I got one box packed, and not very well. I just can't do it yet. A friend's been asking me for advice but I can't trust the brain to think clearly yet. Things are working again, but not dependably. I still get Lemmyhead here & there. Last night I had some really clear memories that are causing a writer friend to revise 2 whole chapters of his new book. Those random bits from my childhood filled a space he had, and connected all the web he'd been tracing. Who knows what the hell's going on with my brain- the receptor ends are trying to reset themselves and parts are defrosting... it's a process, boy.
There's little to be controlled here, so my choices are to get angry and frustrated that I can't do what needs doing, or relax and do what I can. It seems that what I can do is let my body heal, write about going through it, and see what happens. That will have to be enough. But I'm pissed that these friggin drugs are still stealing time from me, 3 weeks later. How damn long is this going to take? I really don't have time for this. Yet, I have to give it the time it wants.
My only choices are in how to deal with it all. Emotions zoom around like the Flying Monkeys. I'm a much angrier person than I ever thought I was, at least right now. My temper snaps at being frustrated. My determination, or Chi, or whatever you want to call that energy that dances around and pokes at your solar plexus, wants to get up and go, and my body and brain aren't having it. Kinda like a motor revving in idleness. And I never liked that, still don't. It's wasteful and stupid. So then I try to imagine all that energy rushing to where it will do better good in my body- to flood my brain & hurry up the healing. But with all the metaphysics I've studied, all the psych courses and all the blathering I've heard for 5 decades now, I don't have a clue if that helps. It does calm me down, and I'll do something like what I just did- grab some things to be packed together as I pass by, and then my physical limitation bears down on me with all Earth's gravity at once. So I come back to my chair and furry blanket, and type a bit more.
This is testing every bit of me. And revealing things to me about me that I never knew. I always thought I wanted a sedentary, contemplative life...and that's what I've been given, by chance. Maybe, when things have settled, I'm moved into the new place, some more time past the opiates, it'll be good. Or maybe, some miracle of Pope JP2 or Cerridwen or Thor will suddenly heal my hip and back and I'll go back to health. We can't know these things. We mere mortals exist at the whim of chance, randomness, luck, to such a degree. Our very being alive was because of an astronomical chance. And many of us spend our entireties trying to figure out how to change that to odds-in-our-favor.
When I was 14 or 15 I was scoping the occult section at the Strand Bookstore and could afford one book there- Al Manning's "Helping Yourself With White Witchcraft". Hardly a scholarly tome and a far cry from the Goetia I would read 2 years later, but I had the buck and a half plus tax to buy it so I did. From that day to this, magick, in all its forms and faces, has been in my life. It all started with a simple ritual to help myself get the odds in my favor. But it's gone so far afield from there, away from magick even involving myself at all, that it seems a long-ago personal silliness. Because magick is not for mere humans. And the road to magick does, indeed, lead away from magick. But that's another blog.
So how can we mortals stand the knowledge of existence being chance and nothing more? We create gods and forces, heroes and villains, morality and immorality... we grasp at controls and explanations because we are now programmed to. Somebody, way back, had a need for their personal sitch to be explained and we've had a god factory since. Which is not to say gods don't exist; man made refrigerators, too, and they certainly exist. But man didn't make electricity; it was just there. I hope that's enough said. I've already gotten way too heavy for this early in the day and I know I'm gonna be writing a lot today. I'll just say there are few humans who can put their hand in the socket sucessfully.
Just found a clip of ELP; the lyrics of The Gnome say a lot of things: