writing

It's been a while.  Writing challenges the very being of core.  My core self has remained rather hidden for the last year.  I can definitely tell by the lack of time spent writing in my journal, on this blog and in general.  The very act of writing or speaking brings to the surface that which can remain hidden if there is no voice.

A very strange dream this morning brought to the surface a significant awareness, so I will try writing again.  The main person in this dream was a man about my age, actually, he looked a lot like me except that he had a rather large and reddened scar on his right cheek.  It was a marking of pain, agony and hardship.  He wore no emotions on his face.  In fact, he was almost a ghost of a person.  I called this person my "inner sociopath."

It is always super strange to be able to name things within yourself while still within the dream.  It was one of those dreams that I was aware was a dream, and I was aware that this was me at some deep level within the shadow.  The details of the dream are not necessary, but this man, this "inner sociopath" sets off a bomb within an unknown building.

Such an act, am I truly capable?  No, but the coldness of the shadow scared me when I awoke.  Over the last few years, I have come to a place of emotionless paralysis.  In my relationships, in my work, in my moments of self care or reflection, I have so distanced myself from my very self.  My ego self rigidly defends.

In my dreams, defense against my shadow comes down.  My mental capacity and control relaxes and the sub-conscience self can emerge for a moment.   What to do with this  shadow is the question this morning?  Can I sit with, love and care for this scarred man?  I don't know, but at least I am writing. That seems to be a start.

How does one mark a return to something that is good and life giving but extremely difficult to do? It seems that the disciplines of life fit into two subconscious spaces for me: work and non-work. The discipline of work seems to happen without much thought, choice or even motivation. The disciplines of non-work take more determination and more intentionality. My wife would say it is because I have such a tough time resting and stopping while at work. My 10 hour day is truly a 10 hour work day. Being disciplined to exercise, eat well, rest, play, or complete simple house projects takes a monumental effort. Today, I am just wondering how my non-work time would look different if I could stop while at work. . .

#4 Ending my 4th decade

It is a farewell kind of day. It is day to say good bye to the first half of my life assuming I make it to 80. So many questions linger today--questions of accomplishment, of relationship, of progress, of identity. For me, 39 has been a difficult year. It is the closure of journey to some extent. With that closure there is relief, regret, and reflexion.

Alexi Murdoch was my music therapist a few years ago and I feel myself entering into another counseling session. Tears can come almost immediately when I hear some of his songs. "Breathe" was the mantra three years ago when career transition started. I wonder what song it might be in this season.

#3 Feeling

I am in the midst of one of the moments where the pressure of the world or the pressure of myself seems to push against every part of my being. Closing my eyes places me under the weight of a rock, a stone, a burden. A burden that I cannot explain. I burden that I remember as a child. It is a sensation that I vaguely know from my dreams. I am not sure if those dreams are from the sub conscience of sleep or of the sub conscience of awake. I know these feelings, but I don't want to feel them. Tonight there was a voice that said feel it. What is this reality of feeling? I don't know but it is almost impossible to breath. Yet, I remember the scent of God that came upon me tonight over dinner. It is usually short and for a moment. Tonight, I smelled that scent over and over again. God, what are you saying? Where are you in this? I am angry. I am angry. I am hurt. I am lonely. I am unsure. I am angry. I am mistrusted. I am lost. There is no one to guide me, teach me or help me. I am on my own. That pisses me off. All the voices say "you are not enough." But if I sit with the feeling, there is an awakening of sensation. I am enough, because God is enough.

#2 Pain

Pain is taking on a different role in my life as I age. Living in a way to avoid pain has been so much a part of my dna. And when pain arises, numbing is my first reaction. Pain has a place. Pain reveals my limitations. Pain accentuates my humanness. Pain makes me stop.

That is my issue. I don't slow to a walk enough. I had better start listening.

#1 Predetermined. . . destined. . . wine

Wow. 14 days until I reach a milestone age. I am not sure what it means other than I feel like drinking more wine today. Now that it is July, my 40th is only 14 days away. Yesterday I had this brilliant thought while running that I should blog about what I am unlearning now that I am finishing my 4th decade of life. So much can fall into that category. It feels like deconstruction is the name of the my last few years. But the essence of this deconstruction feels pretty good. It is disheartening and painful but at the core pretty good.

My first unlearning is that life is predetermined. So much of my understanding of my self and the world is that it is predetermined in some form. I am sure that it can be linked somewhat to my "evangelical" life of God's predetermined maneuvering of everything in my life. It also comes from the story of my family history where living the lot given to you is noble and right. Is this life to be predetermined? There is a certain amount of hopelessness that necessarily follows this thought. Why hope if it is already decided, already lived, already written? Hope is a word that is coming to life this year as I live and grow. Hope is a word that does not seem to be congruent with this idea of a predetermined life. There is this strange tension between the cosmic and the human when it comes to life.

All I know right now is that I am enjoying this glass of wine right this very moment. Not much more to predetermine than that.

smashed finger

Well, I just let the door slam on my finger once again. Seems like a ritual for me. About once a year I happen to slam a finger in a car door or a house door. Maybe everyone does, but this week I happened to get two fingers with two different doors.

With the ache of today's happenstance, the thoughts have been stirring. I know that accidents happen, but for me it usually is a result of hurrying from one thing to another. Hurrying is a normal part of my day. I seldom walk slowly or without purpose.

My question today is: Do I hurry because I am anxious about the next thing or do I hurry because I am anxious to leave the last? My heart leans toward the latter. If I leave the last thing quickly, I might not know failure. But leaving too quickly may result in leaving something behind.

Hurry is one way I avoid rhythms within my daily path. Ouch! I can't type quite as fast with this throbbing finger. Damn!