Image: John Lurie (Painting With John)
“Mind is the Maker, for no reason at all, for all this creation, created to fall.” – Kerouac
The last couple days have been a fever dream surfing riptides of emotion and blankness alike.
Monday began as I hope every weekday should, if given the time. A deep yoga-ic 15 minute guided stretch before a mile jog. Yoga has always worried me since a lumbar muscle tore the night I was supposed to play a “going away” show in Portland days before our move to Denver in 2019. As a matter of fact, the trauma tremors of that excruciating pain has kept me pretty immobile and sedentary when it came to heavy exercise.
I’m an ambulator, by meditation and calming purposes, and walk miles a day, but haven’t attempted deep positioning and extraneous cardio in too long. It was rough, hell, it was scary as I felt my lower back pulsate, but it was necessary.
I ate well. I took long walks throughout the day whenever a terror tremor shook. I exorcised and was merry with Mary. Forgive the pun.
I attended my first meeting. This one not recovery based, but a guided group meditation my friend Derek pointed me to via zoom. And what do you know, it happened to be led by one of Mary’s old Trader Joe’s coworkers and friends! Synchro bell!
But my dreams were maddening. I’m certain I awoke some sort of undead servo in my trauma machine that churned and spurted deeply stressful dreams. The main one, hiding the body of a baby I had accidentally murdered and the ensuing cover up and flee from the dream police. Letting go of the shackles of childhood, anyone? Save it, Freud.
How’s this for another synchronicity… Mary and I were rudely awaken by our fire alarm in thr middle of the night. I awoke to a fog drenched room. We scrambled up, hunting for a fire source. But there was no fog, nor smoke, nor fire. I checked the time and it was 2:23 – my birthday and the comedic number I gave this sobriety run’s attempt…
Tuesday was different. I spent the morning rip rolling to south downtown to get a test to confirm childhood vaccinations for my new teaching job. I, of course, hadn’t kept those records. They couldn’t see me and I subsequently spent the rest of the day driving Mary around to run errands while she took phone call meetings. Between the stress of driving a van in Seattle, eavesdropping on stressful meetings, not being able to do my morning exercise routine and never letting go of depressive thought cycles… I cracked. I ended up hiding in bed for a few hours attempting to “nap” before Tuesday’s meeting.
My depressive cycles spurned from hearing about childhood friends and their magnanimous successes. I know that jealousy has kept me from supporting them or keeping good friendships due to my forever outsiderdom. I know I need to release that. Its hard when when there have been so many misgivings in my life comparatively, and I know I’m a little bitch about it. I want to be a good friend.
I ended the night with a long walk before a dharma recovery meeting. And fancy that, after a group meditation, the meeting was about letting go. And I was able to share my want to resolve this jealousy and this perceived outsiderdom I’ve had since I was a child. I found out after the zoom meeting that the one I picked, the only Seattle one based at that time, was actually located in my very neighborhood. I hope to return and begin seeding relationships with that group.
The Dharma way is a fine confluence to mending a spiritual and recovery practice. I always think of Kerouac (I’m aware of the irony of him being a lifelong lush) but this quote speaks to me still:
“I have all the time in the world from life to life to do what is to do, to do what is done, to do the timeless doing.”
In short, I’m listening. Signs are abound. And I persist still.
Until the next longwinded update…
Haunt on,
Keats
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