A POEM HIGHLIGHTING WHOLENESS

When Will I Be Myself Again? by Rabbi Lewis John Eron—Jewish Community Chaplain for the Jewish Federation of Southern New Jersey

“When will I be myself again?”

Some Tuesday, perhaps, in the late afternoon, Sitting quietly with a cup of tea,

And a cookie;

Or Wednesday, same time or later,

You will stir from a nap and see her;

You will pick up the phone to call her;

You will hear her voice – unexpected advice – And maybe argue.

And you will not be frightened, And you will not be sad,

And you will not be alone,

Not alone at all,

And your tears will warm you.

But not today,

And not tomorrow,

And not tomorrow’s tomorrow,

But some day,

Some Tuesday, late in the afternoon, Sitting quietly with a cup of tea, And a cookie;

And you will be (wholly) yourself again.

Though penned about recovering after a loved one’s death, this poem spoke to me ever so personally as I await—not my death but rather the recovery of energy so as to feel like myself, pre-cancer.  Though I know that’s not to be, my indomitable love of life cannot believe I’ll never again feel free of illness and fatigue so as to run and play vigorously … seriously—how can that be true of one whose mind and spirit prove as lively as mine no matter how attached my ailing body has been to my bed …

To my good fortune, my mind and spirit continue to feel independently free of disease and despair, and thus do two thirds of my whole remain as healthy as is true of my soul

Annie

I ADVISE MYSELF TO CHANGE FOR THE BETTER

 Today, my cousin, Betty, who is wrestling with pancreatic cancer over these past eight months, texted of her impatience with her illness.  As she says I’m her hero, here’s what I texted in return:

Dearest Betty,  I sincerely hope that, over time, you’ll find the patience for this trial that we must face.  No matter how sick I’ve felt, I continuously renew the conscious decision to master my impatience (anger and fear) so as to feel peaceful about my fate, because I want to spend my days and nights with a person who remains warm, caring and friendly, not just with others but deep within my heart with my very sick self.  Though it takes some doing to adopt this attitude, ‘awakening’ to a sense of inner peacefulness, each day, is worth the effort to change our natural attitudes for the better.  Absorption of peacefulness frees our body’s reduced production energy to aid in our need to recover from having been ravaged by chemo.

I am three years into this hell and you for months.  Also frustration, fear and anger are natural reactions.  Adopting a sense of human peacefulness is like asking the Dali llama to inhabit our spirits so as to relax our souls into acceptance of Medical miracles as well as medical limitations.

Whenever I encourage you, I’m also offering a pep talk to myself.  As to Allen stepping up—how fortunate we are to be loved by busbands, sons and daughters who have grown to Menchhood.

I love you and your whole wonderful family!!! 

❤️ Annie

I WAS SPREAD SO THIN THAT POLLYANA’S PERSONA POPPED

 Over the first fifty years of my life, when it came to TLC, I’d unknowingly shortchanged myself by overcompensating, and thus did I offer more help than was ever asked of me—perpetually—until … finally, I’d totally worn myself out—spiritually, physically, emotionally and logically at which time I, feeling utterly exhausted of energy listened to certain loved ones uncompassionately projecting their own traits thus referring to me as being selfish and weak.  Watching myself go from Mary Poppins to Cinderella in flash, I came to see that once my need for rest clashed with their need to deny their reliance on me to ‘fix’ shortcomings of their own, I was toast in their esteem.

How does one wear out logically?  My processor felt so worn to the bone with confusion that I literally couldn’t think straight to save my sanity—which is what I’d actually been engaged in doing ever since my baby sister’s sudden death devastated our extended family only weeks after my beloved healthy grandpa died from a massive heart attack when I was not quite three, and so cofounded and terrified was I (fearing that, one by one, my whole family would die) that I’d unconsciously made it my business to keep everyone happily alive—no more loved ones lying in bed crying for weeks on end or stomping around, looking like zombies—not on my (three year old) watch—and thus was Annie Pollyanna Poppins born when I was just a tot, thus was a smile my umbrella with which I’d made short work of any sadness that had the audacity to hang around anyone I loved.  Or anyone I knew.  And that included strangers to whom I’d introduce myself if they appeared lonely and in need of a friendly smile to cheer them right back up. (Don’t let Mom out of the house the day before Thanksgiving—she’s known to bring home strangers who would otherwise be alone).

So if a sparkling smile had been mine between the ages of three and fifty then what changed that caused my collapse to be so utterly fear-struck (seven years hence) that my smile flipped upside down; my muscles could barely unclench to stand up; my processor couldn’t think to save my sanity and my solution seeker extraordinaire closed up shop?  Indefinitely.

As all mysteries are not solved with immediacy, that’s more than enough to chew on for today 

Annie

PS  Here’s a hint or let’s make that five:

—undeserved guilt; PTSD; fear of abuse; a death in the family and—I’d taken a class where I’d met a man.

SAY HELLO TO MY BIFURCATED EXISTENCE

Thank goodness, the scope of the post published several days back had been guided by my power of intuition, because thoughts that I’d felt need to convey proved much too complex for my conscious mind to have grappled with on its own.

I had to rewrite every sentence several times until that which was being communicated (to me) had been expressed so clearly as to be understood by those of you who have not yet read posts published early on, detailing the traumatic effects of certain childhood events that had offered me reason to experience episodes of PTSD, which had remained undiagnosed until I was in my early sixties at which time I’d gained the insight to grasp why my assertive voice had no trouble speaking up for the underdog unless that underdog was me. 

So how did I manage to enjoy a joyous life if subconsciously, I’d felt damaged, soiled and unworthy of love?  Well, rather than developing a self respectful voice, I’d developed into such a successful pleaser as to have felt as loved as did Mary Poppins, and like that tirelessly cheerfully employed caregiver, I never forgot to add a spoonful of sugar to any consequence that might have otherwise felt abrasive to whomsoever I’d felt subconsciously committed to help to develop a growing sense of self disciplined emotional control.

In short, when it came to TLC, I’d unknowingly overcompensated by offering more than was ever asked of me—perpetually—until EMDR therapy offered me sound reason to undergo a series of highly personal and yet classical epiphanies concerning who had been empowered to slice through my assertive self confident persona so as to silence my voice with no more than the mere hint of a sneer or the slight shrug of a shoulder or brief lift of one brow ...

Today is Yom Kippur. Our day of atonement.  The day has just begun.  One day this week, but not necessarily tomorrow, I’ll offer up insight into asking forgiveness for transgressions against others as well as transgressions against oneself,

Annie 

YOM KIPPUR PROFOUND AWARENESS

 On Yom Kippurs past, I’d asked

My own forgiveness for having

Thought unwell of myself

Today, I ask my forgiveness for that

Transgression, because

With insight hot in hand

I’ve come to unveil,  see  d understand

The magnitude of all I’d borne as a child

You see, before insight lifted that veil

My having been unkind to

My imperfections made sense

However, to think myself in need of

Self forgiveness, today, suggests

Treating my girlhood self badly, again

So rather than

Forgiving myself for having been

Subconsciously conflicted about whether or not

I was worthy of being loved

All I need do is to love my whole self just

As as I am, today, in hopes of fully

Accepting my imperfections just as

I accept the inner conflictions of

My family and friends (as is true, from

Time to time, of all human beings)

And now that I’ve embraced today’s

Loving reconciliation with myself as a whole

Let’s turn our attention to the probability that

Over this past year, I may have 

Transgressed against orhers

And if that’s true then

I ask each one for forgiveness though

Upon profound reflection

I know not who they may be, and now

If asked to define insight

I’d say this phenomenon portends to be

A profound awareness emergent from within

The depths of the subconscious thus

Brightening the conscious portion of

Our brains as spontaneously as though

A flash drive filled with

Vital information  has been plugged into

Our think tanks, resulting in

Our processors feeling thunderstruck with

Knowledge of which we’d hitherto been unaware

Please note that most especially

During these holy days of deep reflection

Hot sparks of insight are not to be

Feared for what they may reveal but rather

Insight, being the magic of

Your mind and mine, is

Always to be sought and revered as

Yet another building block of wisdom to be

Passed from one generation to

The next within each human brain

So—how often do subconscious insights

Concerning your life enlighten

Your awareness of subconscious brilliance that

Awaits exposure to

The  conscious portion of your mind?

Annie

DIFFERENT DEGREES OF MENTAL BLOCKS

 Several days have past since this next series of posts were penned and forgotten in drafts.  As each post constitutes a natural stream of consciousness, they’ll all be related but not published in any particular order.  So okay, here we go—

All quotes appearing in this post were copied from the novel I’m currently reading:  Any Day Now by Robyn Carr

“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.

—Friedrich Nietzsche”

During my earliest years of childhood, mental blocks became myway to bear personal  experiences concerning death that proved so terrifying as to overwhelm my three year old inability to process, absorb and remember whatever had overwhelmed my emotional sense of safety—to differing degrees, meaning that my defense system had blocked certain traumatizing experiences as completely as happens with victims of amnesia while other experiences were foggily remembered though the emotion I’d felt at the time remained completely anesthetized.

“Sexual assault came up a lot in rehab.” She shook her head sadly. “I never would have imagined how hard it is, how much shame is involved in rape.”

“He knows about a lot of my checkered past, but I didn’t have the nerve to tell him this one.”

“Why?” Maggie asked.

Sierra lifted her chin. “I get that it’s not my fault but it’s very hard not to feel dirty. It’s like he stained me and I can’t get the stain off.”

“I ran the gamut. Depression, anxiety, insomnia, you name it. It’s the rare person who doesn’t flirt with all the disorders.”

“You don’t have to go through this alone.”

But I did have go through traumatizing experiences (inclusive of sexual assaults) alone being that at the age of three my defense system had begun to favor the defense mechanism of mental blocks, which erected an impenetrable wall, separating my memory into two completely isolated compartments (as if a combo refrigerator/freezer bad stored flash frozen memories of terrifying experiences on several subconscious shelves in real time, leaving the fresh produce of the conscious portion of my brain literally in the dark about the dangers associated with leaving a well-loved little girl (that would be me) in the care of an adult who’d won my trust as well as the trust of my extended family as a whole.

“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.

—Friedrich Nietzsche”

(That excerpt From Any Day Now by Robyn Carr. Was worth repeating.)

And now I know why I’d felt need to write the post that led us, day by day, to today’s reveal—though I know I’ve been living through a terrifying experience, over these past three years—I can not yet FEEL the suppressed emotion associated with metastatic cancer, which will one day be openly expressed once my defense system no longer feels need to protectively (proactively) stuff my naturally fearful reactions into my subconscious, thus protecting my spirit’s capacity to awaken feeling grateful for every passing day left for me to cheerfully enjoy with my precious family and treasured friends. 

Over these past three years, I’ve been living in a self protective bubble where lovically, my state of emotional denial cannot feel the despairing depressive pain associated with leaving everyone I love in the depths of grief when I die.  Need I say that I just referenced my loved one grief—not my own.

If I had 20 additional years (as did my mother) or even ten (as did my father) I’d not feel myself leaving so much undone with my grandchildren since it’s clear to me that I have developed the insight driven intuitive powers that enable the young to develop self control by following the role modeling, calming grace of well practiced lessons that children need to garner from loving adults, who feel deeply invested in their raising.

I was a deeply loved child by several very good people.  However, temper tantrums on the parts of adults with adults terrified me into submission in hopes that those terribly loud voices and vein popping facial expression would not turn their furious attention toward me …

Despite those early developmental experiences, I in no way seened like a fearful child.  On the other hand as all does not prove to be what is seemingly seen on the surface of one’s life, my inner life must have been deeply considered by those well trained in healing PTSD via EMDR therapy.

Annie

THIS NEW YEAR IS PROMISING

I really hope these meds are targeting cancer cells.  I have very little energy, but do not feel sick, and compared to my last two, lengthy experiences with chemo that’s a blessing as Will, has not found me lying on the floor, more unconscious than not and too weak to call out, having had to rush me to the hospital, several times, for blood transfusions and antibiotics via IV infusion).

This new year promises personal growth in maturity continuing to develop

This new year promises hopes for new methods of curing cancer

This new year promises to be mentally stimulating as this week, I enrolled in a class (along with my friend, Michael Schuffler). devoted to the study of Jane Austen.

Yesterday, I began to reread Sense and Sensibility, which I’d enjoyed many years ago.  My mind feels happily revitalized with a sense of eagerness, knowing that three novels presented within three weekly  seminars, each offering enjoyable zoom discussions led by an English professor out of NY, are directly ahead.r

Our Shakespeare class (offering ten, two hour sessions devoted to the study of Richard III via Zoom) is also resuming, now that our leader, an instructor at a college in Seattle, has healed from a lengthy illness that saw our class cancelled, last spring.

Though, over these past three years, much of each day has been spent reading, time spent with these insightful authors feels enjoyably productive, knowing that my hunger for delicious discussions is about to be assuaged.

 Via Zoom, I’m eager to reconnect with classmates, who’ve become friends, and whose admiration concerning the brilliance of The Bard equals my own.  And I’m also eager to meet new friends with whom I’ll enjoy discussing Austen’s wisdom and wit, clearly displayed in three novels, though the brilliance of this young female author was published anonymously (at the age of twenty-one), because societal decorum dictated that writing (with brilliance) was certainly unfeminine …

If one fact stands tall above all others, it is this—during Shakespeare’s time (some 400 years ago) and Austen’s time of publication (at some point during the Napoleonic Wars (1797–1815) and our time, today,  both sides of human nature prove unchanged (during my lifetime, Nazi Germany was a cold hearted killing machine.  Currently, Neo-Nazism is alive and kicking throughout the USA. At any time, an impassioned lust for power, unchecked, suggests that those who rule may be heartlessly ruthless to the point of barbaric. 

Throughout history and the world at large, people continue to insult, demean, excommunicate, torture, rape and brutalize ‘others’, every day.

Why is human nature so difficult to moderate, even during modern times?

That, my friends, is a topic to uncover in a post yet to come … as to now, Richard III and Sense and Sensibility vie for my attention, and so—TALLY HO! 

🙋🏻‍♀️Annie