctive reaction to Joseph’s outburst of
Passion as being partially responsible for the fact that
True love had been painfully buried alive on both sides
On the other hand
You can
Bet your
Sweet bippy that
Once preteen Annie grows up to be
Inquisitive ME, my intuitive intelligence will
Inspire the conscious portion of
My brain to set out upon
A self motivated, life long quest to
Mine the depths of both sides of
My memory so as to
Come up with strings of
Interrelated insights, which
Upon being strung together like
Strands of pearls, will clearly formulate
Deeply meaningful
Trains of thought focused upon
Arousing my curiosity to dive ever more
Deeply and thus thoroughly into my past in
Hopes of spotlighting the main root of
The lost puzzle piece that continues to haunt
The subconscious portion of my brain, today
So
Since we know
Adult Annie
To be thorough when
Stringing together
One insight after another
Let's support her personal quest to
Separate fact from fantasy in order to
Identify, release and thus relieve
Layers of yesteryear’s emotional pain, which
Currently remain so deeply repressed that
From time to time, this woman on
A mission has need to remind
Her strong spirited intuition to
Rest and recoup the mental energy that’s
Necessary to empower her patience to
Muster the courage to dive
Ever more fearlessly into
The depths of her subconscious where
Mother Nature saw fit to lock up memories
Too ferocious for a child’s sanity to bear/bare
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