Happy Turkey Day

"Traditions are the guideposts driven deep in our subconscious minds. The most powerful ones are those we can't even describe and aren't even aware of." ~ Ellen Goodman

   When in doubt, tradition is the superego's compass, that divines the safest path. As we leave childhood behind, and become adults, we may not realize it - may even rebel against it - but there is in invisible print a guidebook for life, written by our mothers, fathers, grandparents, neighbors, teachers, and ancestors. It is known by the title of tradition, and whether you realize it or not, you've been reading it your entire life.
   It is a breezy day in October, and Jacob Kelly is climbing up a precariously shaky ladder, to reach the summit of his gabled roof. His wife steps into the front yard, and looks up to see him reaching awkwardly up to carefully place a weather-beaten scarecrow decoration on the apex of the A-frame house, and shouts to him. "What are you doing?" she asks.
   "Putting up the scarecrow," Jacob calls down. As the wind blows, the ladder sways dangerously.
   "All the way up there?" his wife asks, amazed by her husband's inexplicable daring.
   "Well yeah," he answers. As he begins to descend, his wife takes hold of the foot of the ladder and steadies it for him.
   "Why?" she asks at length, looking up at the treacherous ladder and the dizzyingly high scarecrow.
   "I dunno," he replies, "I guess because that's what my dad always did. We put him up there every year."
   Jacob's story is a familiar one. As old as the scarecrow itself, and older. Every year he, like many people, does things he doesn't understand, or even agree with, because they are 'what is done.' I think this is related to the imprinting instinct of 'lesser' animals, such as birds. We are naturally programmed to follow the lead our parents take, and because we love them and wish to preserve our memories of them, we imitate them in more ways than we are aware.
   Perhaps your mother loved to make lollipops with various bits of candy in them every Halloween, or your father built a fire in an otherwise unused fireplace every Christmas morning. Perhaps your family invariably threw a dinner party at the ancestral home every Thanksgiving. And you continue to do these things, for the sake of keeping alive the virtue of traditions - constance. Traditions have a way of embalming memories. If we do just one thing the same every month, or every year, or every holiday, that's one thing in this chaotic, kaleidoscopic path of life that will not change. One thing that may be relied upon - leaned upon. Somewhere to find comfort.
   This Thanksgiving I join a new family for a home-cooked meal, prepared with love and enjoyed in the comfort of a shared home. This is invaluably meaningful to me, because my entire life I have known such gatherings, and reveled in the familiarity they preserve.  Even away from my homeland I may be, this year I will be blessed with a much-missed reincarnation of that same tradition. How do you celebrate happy occasions? What traditions do you follow? What traditions do you remember even if you have not kept them alive? Ponder if you will the impact that traditions have had on your life this holiday season, readers, and be merry.

Love is All You Need

"What do I do when my love is away?

Does it worry you to be alone?

How do I feel at the end of the day?

Are you sad because you're on your own?

No! I get by with a little help from my friends."

~The Beatles

   Close your eyes. Visualize a summary image of your life, as a whole. Now, imagine how it might look if you had never had any friends. How would you have grown without becoming close to other people? You wouldn't have. You would learn the basic information - language, mathematics, natural law - things that a solitary person naturally learns over time just living in this world. But you would not have learned how people work. You wouldn't know what love was. Or hate. You wouldn't know how to communicate with media other than words. A race of autocentric souls, roaming the world with emotional blinders on. Maybe you'd know people. But you wouldn't really know anyone.
   What if you had never loved, trusted, or esteemed anyone? What would your view of other people be? They would all just be in the way. They would be competition for food, money, and advantage. You'd be just as happy without them around as you would be amongst a throng of them. If anything, you'd desire them to all disappear, as there would then be more of everything for you.
   If love and friendship never existed, the world would be an emotionally empty realm. Men would be as beasts in the wilderness. Instinct and want would drive us - not duty, or favor, or service, or fielty. And this would all be well enough (having no attachments means no entanglements or painful separations), but does that outweigh the loss of the very most important element of human relations? I don't think so.
   Think of your friends. Think of your best friend. Think of your lover. Your family. If it meant never having to share or sacrifice, would you live without emotional attachment to them? Would you cash in the interpersonal value of your relatrionships for total freedom and self-reliance? I could not, and I believe there are very few who could. For we as humans (most of us, anyway), would rather go without, rather take second priority, rather make sacrifices for those we esteem than to be friendless and alone.
   Who is your best friend? Who is your love? And who is your family? I cannot choose a best friend, but I can narrow it down to two people. Without them I would have no one my own age to relate to. No one to share stories from the good old days with. No one to keep me grounded. I have no love of my own, so I must settle for admiring the beloved of my friends, and valuing them as important parts of my friends' lives. And my family is a small group of constant, unwavering supporters that I can and do lean on when the load is heavy. I would be helpless without these people.
   Right after you read this, remind your friends, lovers, and family members that they are vital to your life and health, and wish them comfort and joy in the holiday season. Pay the love forward, and watch it come back to you with a profit.

"Oh, and A Grain of Salt, Please."

New Format - Like it?

“Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt”

William Shakespeare

   Doubt is an unusually subtle sort of fear. It may exist quietly, working its magic over long periods of time but choosing not to show itself in broad daylight for very long indeed. As half of a relationship, it's easy for a person to fall victim to the melodramatic shrill that is doubt, and we may find ourselves looking over our shoulder at the person right in front of us.

   Wrestling against doubt is trust, and with trust lies the strength of humanity. For trust, the antithesis and mortal foe of doubt, is what binds man to man, and has allowed civilization to occur. If you cannot trust your neighbor, then you are doomed to miss out on the chance to know his quality. You'll spend all your time doubting his character, and with your closed-door policy you will securely prevent yourself from making a friend.

   Sometimes we are made a promise, and it rests upon us to decide whether or not the maker of said promise may be trusted. We prognosticate the outcome of the situation, and are inclined to see it either one way or the other. If our best instincts tell us that Joanne will not bring our lawnmower back tomorrow, we will not trust her. We will doubt, and in doubting remain safe. For here lies the virtue of doubt - immunity. If one doubts everything, one can never be misled - or disillusioned. All or nothing - trust or doubt?

   Ethics, however, and philosophical convention teach us to be fair, in deed and in manner, so to be just to ourselves we have to be open to the uncertain as a third option. We can be cautiously daring. It is not impossible to trust safely. If we count on someone, knowing that they may fail us, then we roll the dice, and take what we get. If we cannot be sure how someone feels about us, but we hope they mean everything they say, then we may continue to live alongside them, open to a change of interpersonal climate. What am I saying? Let your feet be planted firm and level upon doubt, and reach for trust as far as you can from where you stand.

It's Not a Blog, So Much As an Interlude

    Sorry, readers. All nine of you (I wish that was a joke). I'm having a rough time, and I can't think of anything to write about other than just ... bad things. But I I don't want to keep blogging about being sad, or being angry, or hating anyone, or being in pain. It was an outlet for some of that and it did help me vent off some of that stuff, but it's not what I wanted this blog to be.
   I feel like I'm lucky even to have nine readers with the stuff I've been putting out. And I'm sure you guys don't like reading some of it. I don't blame you. I just don't know if I can write anything good right now. It's like I've said all I can say the only thing I still have is just to sit down and stare off into space until I forget that I'm alive. That's what I've been doing all day, except for a couple of conversations through text messages.
   I apologize for sounding like I'm despairing, but I think I am. I feel weak, and tired, like any minute I'm going to lay down and close my eyes and leave this world. The things keeping my mind in place at all are a handful of people split up between here and home, and I love them and appreciate their patience as I've been indulging in self-loathing.
   I'm trying to look ahead, and see a future for this blog, but I don't know. I can count on my fingers the number of readers I have, and even those few have to settle for me complaining every day or two instead of actually writing something enjoyable.
   It's funny - for a few seconds at a time today, off and on, I've been almost happy. I talk to my psychiatrist again tomorrow .... I wonder what he will say.

Broken Brain

Later In the Evening, As You Lie Awake in Bed ...

"Music and rhythm find their way into the secret places of the soul"

~Plato

   When the very air you breathe, the very sunlight you live by, and everything you touch, see, smell, taste, or hear is tainted, and pain seems to be coming at you from all directions, it is impossible not to fall under the assault. The weight of sadness is great, and the shaking thunder of fear is paralyzing. It is not unnatural to despair, or to become buried in your own troubles. Often when we are in such a state, it is as if a thousand troubling thoughts are clattering around in our heads, keeping us awake with the din. 

   But there is a magic which can combat this army of woes, and defend your mind by occupying it as soldiers occupy a castle. Music is a powerful force, and an entity all its own. It is an energy that exerts itself through thought and sounds, and awakens the soul with its sorcery. Powerful, beautiful music that the mind and soul are attracted to has the ability to flood the mind,and wash out the infection of sadness, anxiety, anger,and ignorance. 

   I often rely on this effect just to survive. Sometimes my only escape from spiraling stress and darkness is to forcefully blast the thoughts from my skull with metal. Or, to call out from the shadows a lost incarnation of myself, if only for a while, to look over the mountain of troubles and see what I have left behind me, and what might lie ahead. I am afraid of what would happen if I didn't have music to listen to.

   It may be hard for people to understand, or to believe, but because of a disease that has evolved in my mind through my growing up, I am almost entirely unable to handle stress, or to properly process grief, or recover from other emotional injuries. I have been accused of being immature for this, or weak, but honestly it is most of the time not within my power to deal with my life. My life is so full of disappointment - I have never gotten anything I wanted [that was actually important]. I feel that I have failed at every aspect of being a person, and that I am predestined not to fit in on this planet. I'm not being self-indulgent or exaggerating - that's what Major Depressive Disorders feel like. If you have been depressed you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't felt this way, pray that you never do.

   But we have a drug that treats the symptoms, without side effects, even if it can't cure the disease. Music makes it easier to cope. It is an avenue through which we can flee our pain for a while. And that is invaluable when nothing else works. If you're hurting, or if you're burned out, or if you genuinely wish to die of natural causes in your sleep tonight, you may find it helpful to flush out your skull with a river of Metallica, as I have been doing all day.

Hate Letter - Saying It All Just Once, So I Can Be Done With It.

(If you don't want to see me at my very worst, I suggest not reading this letter.)



Dear You,
         You will never read this, because you don't follow my blog. No big surprise, considering you never cared about me at all. I have never forgiven you for stringing me along and making me believe I was important to you, and then when I was at my most vulnerable, destroying me. You told me so many times that if you weren't with him, you would be with me. And you lied.  You spoon fed me compliment after compliment - "Joe, you're so nice. Joe, you're so sweet. Joe, you understand me so well! Joe, if I was single, you'd have to watch out!" And then when I called your bluff you fucking choked! You cavalierly tossed me a bullshit excuse - the you couldn't go out with me because I was your ex's friend. What a child!
     And now that your chickenshit boyfriend is acting all insecure and threatened and accusing me of still trying to win you, YOU SIDED WITH HIM! EVEN AFTER THE FUCKED UP THINGS HE SAID TO ME! I don't believe I wasted two years of my life pining for a stupid, whiny little girl who never knew what she wanted, always lied to me, and has no thrown out ever bit of decency there ever was between us! You and that smug motherfucker STARTED this idiocy, AND escalated it after I pleaded for a resolution, and YOU CALL ME A CHILD.
      FUCK ... YOU. Fuck you and the horse you rode in on. I renounce you, any and all connection to you that I have or ever have had, and I wash my hands of your ridiculous bullshit! I honestly hope I never see you again or hear your name again. You knew  from our earliest conversations that I have had a troubled history with rejection, and that I have been suicidal as a result of this. You knew that I was a fragile and dysfunctional person. And yet you had NO qualms entangling yourself in my mind like a thorny vine, getting all wrapped up in my emotions, and then RIPPING yourself out of my head like a weed from the soil!
    I can't believe that after so much time of just being cool with what happened and staying on good terms, you made some DOUCHEBAG believe I was a threat to you, and you had the AUDACIOUS, DISGUSTING VANITY to believe that I was still hung up on you after two years, and that every word I said to you was some kind of pathetic attempt to woo you. There are no words that describe the abhorrent repulsion I feel between my interests and yours, so it frustrates the unholy bile out of me that the only words that I can find are FUCK YOU.
       I never want to repeat this fiasco of a relationship for as long as I live. But I should have no reason to worry, as there cannot POSSIBLY be a chance that I will meet another CAPRICIOUS, ABSURD, NAIVE, SELFISH, VAIN, ARROGANT LITTLE BITCH as DESTRUCTIVE to my already fucked-up mind as YOU.

I hope you get dumped on your ass by that little shithead.

Have a nice life.

Epic

"Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns
driven time and again off course, once he had plundered
the hallowed heights of Troy.
Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds,
many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea,
fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.
But he could not save them from disaster, hard as he strove—
the recklessness of their own ways destroyed them all,
the blind fools, they devoured the cattle of the Sun
and the Sungod blotted out the day of their return.
Launch out on his story, Muse, daughter of Zeus,
start from where you will—sing for our time too."

~Homer, The Odyssey 

   "Loneliness," as the song says, "is such a sad affair." And how right she was. I appreciate the feeling of being lonely, and empathize on a deep and fundamental level those who feel so. For solitude is at right angles with the natural lifestyle of our species - we are a gregarious, social animal. And without[meaningful] contact with another human,there is no enrichment,no discourse, and no comfort. We are the forlorn and burning Odysseus, restless for want of Ithaca.

   I say this because, if one is not interacting with anyone who cares to listen, then it is as if one is not even part of this world. For all other people know, we may very well be dead. A similar notion is touched on in the classic question: if a tree falls in the forest, and no one is around to hear it, did it make a sound? Of course it did, as common sense would tell us, but how can we be sure? This is why to be alone is to be separate from the world, and it is a tragic condition.

   It is to my displeasure to tell you, my readers who don't already know (if there are any), that I have the misfortune of existing so. I prefer not to discuss the circumstances of my odyssey, because it is an unpleasant discussion to say the least, but I know the feeling of being alone and far from home. I feel this way even when standing in a crowd, because these are not my people. I feel it when with friends, because these friends, however excellent, cannot replace those dearest to me - my old friends back home. I find it impossible not to miss my family, and to my despair I find myself forgetting the memories and the connection I have with them.

   As I wander further emotionally from my Ithaca, I am burdened also by the longing for a Penelope of my own. There are many beautiful syrens in this place, but I am deaf to their song. I know they are not my people. They don't understand me. They will have nothing to do with me. This reminds me of how wonderful the women of my native Colorado are. Free as the sky, solid as the mountains, and as fluid and changing as the mighty river. All of these things, and yet ... simple and unpretentious. 

   To lie in surrender beside such a creature in a warm house, deep in conversation, and intertwined in embrace - this is my oasis. It is this image that tempers the blade that is loneliness. It stabs the wanting heart at its time of greatest ambition, and leaves an empty sensation in the chest.

   These are all fine words. They are artful and expressive, but they cannot do justice to the plain misery of the lonely man. I am here. And everyone else is there. This is my curse and my sad song. But I hope that those reading this understand, and in fact I'm sure most can relate. We are all lonely sometimes - and some of us are lonely all the time. But I think if we as a species were better at connecting with each other, the evil of loneliness would be abated, and we may see the shores of Ithaca sooner, and find our kingdom less altered.