The Conscious Cataclysm: What Did He Say?

7/17/07

What Did He Say?

I must be suffering from some sort of "writer's block" today. I'm reluctant to even call myself a writer. I have several drafts for posts and ideas for topics scribbled here and there. Mostly here thank God, but anyway, when I started poking around for something to post tonight I could only sit there and stare at them. I had finally decided to just not post tonight but I was really uncomfortable with that. You see, I made a commitment to myself to publish at least one post a day. (Long pause as he thinks about what he has just written and why he's felt so out of sorts today) I finally decided that my only option was to write about not wanting to write.

Earlier today I went to the chiropractor. (hum...could that have screwed with my neural pathways?) You know, I never thought I'd get so much pleasure from the cracking of my bones. When the practitioner that initially examined me asked me to describe my pain as shooting, stabbing, etc., I said, "It's kind of burny." What? Burny? I had a flash of Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street in my mind. Dang, I'm making up words now. It's kind of along the lines of my saying please to the soda machine downstairs, (out loud mind you) Sometimes I get worried about myself. I live alone and have gotten into the habit of occasionally talking to myself out loud too. I guess I could call it thinking out loud. Since the conversations are totally one-sided I guess I shouldn't worry. That makes me think...

Once, when I was feeling like a laboratory animal, and my doctor was trying to figure out the correct combination of medicines to treat my "condition," I was plagued with racing thoughts. Some of them quite nasty and mean. I told somebody one day that I wished my brain would just shut up... Okay, Let me set the stage for you before I go any further. At the time all this was happening, I had the bright idea to go to our local community college and try for an associate's degree. Like there wasn't enough going on in my head at the time, and despite the fact that I was still homeless, living in a shelter.

I had taken an introduction to java class and was having a difficult time. I went to bed one night and had probably the most unsettling dream I've ever had. In the dream I was sitting in front of a desktop computer watching all this matrix type programming code scroll up the monitor. This is hard to describe to you, but, I could feel what was going on in my mind and there was nothing. No internal dialogue, nothing, a void, an abyss of nothingness. It was the spookiest thing I've ever felt to this day. I can still remember what it felt like. The next day I remembered having wished for my brain to shut up. Man, God had fulfilled my wish. I thank him that it was only in a dream. Anyway, I guess the moral of that little story is obvious. Be really careful what you wish for.

I'm really tired of all this not wanting to write and writing anyway about not wanting to write, which I really haven't written about at all. Makes you kind of dizzy, huh? I missed my personal deadline. Oh well. Enjoy life...

Birches

When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Ice-storms do that. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-coloured
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground,
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm,
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate wilfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree~
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

Robert Frost

From Emerson"s "Self-Reliance"

“There is a time in every man’s education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better or worse as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried.”

A Prayer Of The Optina Elders

Prayer of the Optina Elders

O Lord, grant unto me that with Thy peace I may greet all that this day is to bring.
Grant unto me grace to surrender myself completely to Thy holy will.
In every hour of this day instruct and guide me in all things.
Whatever tidings I may receive during this day, do Thou teach me to accept tranquilly in the firm belief that Thy holy will governs all.
Govern Thou my thoughts and feelings in all I do and say. When unforseen things occur, let me not forget that all is sent by Thee.
Teach me to behave sincerely and reasonably toward everyone, that I may bring confusion and sorrow to no one. Bestow on me, O Lord, strength to endure the fatigue of the day and to bear my part in its events.
Guide Thou my will and teach me to pray, to believe, to hope, to suffer, to forgive, and to love.

The Dalai Lama's Approach To Achieving Happiness

"Happiness begins with distinguishing between spirituality and religion. To have a spiritual dimension in your life, you should appreciate your potential as a human being and recognize the importance of inner transformation through a process of mental development.

The art of happiness has many components. It begins with developing an understanding of what are the truest sources of happiness and setting your priorities in life based on the cultivation of those sources. "It involves an inner discipline, a gradual process of rooting out destructive mental states and replacing them with positive, constructive states of mind, such as kindness, tolerance, and forgiveness."

Walt Whitman

"Hours continuing long,
sore and heavy-hearted,
Hours of the duck, when I withdrew to a lonesome and unfrequented spot, seating myself,
leaning my face in my hands; Hours sleepless,
deep in the night, when I go forth,
speeding swiftly the country roads,
or through the city streets, or pacing miles and miles,
stifiling plaintive cries; Hours discouraged,
distracted -- for the one I cannot content myself without,
soon I saw him content himself without me;
Hours when I am forgotten,
(O weeks and months are passing,
but I believe I am never to forget!)
Sullen and suffering hours!
(I am ashamed -- but it is useless -- I am what I am;)
Hours of my torment --
I wonder if other men ever have the like,
out of the like feelings?
Is there even one other like me -- distracted -- his friend,
his lover, lost to him? Is he too as I am now?
Does he still rise in the morning, dejected,
thinking who is lost to him? and at night,
awaking, thinking who is lost?"

Uncovering The True Face

"Withdraw into yourself and look. And if you do not find yourself beautiful yet, act as does the creator of a statue that is to be made beautiful: he cuts away here, he smoothes there, he makes this line lighter, this other purer, until a lovely face has grown upon his work. So do you also: cut away all that is excessive, straighten all that is crooked, bring light to all that is overcast, labor to make all one glow of beauty and never cease chiseling your statue, until there shall shine out on you from it the godlike splendor of virtue, until you shall see the perfect goodness surely established in the stainless shrine."

Piontius "The Enneads"

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas

New Improved Stress Management

Never put both feet in your mouth at the same time because then, you won't have a leg to stand on.
A truly happy person is one who can enjoy the scenery on a detour.
Some mistakes are too fun to only make once.
Birthdays are good for you. The more you have the longer you live.
Since it's the early worm that gets eaten by the bird, sleep late.
Nobody cares if you can't dance well, just get up and dance. (Unless you're Elaine from Seinfeld)
You may be only one person in the world, but you may also be the world to one person.

The Conscious Cataclysm

7/17/07

What Did He Say?

My World

Blog Archive

Hetrick-Martin Institute

TREVOR PROJECT CRISIS HELP LINE

Save A Life!

His Story Lives On

Erase Hate!

The Smile Train

Help Save The Honeybees!

From My World To Theirs

Birches

From Emerson"s "Self-Reliance"

A Prayer Of The Optina Elders

A Method Of Self-Reflection

A Rule Of Thumb

The Dalai Lama's Approach To Achieving Happiness

Walt Whitman

Uncovering The True Face

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Possibilities

New Improved Stress Management

Walt Whitman

I"m Glad You Were Here! Enjoy Life!

Parting Thoughts