Blayney's Blarney

Primeval Home

2010-10-28T15:26:00.000-07:00

More often than seems reasonable, life becomes terribly unsorted. Time is at once compressed and drawn out. Difficulties take on a sense of permanence as if turned to stone monuments in homage of chaos and suffering. At these times I am thin and taught as overstretched twine on verge of breaking and I must retreat. There is no great dramatic tantrum, just a quite slipping away unnoticed, a getaway. I take to the woods.

On my Zen adventures to the forest I favor the longer, less traveled path. It is there I most often find solace and healing. This day I travel slow and quite in a walking meditation down the gentle slope to the forest floor, which is now covered with the varied colors of the dieing and fallen foliage. The crisp air is filled with the fragrance of their decay mixed with the sent of pine and the damp sweet smell of sugar maples. The walkway is littered with the discarded remains of acorns and walnuts, and crimson colored berry seed droppings. The thick fallen cover is a flurry of playful activity.

When I have reached a place where I no longer hear the sound of 50 mile and hour tires on pavement, where all I can hear is bird song and the chirp and whistle of chipmunks and squirrels, I stop. Standing very still in perfect patience while all of nature becomes used to my presence and eventually decides I belong, this world opens up to me. As I become lost in observation the forest takes me in. The chipmunks rustle through the leaves and chase one another, tumbling and rolling together and darting away. Birds hop through bottoms of bushes whose branches still shelter fruit, devouring a dwindling harvest.

Something just at the corner of my eye, grabs my attention and I become aware that the observer is being observed. A stag with an impressive head, boasting a rack of about eight points, stands in the path and takes a full assessment of me as we look straight on at one another. Deciding I’m neither friend nor foe and of no consequence, he turns and makes his way down the ravine, and in a single graceful stride jumps the stream and disappears into the forest on the other side.

The chipmunks have begun to play what I call dodge the human; chasing each other across the path closer and closer. Certain brave little ones stop and look at me, then scurry off and dive into the leaves with a triumphant whistle. I feel I have become part of their happy little game.

Already the day, the walk, has proved to be a worthwhile venture. Lost in contemplation of the chipmunk games and the higher meaning of the encounter with the buck, I'm pulled from thought by a red tail hawk that soars past so close the displaced air hits my face and ruffles wisps of hair. I am startled for an instant, then awestruck and honored as I watch it land less than 10 yards away. The pull of the forest deepens and I sit down on the hard leaf covered ground so that I might be taken further in. I track the hawk as it moves on to it’s next lofty seat. The new vantage allows it to face me and it watches me as intently as I watch it. Am I so fascinating to the wild master of the air? No. It is more likely eying the chipmunk that has planted himself barely two feet in front of me. While I watch the hawk another creature watches me. He is chirping a low sweet musical tone that is answered rhythmically from all over the forest floor. This music circles and moves through me. I feel I know it and could sing along as I try to find the sound in my throat. The connection seems almost within reach and then is lost. The little one scurries off and down inside a hollowed tree branch; the hawk is on the move.

Spontaneous waves of joy and laughter take me. I know I have found myself a treasure, a perfect moment. I have touched, rejoined for an instant, some primal origin. The sense of comfort is warm and inviting as a soft favorite blanket. The desire to curl up and lay down overtakes me and I do lay down as if in someone’s arms, on a lap, ear against a beating heart. The cold earth warms me, takes me in to protect and nurture me. I am in the bosom of the forest where I wish to stay and sleep in peace without dreams.

Someone is coming. I hear them through the earth before I hear them through the air. The rustling and thudding steal the moment; break the spell. The forest falls quiet except for the sound of human foot fall coming up the path. I pull myself out of my deep meditative state and up off the ground to stand on the path. I have barely regained myself when the hiker comes trampling through. He looks alien and out of place to me. I yield the way and he sports a startled expression when he looks at me while passing. I am not sure what about me is so startling. Looking up through the trees, I decide to head back now that the reverie is broken. I think on the experiences while continuing a sense of meditation as I find my return path.

When I reach the trailhead, the welcome sight of the lovely convenience of a restroom distracts me entirely. The further convenience of a mirror gives me the answer to a previous question. I am struck by shock and wonder as I see in the mirror what the hiker saw. My hair has come partially loose from its ponytail in unruly tendrils, my cheek smudged, earthy needles and leaves are attached to my clothing and hair. I am an unholy mess. I think of the look on the hikers face and erupt with laughter.

I look like the wild forest herself. I am she and she is I. The forest, the earth, is my origin, my true being, and my primeval home. One day she will take me to her perfectly and completely. She will pull me into the beautiful darkness, the soundless, dreamless sleep, into the place from which I came and gladly must return, into the bosom of all life.

Until then, I am the forest on feet.
I am playful and daring as the chipmunk.
I am strong and stoic as the stag.
I am watchful and quick as the hawk, the master of the air.
I am as wild, as hard, as yielding, as giving, as nurturing, and as sacred as the earth.

Blessed Be

Undertow

2010-10-28T11:30:00.000-07:00

A leaf floats calmly by on the surface of a lazy river. The carefree drifter moves without seeming purpose, directed only by the river’s tranquil flow. Little bugs dance undisturbed by it’s passing. The dark brown water gives the red green leaf more importance than it may deserve and so one cannot help but be captivated by the elegant movement. Anticipation and curiosity build. What will become of it? Where does the river go? Who will watch the elegant dance next?

Without a hint of impending danger, the little arbor discard is yanked from sight into the brown void. The vanishing act being a product of the fickle current, shallow to deep, the water swirls far below and what it snatches from the top side world is now descending and rolling without end, held in captivity, in furious limbo. The underworld has taken hold and there is no reasonable reckoning of when the prisoner, the plaything, will be liberated. With no certainty that it shall ever be seen again, thoughts of it are cast aside. The viewer is resigned. It is gone, taken by the undertow.

A Coming Out Story - Bipolar

2010-09-02T21:41:00.000-07:00

Not as bad as many others, but bad enough that I need medication and I’m very manageable on my medication. That’s how I have learned to describe myself when speaking of my chemical infirmity or imbalance to those I choose to reveal it to. I don’t mess around with it. Whatever is prescribed, I follow and I don’t pretend I know better than those who have spent years leaning about my disease. That’s the trap of this sickness. I have learned from those I have seen go before me and thought they knew better and died by their own hand in the end. I know what’s at stake and I don’t play around with it, because in manic swings, thinking I know better than those I have put my trust in can bring on a devastating result. I have learned to be very discriminating in that trust. My psychiatric professional and I have an understanding. We are a ship. She is my elected captain. I share my thoughts and opinions about what is happening with my body and mind. She shares her expertise. I listen and follow her suggestion and prescriptions to the letter.
Nature can play a crewel trick. I think I am sensitive, maybe a little nuts, but aren’t all creative people? I simultaneously praise my affliction as a gift and curse it as a terrible condition of the mind. Creative madness is what they called it in the golden age of amazing artists such as Van Gough. His madness is synonymous with ist’ brilliant works. Had the treatment of today been available to him, would bipolar have the same stigma it does today?
That I would speak of it publicly here is both terrifying and a relief.
I always knew I didn’t fit with the world. Sometimes I would have brilliant insights I would try to manifest in concrete form. However, before I would finish I would be overtaken by a malaise that would undermined all I sought to achieve.
After a number of years of stable, uncomplicated medicated balance and maintenance, all hangs in balance of my other affliction; hormones and age. It is a new challenge that I will meet head on.
With the love and full support of family and friends, it is a challenge I know I can triumph in.

Sad Farewell

2010-05-15T05:29:00.000-07:00

The light was murky and the air heavy as I carried him out one last time. There was a strong smell of lilac that seemed inappropriate for the occasion. The strange light made the world look foreign and so it felt unreal as I placed my friend in the front passenger side of the car and shut the door. The geese on the lake made accusatory sounds. My feet on the pavement as I walked to the driver’s side did not feel like my feet and the hand that grabbed the driver's door handle was not my own. I got in, started the car, and put it in gear with the slowness of moving through water. In a soft voice I told him it would be okay, knowing it was a lie, and my spit was like sand that caught in my throat as we pulled out. This was never his favorite part, but his lids were heavy and he was unnaturally quiet as we moved closer and closer to the end of our friendship.

After he was gone and I had returned to the car, the tears finally flowed. The drive home with the empty seat beside me was sad and yet somehow less burdened. The time of decision done, only the finality of the deed was left to weight on the heart. Windows down and radio loud, tears dried and crusted on checks and nose. I let the wind pass over and sooth the guilt and sadness. The car sat outside the house. I became more present within it as the smell of lilacs, sounds of the lake, roughness of the upholstery against my arms, brought me back. As I walked back into the house empty handed, I felt hollow and spent. I knew that a hug and a glass of wine awaited my return. As I opened the door, I wondered what awaited my friend.

Motivation

2009-08-20T10:54:00.000-07:00

Working diligently towards a goal and achieving that goal should be it’s own reward, both in the journey and in the achievement. In the journey, one learns a great deal about themselves and the achievement bolsters self confidence and, of course, the benefits of the particular goal. The key to actually achieving the goal is motivation. There are many ideas and theories concerning this concept. The bookshelves are full of advise on motivation. However, how practical is it really? Don’t we ultimately need to find it in our own way for it be effective?

We all have our own natural mode when it comes to motivation. Some people are able to find it from within, springing into action by the power of their own inspiration to do or achieve something, or change something they find to be flawed in their life or character. Others are motivated to achieve something they previously did not think possible, either by the achievements of someone they relate to and admire, or the encouragement of someone who believes in them. Then there are those that are motivated by the need for change as a last resort such as failing health, incarceration, decline of personal relationships, pain, confrontation, etc. Outside force seems to be the most common and powerful motivation. I call this the Do or Die method.

In my weight loss journey I discovered something very important about what naturally motivates me. I am often very aware of what I desire to achieve, or what I need to change, and feel some motivation in that self-awareness. However, the motivation that actually gets me to the finish line is an outside force, something that brings me to the Do or Die point. Another motivational force for me is vanity, but it does not seem to have the same power it once did. As I get older, I care less what others think of me. Pain, whether emotional or physical, is a very powerful motivator and apparently the main one for me.

The combination of vanity and pain is what finally motivated me to lose the weight that I had been struggling with for 4 years. I would get close, but then my desire to self medicate with food would overwhelm my desire to lose the weight. Weight loss is about changing the lifestyle that caused you to gain it in the first place. That lifestyle usually has some sort of payoff and mine was comfort when I was in physical or emotional pain. The combination of vanity and the desire to be healthy and have a good quality of life came close to outweighing my need to eat my pain, but in the end would give way in the winter to my old habits. Ironically it was my need to look like (and feel like) the old me for my son’s wedding and have him proud of his mom that made me absolutely determined. I had lots of motivation and energy to give me a great start, but it turned out to be the alleviation of pain due to the new lifestyle that finally out weighed the urge to comfort myself with food.

No that I have reached the goal, I feel a sense of accomplishment and a desire to see what else I can apply this knowledge to. I feel the next area of my life that needs an overhaul is my spiritual life. I have found wonderful tools and moments of clarity in this area, but like other things, have lost motivation as I get further away from the initial source of inspiration. Now I know that I must look at the reality of what motivates me best and find a way to initiate that on my own. I would rather not look to the Do or Die moment to be inspired. Do or Die moments in relation to spirituality are usually highly unpleasant and I would prefer not to require that sort of scenario from the universe so as to make this change.

It would be an achievement in and of itself to reshape my natural motivational tendency to that of a more productive and dynamic one. Or I could continue to invite disaster into my life by continuing in the Do or Die method. The payoff of making this major change in my modus operandi seems very obvious and attractive. However, the question remains,

what’s my motivation?

Ode to my cat's Zen

2009-07-06T10:07:00.000-07:00

My female cat is the embodiment of Zen. Her name is Zena (with a Z because of her crooked tail), but we call her Baby Girl. She is a gentle, petite, sweet dispositioned, Tabby. I see her curled up on her pillow in a spot of sunlight, or sometimes playing enthusiastically with nothing more than her own tail and I yearn for her simplicity of joy. For her, 'Be Here Now' is not a striving for higher consciousness, but her existence. This morning I looked into her beautiful large brown eyes and saw serenity.

Baby Girl Knows

Languid, soft, and sweet companion
friend, teacher, feline daughter
Independence, home,
the simple, important things
Baby Girl knows

Soft voice calling me
from profound thought
Diminutive steps,
arched back, beckon touch, love
Baby Girl knows

Moments of great sadness, tears
She offers sincere affection,
gentle kiss, mew
Sooths hurt with doe eyes and silken fur
Baby Girl knows

Spontaneous joy, the hunt, childish play
importance of a soft bed
a simple touch
Her face serene in contentment
Baby Girl knows

Little tiger face peaking through ferns
the mighty huntress in the grass,
plucky in pursuit of flies
Unaware the passing of time,
no concept of beginning, ending
only here, not here
A moment unto itself, delight
Minimalist,
Zen

Petite, brown eyed, feline Buddha
I seek your enlightenment,
your brave, unabashed,
bountiful existence
Teach me

I am as positive that pure joy
is to be curled in a ball
like a pill bug on a pillow,
face cozied up to one’s own fluffy tail
as I am that behind large, soft, brown doe eyes
Baby Girl knows

Grey Summer's Morn

2009-07-03T06:57:00.000-07:00

Such a grey summer’s morning, it leaves the mind to wander. There is no desire to venture out or accomplish anything that would give a sense of reality to the day. I am happily perched upon my balcony looking out, taking in the foggy, dream like lake. The monochrome landscape may reduce the mind to sleep or ignite the imagination. In the absence of color the mind paints its’ own scenes and lovely words, songs, begin to form, but fail to materialize beyond their implied birth.
Ideas dance in my head, sometimes elegant, sometimes wild. As they take shape, if I tried to take hold of any one of them, they would all flutter away like monarchs on an August afternoon, and so I simply let them dance. I admire each one and let them work their spell on me. The sublime, the fanciful, and the brilliant are born from stuff of nothingness leaked out from some unknown crevice in my head, and mingled with the mystery of lake fog. Surely all great thought and thinkers were born this way. I am on the brink of something, an original thought so magnificent that the world will rejoice at its’ coming. Careful. Pull back. Do not try to touch that thought or you will loose them all.
There is an annoyance, an agitation at my nape like a stinging insect. Its’ buzzing, “Get up. There is work to do.” I swipe at it. Buzz. Buzz. “Don’t while your day away with useless day dreams you fool.” That last sting so irritates me that I am snapped from my perfect state. How dare the sensible mind interrupt my perfect reverie!
Refocused, I find there is no recapturing the dream like quality. The spell is broken. Reality has taken shape and it is just a grey rainy day with work to be done. I leave the balcony and take up the task of the laundry.