Saturday
Dipping, swirling, rising, swooping, cleaving (clave), cleaving (splitting), falling, bending, grabbing, dropping into a maelstrom of emotional permutations without rhyme or reason in clattering moments of adjuncts to the tick tock of life bruising me up. I sat at the end of this evening's Vigil Mass and saw. I have seen. Life is a lesson. A young woman born with celebral palsy has, now, multiple sclerosis, and defended her right to life, in a radio interview created to explore the move towards euthanasia. Her life is another lesson for my life.
Long ago, in the heat of confrontation, I heard teenagers declaring that they didn't ask to be born, as they threw their existence back in their parents' faces. ( Not my teenagers! ) Well I've got something to say back at them. I didn't ask either. No, not that I didn't ask for those teenagers to be born, but I didn't ask to be born! So what's your point, you snotty little mouth with a brain well hidden?
I now know I do not have the right to be warm, comfortable, fed, watered, healthy in wind and limb, sufficiently heeled to fear no poverty. Life is a lesson. The clarity of the objectivity as the 'lesson' was recognised showed me another path. It's the same path, track, mountain trail, which must be viewed with detachment. I'm back to me and ME. The self and the objective Self. The life lived within and the life viewed from without. Discarding selfish aspirations of material comfort, leaves the self to take a simpler, less confrontational stance and gait, on the climb towards, and into, self awareness.
Hope for the best, expect the worst, expunge judgemental Attitude. The Lesson continues 'til I die. My death and yours are inevitable. The Lesson is the only truth that we need. To hold my life before me , like a buffer against the clanging strifes of this world, and maintain my distance from behind, above and within, as me parries and deflects that, which ME can now see, in the round, must surely be a lesson worth the effort? Why can't words illuminate the clarity of this moment? The 'thought fog' is descending yet again. It is tiredness. I'll stop.
Friday
To be told that one has a specifically diagnosed illness, by two senior medical professionals, would seem , on the face of it, to be dire news. The disease exists and it has a name. I have the illness and can pin a label on it.
However, for me it is good news. My condition and the way it exercises itself, falls into place when compared with the symptoms expected and found in Bipolar Affective Disorder. I felt a huge weight was lifted off my mind once the diagnosis was made. I now know what the enemy is and I can begin to consider how to tackle it. With the support and guidance of health care professionals, the road towards any improvement will take several years and many tears. Knowing which road to take enables me to head off in the correct direction for my future.
I have close friends who know when to be there and when just to be available. They are truly exceptional human beings. I have learned a hard lesson over the years as other people have struggled with my illness and avoided me. So I now avoid them.
My family has suffered with me. We are all anticipating an improved future.
They know why and how the illness exists and I have told them all that I know about it. This has liberated them and me from my having to wear my public mask all the time.
I must add here that this short entry in the blog has taken me ages to type. Too many typing mistakes and a difficulty in finding and collecting the appropriate words to use, have hindered my desire to present this short piece to you. I believe it might be the result of an uplift in my mood of yesterday, being turned into a downside today. I am typing through a thick fog of hidden thought. It is a real struggle. I shall stop.
Tuesday
tempus has fugitted. 'Commercialmas' has passed into history and also into many peoples' credit card accounts. I sold my 9 year old car, once, and could have sold it three times over, such has been the interest. My replacement car, being two years old, will suit me very well indeed. High seat does away with bending to get in and out of the car. Power steering allows me to park in difficult spaces easily, without having to twist my spine around to judge the manoeuvre.
A weekend away in Bristol was truly enjoyable. We got lost because the route planner did not have an up to date situation to cover all of the building and roadworks being done in the city centre. We had to phone our lovely hosts to come and guide us to their warm, cosy and welcoming home. A lot of work, time, effort and thought, had been done, to make the weekend special. Those of you who have arranged similar events will be well aware of the swan syndrome. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you ain't been to hospitalityville.
We met Katie-Kitten and she was the icing on the weekend's cake for me. If her mum is reading this, I will remember Katie long after everything else has slowly faded into my ageing grey cells.
A Cohenistas Meeting in the back room of an old English Pub. The only things missing were sufficient heat and Leonard. There was enough food to shame Arab hospitality. Old fashioned social entertainments provided by members of the group with guitars and voices took me back to my days in a folk and country dance band. Lee was the anchor for our evening of songs and Pete was the specialist in the Cohenstyle.
It was good to eventually meet friends from cyberspace and I was not disappointed by such lovely people. They cheered me up. 'Thank you,' seems inadequate.
Nuff said!
