Ordinary Days

How was your day?  Mine was a mixed bag.

I started this day completely overwhelmed and nauseated by the smell of fresh celery from the farmer's market.  My brain is still trying to figure out smells after a few months with none at all (see anosmia posts for details); and for some strange reason the few it can smell tend to freak it out completely.  Another woman with parosmia (the fancy-pants term for distorted smells) described the one we get as variations on "zombies and old socks".  That's pretty close.  I get it with coffee, cucumbers and peanut butter, to name a few.  And oh my gosh, most especially with celery.  That one can chase me out of a grocery store.  Today said sweetheart brought home our box from the farmer's market, featuring celery so fresh it slapped me on the face, and I had the olfactory equivalent of motion sickness for the next three hours.  But, wearing gloves and gagging in the most delicate way, I chopped some up and double bagged it for our river trip.

We headed out to the McKenzie with family and friends for a beautiful start to September.  The weather was perfect:  robin egg blue skies, a pleasant breeze and a temperature just right.  The river sparkled blue and green, clear and clean.  Strangely, on this beautiful holiday weekend, we encountered few people:  a couple of drift boats, a few scattered fly-fishers winding their lines into the constant hatches.  We picnicked on a shore, and I found a few sets of LOVE rocks, and threw the brightest jasper into the water to better appreciate their colors.

jasper in the river

We stopped at Jump Off Joe, a high rise accessed by a 50 foot log way up over the water, where two of our party braved the shade and still very cold water to take a leap.  Sweetheart was one of the two.  I wonder when I will be chill enough to watch someone I love do something that looks dangerous without picturing a future without them.   I think probably never.

We made an easy and exciting run through the wave trains and did a bit of manuvering to get through Brown's hole, and I remembered why I love running rivers.  A few no-harm-done-except-panic accidents has left me pretty wary of whitewater.  Once I'm on, I'm fine, but it's been harder and harder to get on.  I know from experience that the best way to deal with fear is exposure.  I also know the easiest way is avoidance.  I'm better at the latter.

One of the panicky accidents occurred at Marten's Rapids, a class three (difficult) set of rocks and waves at the end of our run.  Among its obstacles are two large rocks known as "Oh Shit" and "Castration."  In June this year, a man making a lousy run died there.  It's no picnic.  Although I'd experienced with all the thrill and safety of a carnival ride, a few years ago things changed.

ok, not marten's.  i was too busy not freaking out to photo.

There were several circumstances afoot that particular summer day.  I was in a boat with inexperienced rowers, who stopped rowing as we hit a set of powerful hydraulics at Marten's.  The raft was new, stiff and unforgiving.  This combination of factors was enough to make our joyride into a nightmare, plunging the raft into a strong hole where thousands of pounds of hard water pinned us against a huge boulder.  Half the raft was under water and we were clinging to each other and the raft for what seemed like eternity.  Certainly long enough that I considered this might be it.

I was holding on hard to the oldest member of our crew, a woman near 80 years old. The water was snowmelt, freezing.  One by one, people were knocked off the boat by the water, including the captain, and finally even the woman I was trying so hard to hold.  That was the hardest part for me, watching this fragile woman washed off the boat and into the rocks and rapids.

Soon there were half as many in the boat.  The weight difference changed the dynamics enough that we popped free.  We all had PDFs (life jackets-- and please, don't even THINK of boating running or cold water without them).  Those taking the accidental swim floated out of the rapids and were rescued by rope or the boat behind us.  Except for a bit of hypothermia, and in my case a new profound respect for and fear of whitewater, we were unharmed. 

But I was harmed.  My brain couldn't let go of the visuals of the water and the faces of the crew, and especially the picture of that elderly woman pulled off the raft.  I avoided McKenzie for a long time.  I skipped several river trips.  The ones I did that involved even more technical rapids required all the coping skills I could muster to even get out of the door and into the car.  Again, once there, I loved it.  It took a lot of self-talk to get back to the McKenzie.  Part of that talk was thinking about my clients, who do brave things every day.  Sometimes their brave tasks seem incredibly easy to me.  Sometimes they are way above running a rapid.  I have great respect for each end of the spectrum, because I know that Brain learns fear in a visceral way.  It doesn't matter if it's flying or spiders, whitewater or job interviews-- panic is panic, fear is fear.

When we approached Marten's my heart was aflutter.  I thought about swimming to shore and walking the last mile of river.  I asked about, then declined, a drop off there.  I thought about the many times each week I ask my clients to do something that is extremely difficult for them.  I tried to remember ways to calm my amygdela and think logically about the times I'd been through this rapid easily.  Fear Weasel Brain was having none of this, so I decided just to shut up the internal dialogue and see what happened.

It was a great run.

After the river, I relaxed with the family at Squirrels over a good-enough meal.

So:  how was my day?  Well, there were parts I didn't mention-- putting up plums, missing my deceased parents, worrying about and loving family members, doing laundry.  It was nauseating, wonderful, terrifying, reaffirming, tedious, beautiful.  In other words, an ordinary extraordinary day.

Ask me next week, and I'd tell you it was great day.  But in truth, like most days, it held way more than that.  It was a mixed bag.  A beautiful, frightening mix. 

And that's life.

Jana

PS  Did you see the blue moon? So gorgeous!

Lighting the Shadows of Rape Myth Culture

The headlines are everywhere.  During a television interview, state congressman John Atkins explained his opposition to abortions for rape victims. “If it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut that whole thing down."  He didn't clarify what he meant by a "legitimate" rape. His science is dead wrong.

"Akin is not alone in his view about rape and pregnancy, however. It dates at least to medieval times, when a 13th century English legal tome called Fleta asserted that pregnancy was prima facie evidence against a charge of rape, "for without a woman's consent she could not conceive."

A 19th century book, "Elements of Medical Jurisprudence" by Samuel Farr, said that conception is unlikely "without an excitation of lust, or the enjoyment of pleasure in the venereal act." That reflected the common notion that pregnancy requires a woman, like a man, to reach orgasm during intercourse.

Both early references were noted by The Guardian newspaper in a blog post on Monday.

In fact, "human ... female orgasm is not necessary for conception," explained a 1995 paper in the journal Animal Behaviour, one of many studies reaching the same conclusion."   (read the rest of the Reuters article here).

Surely it didn't take until 1995 for a paper to demonstrate that women can become pregnant without orgasm.  In fact, studies find that rapes result in even higher pregnancy rates than consensual sex. This may in part be because victims are (quite obviously) less likely to be using birth control at the time of the rape.  To add insult to injury, in 31 states rapists may claim the same paternity rights to custody and visitation as men who father through consensual sex.  Lawyer Shauna Prewitt, whose daughter was the result of a rape, spoke of her experience in an article in CNN today.  "I know it because I lived it. I went to law school to learn how to stop it."

Don't believe for a minute that Akins is a lone idiot.

"In a (May 2011) House debate, Rep. Pete DeGraaf (R-Mulvane) was quoted during a conversation with Rep. Barbara Bollier (R-Mission Hills).  The House was discussing insurance coverage for abortions. The point was made that proposed coverage restrictions did not make exceptions for pregnancies resulting from rape or incest. DeGraaf suggested that women purchase separate abortion-only policies. Bollier questioned him about the likelihood of women doing this.
Rep. Pete DeGraaf said, "We do need to plan ahead, don't we, in life?"
Bollier asked him, "And so women need to plan ahead for issues that they have no control over with pregnancy?"
DeGraaf then responded, "I have a spare tire on my car." "I also have life insurance," he added. "I have a lot of things that I plan ahead for." (http://articles.kwch.com/2011-05-25)

Akin's reference to "legimate" rape has not been explained, though he has apologized -- sort of.  "The mistake I made was in the words I used."  Actually, the mistake was in the things he believes, and there is no real reason, beyond his desire to continue his electoral race, to think he has changed his beliefs. His reference to "legitimate" rape parallels cultures in which raped women are killed by their own relatives as matters of honor, and to religious law that required women raped within city walls to be stoned to death along with their assailants, citing complicity because the victim did not not cry out in a way to be heard.

While we may not murder the victims of rape, Americans fail to protect them when we participate in cultural myths that blame the survivors.  This is as common among women as men.  It's even common among victims.  Why?  Because we all want to believe we have control over our destiny.  Even when we don't.

When I was in college I was a volunteer, and later a co-director, for a rape victim support service.  Each victim, every single one, blamed themself.  Whether they were raped by a former partner, by a date while intoxicated, or by a single or group of strangers.  If they complied, our of socialization or fear, or if they fought tooth and nail.  Even if their assailant had a lethal weapon.  They went over every single detail to see where they could have done something different.  I remember especially the 20 year old Christian early elementary student.  She answered a knock on her door; a young man said his car had broken down and asked to use her phone.  This was before cell phones.  After she let him in, he bound and assaulted her brutally.  She lamented that she should never have let him in.  But that was a crazy thought-- it was her complete nature to assist someone in need.

Other myths still exist:  she asked for it, she was sexually provocative, she shouldn't have been where she was or doing what she was doing.   I think of the elderly nun I counseled, or the parents of the elementary girl.  And I also think that even if a woman is dancing naked on a table for strangers, is drunk, or wanted to make out earlier-- that has nothing to do with whether it is ok to have sex with her without her permission.  IT IS NEVER OK.

Rape and the threat of it is a constant in women's lives.  Nearly every R-rated and many PG-13 movies include at least one scene in which a women is subject to it.  In fact, during the time I worked at the crisis center, a spate of horror movies were released with a recurring theme, starting with "Halloween".  A murderer was on the loose.  "Liberated" women-- read brash, assertive or openly sexual women-- were killed off, one by one.  In the end, only the virgin/conservative woman was spared.  The message seemed obvious:  pay for your freedom with your life.  This was later echoed in Thelma and Louise, in which one lead character (an abused wife) is sexually assaulted after a night out in which she drinks and dances with a handsome man.   Her friend kills the assailant and they flee, but in the end both women suicide.

What can we do with our outrage?  Start with this:
--Speak out against sexual violence as entertainment.
--Do not tolerate, passively or otherwise, rape "jokes" or the continuation of rape myths.
--Donate your time, money or needed items to organizations that support survivors of sexual violence.  Even a few dollars will help.

All Over The Map(s)

sail away ladies sail away

Back from a long-dreamed of trip to Alaska. I have family there, and they were wonderful hosts-- sailing, fishing, hiking, wildlife peeping, and a high speed catamaran trip to Sitka were on the agenda, along with fantastic meals of local seafood and organic veggies.  SE Alaska is the Arnold Schwarzenegger of Oregon without the swagger:  everything that's wonderful about here is closer, bigger, more. Islands, islands everywhere, and totem, and huge swarms of spawning salmon and chirping eagles and spouting whales.

The trip took a little convincing.  I live close to the dime and it seemed such a luxury.  But we had a free place to stay, local guides, a 33 foot sailboat (the magnificent Haiku) and two for one airline tickets.  How to resist?  Having been enamored of the place since i was wee and reading, obsessively, over and oer the Time-Life series on Alaska and the Arctic during visits to my Tennessee Aunt Louise-- well, I knew a trip was in my destiny.  And when the cards fell, even though there were house repairs to do and being self-employed means no paid time off-- well, only a fool gives a raspberry to destiny.  Off we went.  Here's a few things I learned:

You can get a better suntan in Alaska in June than in Oregon.  If you're lucky.  We were lucky

You can look extra sexy in waders with the right angle lens.

Most people don't lock their doors in SEAL.

Fresh halibut curry is a revelation. 

a view from the haiku

sailing through the narrows

keeping things under control

Sailing is really, really relaxing and healing, especially when it's (oddly) not raining, there's good food in the galley and  great company on the deck.  Admiral Zooey (the redhead) and First Mate Fletcher kept things under control, or at least underfoot.  Capt s Brian and Liz demonstrated how to relax into the Alaska vibe(beer was often involved). 

cuddlin' up at low tide

Turn ten minutes from the dock and you can walk the Mendenhall glacier park and wrestle with some sadness over ts diminished state.  Pick a different 10minutes and grab some fishing gear to wonder int the Tongass Rainforest, stumbling past the evil Devil's club into native carvings and possible grizzly sushi bars.  No need to change clothes except to throw on the waders and extra-tuffs to be one with the fishes as you wander off shore in search of something to grab your lure.

It's a wonderful life.  It's a life full of suffering.  Both/and, so take your times of grace and rejuvenation where you can and JUST SAY YES to opportunities that can make old dreams come true.

Adapation

And I'll be your cheerleader and butt-kicker to go after the (planful, ethical, soul enhancing) YESes in your life.  SI SE PEUDE.

I feel ready to do so serious psychotherapy after all that relining and awakening.  Hold me to it!

writer's pile of tumbling blocks.



perhaps i need to be playing different keys for now

I am niggled with guilt at neglecting my blog in order to focus on the visual world.  My blog is quick to point out that it is in good company, neglect-wise-- along with my paperwork, most no-longer-visible surfaces in my living space, and my correspondence habits.  I took to the web to find literary solace, asked for water and it gave me gasoline.  The rapscallion Chas
Bukowski has disabused me of any rationalizations and I am at temporary peace with the lapse of my written words.  Here's how:

so you want to be a writer?
by Charles Bukowski
 to every thing, there is a season, and this is gonna be a bang-up one if it doesn't come bursting out of you in spite of everything, don't do it. unless it comes unasked out of your heart and your mind and your mouth and your gut, don't do it. if you have to sit for hours staring at your computer screen or hunched over your typewriter searching for words, don't do it. if you're doing it for money or fame, don't do it. if you're doing it because you want women in your bed, don't do it. if you have to sit there and rewrite it again and again, don't do it. if it's hard work just thinking about doing it, don't do it. if you're trying to write like somebody else, forget about it. if you have to wait for it to roar out of you, then wait patiently. if it never does roar out of you, do something else. if you first have to read it to your wife or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or your parents or to anybody at all, you're not ready. don't be like so many writers, don't be like so many thousands of people who call themselves writers, don't be dull and boring and pretentious, don't be consumed with self- love. the libraries of the world have yawned themselves to sleep over your kind. don't add to that. don't do it. unless it comes out of your soul like a rocket, unless being still would drive you to madness or suicide or murder, don't do it. unless the sun inside you is burning your gut, don't do it. when it is truly time, and if you have been chosen, it will do it by itself and it will keep on doing it until you die or it dies in you. there is no other way. and there never was. -ed note: i can tell something's going to get born, but i think it's going to be a messy delivery.......

Difficult Gifts

Sometimes love swells up so big in a heart it leaks out the face.

It's beautiful outside right now.  The skies are a rare Oregon-clear, the stars bright and the breeze perfectly cool.  The moon is reluctant to rise just yet, but I know it's out there, big and yellow and still swollen though waning. The sun is out there too in that dark somewhere too, though as is often true of our sources of life and light it's not apparent from our limited perspective.

I read a sad and beautiful letter tonight from an old friend writing on Caring Bridge.  If you know the site, you know that you are visiting it because there are Big Scary Things afoot.  The friend talked about how she is working with integration of the return of her (miraculously and temporarily disappeared) terminal diagnosis.  Her incredible shine, her integrity and devotion to love as the centering point was profound.  She didn't shy away from the fear part.  She bore witness.

I went to the backyard and sat and stared at the sky and cried.  This woman's community is strong.  And everyone in it would likely gladly give up a year of our life to add a month to hers.  But we don't get those choices.  There are a lot of choices we don't get.  What amazes me is the choice some people make to go into love when facing death.  To keep getting bigger and bigger in spite of all the good reasons to withdraw.

In gratitude and with love to my friend and teacher A~.
Jana

The Race To Educated Debt

Heard on the radio tonight that US college student's school loan debt has reached one TRILLION dollars.  That's a one followed by 12 zeros.   Mind you, my math's not so good.  I had trouble adding my Scrabble score last night (old school, with a real board and a pencil, not online).  I can't grasp the concept of a trillion, so I looked it up.  Guess what:?  If you had a stack of a thousand dollar bills it would be over 67 miles high.   A senator complaining about national debt said if a person was born at the time Jesus lived s/he'd need to spend a million dollars a day the last two thousand years to spend that much.  He was a little off-- that's only 2/3s of the trillion.  A trillion is a ridiculous number.  One trillion seconds is 31,688 YEARS. 

Average tuition rates at college climbed 15% between 2008 and 2010-- and we all know they are higher still every year.  It's no longer possible to put yourself through school working a part time job like I and many of my cohorts did. 

What have our students gotten for all this unfathomable debt?  Classrooms are larger.  Real professors who are really teaching--not directing you to the on-line powerpoint, not handing you off to a grad student with no experience or interest in teaching-- are rarities. Mentoring is even rare, especially in public and (slightly) less costly universities.  And jobs?  Well, in a few select fields, say engineering, graduates can usually find jobs with actual benefits and enough pay to to find housing and raise families. But many well educated graduates would love to just be able to work full-time.  Anywhere.

A good liberal arts education used to be a ticket to opportunity.  With an emphasis on critical thinking, the ability to reason, write and learn, a graduate might end up working in most any field.  Now companies want a Master's degree to do jobs that for years were done perfectly well with a few month's training.  I know a brilliant young woman with a BA in science who can't find a job washing beakers.  She recently applied at a local food chain and was asked to submit a writing sample.  In the time she took to supply it, seven other people came in to turn in applications.  A writing sample?  For a minimum wage, part time, un-benefited position?  Ridiculous.

There's a big push at high schools to raise graduation rates, now hovering around 60% nationally, close to 100% with a goal of 80% of graduates going on to complete a four year degree.  For what?  So we have a whole generation of incredibly educated indentured servants selling our Big Macs? We are headed entirely down the wrong path.  At a presentation on learning disabilities, local psychologist Kim Golletz discussed some interesting realities.  The average college graduate has an IQ of about 115.  Let the whole IQ debate slide for now and just look at the numbers.  On a bell-shaped curve of general population IQ scores, an IQ of 115 is in the upper 25 percentile.  How, exactly, are we going to attain an 80% or higher BA education rate for that 100% of youth graduating high school?  And why exactly do we need it?

There are all kinds of brains.  Some of the smartest people I know never went to college at all.  A mechanic I met in the early 90s in SE Texas dropped out of school in 6th grade.  He most likely had dyslexia and never learned to read, which made school a big fail for him.  But he could take apart and reassemble an engine in an afternoon.  And he made good money doing it-- enough to raise a family and buy a home.  A pipefitter, a farmer, a landscaper back then could start their training in high school, or by apprenticing with an expert.  In my Midwest youth there was a little shame in being sent on "the vocational track" if you were from the sort of family that expected college.  But it was hard to argue it with your peers who were making great salaries and buying houses at 21 when you were still eating Top Ramen for dinner and hoping to pass a final.

The options seem to be gone for today's high schoolers, who are drilled from middle school to be anxious about choosing the right college.  And for those who can't make it or don't want to, a high school diploma or equivalent is required just to get into the training programs, which take twice as long and require boatloads of minimum competencies in reading and math that may or may not be useful to the skill.

OK, grownups.  We are the ones that need to make a fuss about this.  Write your school board and political representatives, and encourage them to support vocational training for teens in the schools, and to get off "everybody graduate/everybody get a bachelors degree" bandwagon.  We need to stop equating long educations with skill sets for working every job.  We need practical education for all kinds of minds, at costs that are within means.

Related post:  The Kids Aren't Alright:  The Pressure for Excellence

You Ate The Apple

Coming up:  July 15th I will be preaching it at the Universalist Unitarian Church.  This year's topic is all about original sin.  OK, not.  I did my sin sermon a couple years ago, and would be happy to glaze your eyes over with a repeat performance in another venue.  This one is about the burdens blessings and responsibility of critical thinking and choice. Yep, ignorance might be bliss, but it is also the closest thing to unconsciousness:  a desire to retreat back into the womb where decisions are made for us.

If you're in Corvallis, come join us that day. The nice thing about the UU is everyone is welcome-- Buddhist, Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Pagan, Agnostic, whatever.  Just bring an open mind and heart.

My usual accompanist, fiddler/songwriter Willeke F., is making music at Shasta that week-- sad for me, good for her-- but I'll do my best to make it worth your while.

The (Lost) Smell of Pleasure

evening sky, 6/1/12

I'm at the first year anniversary of losing my sense of smell.  It'll be good to be past some of the difficult firsts:  Thanksgiving, spring scents, summer harvest, winter without enjoying the olfactory pleasures of a woodfire or baking bread.  My weight has stabilized.  I learned one can eat food whether or not one likes the taste.  But I miss enjoying it, and I imagine I always will

When you have a peculiar experience, it's common to notice evidence and reminders everywhere.  I've become acutely aware of how much we talk about smell and taste in daily life, even in our slang: "sweet!" and "that stinks".  And I always loved smell and the memories it instantly evoked.  One of the hardest parts of this year was losing my father, and not being able to recall him through the scent of his belongings.  After my mother died, even years later, I could bring her back in the most vivid way just by going into her closet and inhaling the scent of her bathrobe.  I have my father's cedar chest, and it saddens me that it is now just a visual piece. 

There is no describing the paths scent carries us on.  It's hard enough to describe a smell.  Try it.  Often scents are articulated by the memories associated with them--fireworks smell like summer, the 4th of July; pine like Christmas and the forest we walked.

smells like:  nothing.

Luca Turin, a perfumer and the controversial subject of Chandler Burr's book "The Emperor of Scent", is an exception.  In his classic "Perfumes:  A-Z" (with coauthor Tania Sanchez) he is able to evoke complex imagery with his descriptions; still, they generally refer to a mood, or another smell.  Both books are currently buried in the stacks at my library, but a rough Turin paraphrase might be his description of a perfume as "reminiscent of an apple in the sun cut with a steel blade."  When I first lost my ability to smell, I devoured both of these books greedily.  As a supersmeller prior to anosmia,  I never liked perfume-- my nose plowed right past whatever they were supposed to offer and was overwhelmed with chemicals.  But after scent was gone, books like these were olfactory porn.  I was a torch-carrying separated lover reading old letters and staring at photographs.

With the passage of time, there is the robbery of memory.  Now it's harder to recall the scent of an apple or of a blade, and what's left is a ghost of impression, drifting.  There is a very real sense of loss of pleasure.  If you're familiar with learning theory, you may have heard of primary reinforcers.  There aren't many.  Food, sex, sleep, satiation of thirst.  Always first food is mentioned.  Without smell, food becomes more of a secondary reinforcer.  It staves off discomfort, but it doesn't give pleasure.

how did that guy know about the nose? (A+gallery's photo)

In my life, I have been through harder immediate struggles.  In my work, I see larger tragedies every day.  But this has been a loss for me, and it helps to acknowledge it, especially at Big Times like the anniversary date.  "Get the wound out of the body and onto the page", says author Marjorie Sandor; and she's right. It helps.  Three things that have also really helped:  talking to other persons with smell loss/distortion on web support sites, having friends and family that have tried to hear and understand what it means, and artist Wolf Nkole Helzle's wonderful community of world photo diarists.  The latter has helped me learn to appreciate the visual world, never previously my strong suit.  Thanks to Wolf and his project, I now carry a camera with me everyday and look to find something in the visual world that leaves the sort of mark scent use to leave on me.  Since olfaction serves as a mental marker for events and emotions, it helps to have visual cues to tie my these to places and dates.

Thanks for bearing witness.  Suffering decreases when we are heard and seen; that's what my work is all about.

Jana
Today's video:  it just made me smile.

A Pep Talk With Resistance

 Machete, anyone?

Though the last few days' temperatures have been no guide, summer is approaching and the garden shows it.
Plums and cherries are gaining bulk and, with luck, some sweetness and color in the next weeks.  There are a few red strawberries nestled among the hard green ones.   We are wishing we had several yard bins to cope with the massive influx of dandelions, sticky willy, knotweed and all those other reminders about the truth of "that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger".  I'm also paying for my sins of planting vinca, forget-me-nots, shasta daisys and tall verbena-- these a reminder that sometimes a little is still too much and best enjoyed in someone else's biome.

Gardening is a form of spring cleaning. It's not until we can clear out the old debris that we can truly appreciate what we have and see more clearly our intentions.  I've been taking the metaphor to the extreme by allowing the detrius of the past years to gather in ever higher and more intimidating piles.  "Just Do It" plays a drumbeat in my brain, drowned out by "...later".  There are so many juicy distractions in the world, all with more compelling siren calls than cleaning the closet. But I hear the call of a clearer day, and I hope to answer it. 

Like many professional procrastinators, I have all sorts of tricks of my sleeve to avoid tasks that are complex, or more problematic to me, just boring.  I need a certain amount of anxious juice to plow through the inertia and get her done.  This week I'll be taking some of my own medicine to bust these habits, rather than waiting for the crisis of the moment to propel me.



Intervention One:  The Dreaded Things To Do List. Plan:  Make it before lunch, review it at lunch, knock off a couple of things before dinner.  To increase the odds, I'm keeping it short.  Here's the template:

! One Thing I've procrastinated on too long is:  ____________________
! One Step in the Right Direction will be accomplished today by : ___________________________.

That's it.  I want to tackle a little of something Ominous/Annoying/Shaming each day.  Tomorrow's goal is seemingly small-- I let my last dental check up slide by around the time my dad died, then never rescheduled. Scary Bully In My Head had lots to say about that-- dentist will be mad, hygienist will lecture, there will be Hell to Pay in one form or another.  So I put off and off and off rescheduling.  I'm calling tomorrow.

My other intervention this week is to create a little intentions bowl and fill it with slips of paper with words on it representing areas of my life that could use some attention-- not any of them necessarily pressing at a particular moment, but all pressing over time.  Each day I'll pick a word out in the morning and think about how I might show intention in a small or big way toward that concept.  Here are some of the words in my bowl and how I might use their encouragement (just examples).



Relationships:  Are their relationships in my life that need more breath or care?  Write a letter, make a date, do a kindness.

Health:  If I choose this slip tomorrow, it may encourage me to talk a walk during lunch, or a date at the gym, or skip the junk foods offered that day.

Career:  Oh, the endless possibilities.  I can work on learning the new billing system, set up new policies for no-shows, order that nifty device that allows me to take credit and debit cards.

Responsibility:  I can get that book back to the library.  Empty the cat box before someone who can smell lets me know it needs it,  Return that borrowed dress.

Happiness:  I can schedule or make flyers for the Scotch and Poetry night I've been wanting to host.  I can call someone I love and tell them that.  I can dance to a favorite tune in the kitchen, or just practice letting my crabby thoughts rise and sink instead of inviting them in for a pity party.

The point isn't to create lots more To Do lists, but to be aware and look for opportunities to live the intentions you carry around everyday anyway.  To make manifest!


If you try these and don't mind sharing, I'd love to hear if it was helpful for you.

Strayed to Houston and Happy to Be There

L: Pam Houston   R:  Cheryl Strayed

After a few months on the fringes, if not off the radar, I have crawled out to see the populated world more and more.  And oh what treasures there are to be uncovered in out tiny hamlet!

Tonight, Cheryl Strayed introduced us to her new missive, an adventure story about her walking impulsively and ill prepared the Pacific Coast Trail at age 26.  She knows how to suck a reader in by the first paragraph:  we watch in horror her boot tumble down a mountain, catapulted by Monster, her initially evil then beloved backpack companion.  38 days out; the remaining  boot is a orphan and a burden now, just like she is, and gets an unceremonious (or perhaps pissy is a better descriptor) toss off the same mountain.

pam houston charms the buyers

Cheryl read about finding herself by getting lost, dirty, blistered and tried and tired..  I bet you can guess which side of the whale she emerged from.  She's a delightful speaker, full of smiles and Good Story and tips on doing what scares you.  Get her book at your local independent seller.

She was joined by Pam Houston, who earned my literal loyalty years ago with her collection of short stories "Cowboys Have Always Been my Weakness."  It hold well with time.  Now Pam's got a new collection of vignettes--a gross of prose--titled "Contents May Have Shifted", an allusion to the slipperiness of reality as filtered though time, memory, and a language that won't stand politely still.  It works, and it's worth the ride.  In lecture, she is relaxed, accessible, full of wisdom on the process, and also funny as hell.

Corvallis is becoming the diminutive Prague of the left bank.  There were several art openings this week, and last week Joyce Carol Oates flirted her way through a very informative Q and A about her prolific oeuvre to a big crowd at OSU. 

Writing is a path to personal truth, a way to process the complicated and persevere the ephemeral.  Our stories are so important.  And if we think we can't write well we can find authors like Strayed and Houston who approach our truths in such as way as to get us access. Maker's Space at the Majestic is a place to watch for upcoming writing workshops.  Check bulletin boards, ArtSpace newsletter, the library and other gathering spots to see who's coming up to encourage your story out of the body and onto the paper.

"Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Your Grievances"

slow going, this stuff.

Worked in the garden today; a productive and relaxing way to spend a Sunday.  Saw this little snail tracking through the concrete (at quite a brisk pace, considering).  I was listening to a cover of a song by Daniel Johnston, an brilliant musician who's struggled with major mental illness all his life, and who Kurt Cobain called "the greatest living songwriter".  I'd heard some of his stuff on the radio, but didn't buy his works until he did a surprise appearance on Austin City Limits in 2009.  I wasn't intending to listen to him today-- had the player on shuffle when his song came on:  "Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Your Grievances" (covered by Clem Snide; you can listen to it at the end of this post).  I hit the replay. Life can be providential sometimes.

Later I had a very difficult conversation with a person I love very much.  I can only semi-accurately report my own side of it, knowing full well we are all "dirty little projectors" as Jung said.  But my experience was of two people trying very hard and still really misunderstanding each other.  We persevered, stumblingly, wanting to hear each other and wanting to be heard.  I can't speak for the other, but I know my gut instinct was to get the hell out of there.  And my heart instinct was to keep at it, keep at it. The two battled it out to an unglorious stall.  It is so hard to be truly vulnerable to another human.  We want to bluster, or hide, or do anything to protect fragile feeling Ego from pain.  It takes guts to keep showing up and showing our wounds.

Zeige Deine Wunde

I am a firm believer in a notion I've often shared with clients, and that I read somewhere in a completely unrelated book I'll long forgotten (please clue me if you know).  The book was about economics, if I recall, but the line I'll never forget is how us humans are all looking out of our own thin aluminum tubes into the world, and thinking everyone is seeing the same thing we see, when all they see is there own small view.  Even as I try really, really hard to see bigger, I know my view is never going to be the same-- I won't have the history, the genetics, the inner experience to truly get what someone else is perceiving.  And even though I work hard to expand my understanding, I am expanding it through my limitations, some of which are not in my awareness.

The desire to self-protect, even at risk of isolation, is within my awareness.  So I fight it.  Clumsily, but with Wise Mind knowledge that love crowds out fear in the end, and some kind of faith that it's worth the exposure.

As I thought about this tonight, Daniel Johnston's song, and his story, ran over and over through my mind. I thought about how brave he had been to put his heart out there when his head was so messy.  When I saw him on Austin City limits, it felt clear how both hard and wonderful it was for him to come out and sing to that crowd.  (Read more of his story here).   And I realized I didn't want to let the sun go down on my grievances.

I did some work I'd been neglecting because it was painful and took energy I didn't feel I could spare.  It wasn't enjoyable, but neglecting it hadn't been either, and tackling it was more energizing than I imagined.  There's more work to do, always, but my heart feels clearer for now. 

Related Posts:  The Bravery of Relationship

A Marriage Made in..Bigotry

Can't sleep.  Thanks a lot, North Carolina.
A few thoughts about marriages, gay and otherwise.

Marriage is a social, cultural and legal institution.  It extends rights, encourages economic stability and the forming of households that create the backbone of community.  It's a great place to raise kids.   It's a opportunity to choose love against isolation, and to develop spiritually by learning how to negotiate fitting two stories into a bigger one. When done mindfully, it brings the intention of encouraging and supporting two individuals to extend themselves in identifying and bringing to fruition the highest, wisest hearts of self and partner.

all dressed up and nowhere to go

It isn't solely for procreation, or God would smite down all barren persons, right?  And it would follow that older persons should not marry if indeed childbearing is the main purpose.  But most religions have no issue with the childless marriage.  Christian heterosexual marriages, sadly, are not much more likely to succeed than unions not blessed by a church.  Baptists have among the highest divorce rates, outpacing agnostics and atheists alike.

The State of Marriage is a Mess. But homosexuals don't seem the biggest threat to it toppling over.  If you're straight, It's much more likely that another heterosexual will threaten your marriage then a gay person. You're really probably safe there. People spend too much money, time and anxiety planning weddings and way too little thinking about how they want to create a marriage.  Gays will probably do some of that too.  But I am less worried about people who want to attempt a life of love and commitment than those who find that threatening.

If you are gay, or barren, or reasonably compassionate-- if you fall into the majority of Americans who have no issue with two committed persons of sound mind and high intentions being allowed to publicly and legally proclaim their love and desire to merge their lives and homes-- I hope you will write your elected officials and tell them it's time to get on board.  When women were allowed to work for pay, and not viewed under the law as property of men, when slaves were freed and children removed from dangerous labor jobs and allowed to go to school, the world didn't end.  It grew up some, accepting its responsibility to be humane and to extend rights from a privileged few to more of its citizens.

It's time to do the right thing, and stand together for love.

       I can't understand for the life of me why the Pope, among other religious and political leaders, would say that gay marriages would threaten the future of humanity.  Maybe this video can clear that up:

Springing into Mindful Action

Just when we thought the dark would never end, Spring shows up to tart up the place.  Blooms are busting out, and though it's STILL raining (hey, it's Oregon-- we don't expect dry til the 4th of July), we can't help but smile at all the color.

While it's traditional to make resolutions with the start of the New Year in January, most of us don't have the energy then.  Winter is the time of dark, rest and reflection.  Spring is the time for renewal and lively action. First Alternative Co-op's Thymes writer Dave Williams reminds us that this is the time to plant seeds for what we want to harvest in our future (to read his great article, click and scroll to page six here).  Spring's buxom and generous nature encourages us to wake up and get moving, to bust out our full palette of creativity and to access our hidden reserves.

Spring offers us the wind.  The sail's been there all along.  It's up to us to find a good direction.

Related posts:
Create A Map for Your Destination
Set Reasonable Goals
Listen to What Future Self Wants

Marked for Depression? Maybe an Implant Could Help

The Big Black Dog (W. Churchill's nickname for the depression that plagued him) is big in the news this month.
News icon Mike Wallace's death (from old age, instead of suicide) brought tributes to his bravery in outing himself as a sufferer.  In doing so he helped lead the way in destigmatizing a disease that was long seen as a weakness or a lifestyle choice.

CNN published two interesting articles this week about identification and treatment of depression.  Researcher Eva Redei has been working with rats specially bred with "depressive traits" for 25 years to search for biological differences that can be isolated as markers of genetic predisposition to depression.  .  While you can't exactly interview a rat about its emotional state, these specialized breeds show classic signs of the functional markers of depression, such as difficulty with planning, problem solving and decision making, poor persistence and adapability, and a helpless response to stress. Redei reports she has identified 26 unique markers in the blood of the unhappy rats.  In recent experiments with human volunteers, she found 5 of these markers present.  Possible implications include screening tests to identify markers-- and perhaps intervene before the cascade of depression issues become a self-replicating problem.

Also in the news was an update, with Real-Life Anecdotes, of the use of deep brain stimulator implants to treat depression.  Used for years with Parkinson's sufferers, these devices act like a pacemaker for the brain, ramping up underactive areas that seem to be responsible for the troublesome symptoms of depressive disorders.  These surgeries must be performed on a conscious patient, so they can report what happens in their mind as different areas of the brain are stimulated.  I first read about this a while back, and if I can locate the article I'll print it here.  What I vividly remember and found compelling for the idea that depression is truly a brain disorder is a patient's reported during DBS surgery that she experienced a sudden and profound melancholia in the absence of any other change except the stimulation of a certain part of her brain.
The world instantly turned dark and hopeless.  She described in detail her mental experience for the few moments it lasted.  Then the surgeon moved or turned off the device, and as suddenly as it had come on, it was completely gone.  She exclaimed in puzzlement on how her emotions could have taken this veer without her, first toward despair and then to a baseline of normalcy.

 In the article, the authors also were puzzled, and thought "if it can be turned on, perhaps it can be turned off."  Preliminaries support that.  Patient Edi Guyton found relief from her suicidal depression after forty years of medications, electroshock and talk therapy via electrodes implanted in "area 25" of her brain.  Her surgical team, headed by researcher and neurologist Helen Mayfield, knew they'd hit the sweet spot when she spontaneously smiled, and then chuckled, for the first time in years.  Like many persons with mood disorders, she blamed herself for not being able to snap out of it:  "After all, what did I have to be depressed about?"  She tried to fake her way through life, but was miserable, and when the opportunity arose to volunteer for this experimental procedure, she felt she had nothing at all to lose, even when faced with a consent form that listed "Death" as a possible outcome.

She hasn't looked back.  She still has the normal ups and downs of the average person, but no longer the paralyzing depressions that made death itself look like the best option.  She is profoundly grateful to Dr. Mayfield's research, which Mayfield herself admits is very early on in its understanding.

While now seen as a standard treatment for reducing symptoms of Parkinson's, DBS is only now gaining respect for outcomes in treating intractable and interfering Obsessive Compulsive Behavior, and Mayfield's work is still in the very early stages of experimentation.  I applaud the dedication and bravery of the team and even more of the volunteers who risk God-knows-what in hopes of escaping the hell that is major depressive disorder.  Their willingness to put their lives on the line is evidence of the debilitation they suffer.  To my knowledge there are no local or instate providers exploring this treatment.  But the early results are promising, and I hope we will be hearing more about this work.

Related articles about depression:
The incredible Heaviness of Being
Understanding and Dealing with Depression
Fading the Blue Gene:  Cognitive-Behavioral Approaches to Treating Depression
More Bytes on the Black Dog

Loving Your (World-Wide) Neighbors

Photo by Nazar Iqbal, Pakistan

A perk to living in a university town: for entertainment on a Friday night, you can go see a Nobel Peace Prize laureate.  Each year Oregon State University hosts an amazing gathering of young people for a weekend of inspiration, headed by a winner of the award.  "The mission of the PeaceJam Foundation is to create young leaders committed to positive change in themselves, their communities and the world through the inspiration of Nobel Peace Laureates who pass on the spirit, skills, and wisdom they embody."   

Cork, Ireland courtesy James Clancy

This year's speaker was Argentine artist and activist Adolfo Perez Esquivel.  Born into poverty, he relinquished his teaching career in 1977 to focus his energy on nonviolent resistance through El Sevicio de Paz y Justicia foundation.  He was imprisoned a year later.  Despite his harsh treatment, he continues to espouse the importance of peaceful community activism as a response to oppression and injustice.  

Here are remarks from his speech tonight (paraphrased, abbreviated and collected, not verbatim):

Artist Yoshiko Yoshida, Japan

"Peace is often confused with passivity, but there is nothing more contrary to the notion of peace than being passive.  There is conflict in our world, and we all live in the world.  It is, in a sense, conflict in our living room.  How do we build peace? When we face conflict, we have to resolve it.  We have to resolve the obstacles to peace in ourselves, our families, and our community.

Berlin Wall, photo by Anit Zrab, Germany

Just as a wall was built in Berlin that separated Germans from other Germans, we  see that there are walls in our world that divide us.  Israel from Palestine, Mexico from the US, North and South Korea.  We could go on and on naming the walls that divide people from themselves.  

But the most important walls we have to tear down are those within ourselves, within our own hearts and minds.  If we are unable to tear these down, we cannot build peace.

There's no reason to avoid conflict-- that won't build peace.  We have to resolve it, to open channels of dialogue even with those who are opposed
to us, and seek out and support dialogue in our own communities and those abroad.  

painting by Jón Bjarti, Iceland

We have many examples of people who faced this head on.  Martin Luther King, Caesar Chavez.  They were repressed, violently.  And they persevered against oppression in a nonviolent way.  They took concrete action.  In Latin America, in Argentina, we took this same sort of action in the face of repression.  But what is happening now?  

Profound changes are taking place in the world.  Often we don't see them, but we are acting in the face of them.  (paraphrased heavily:  Take the concept of time).  There is an earthquake in Indonesia, and two seconds later we are immersed in a sports match.  We have been subjected to that accelerated mode, that (concept of) mechanical time.  And we don't think we have time to process, to reflect.  This impacts our behavior-- in our family, community and throughout the world.

Raija Silvennoinen, Finland

 
Peace is a dynamic of relations among people.  It has to be built.  Nobody can offer something they themselves do not have.  If we are not at peace with ourselves, if we do not have an internal peace, do not have peace with those with whom we live, we cannot hope to build peace with others.   

by photographer Ahmad Nasirpour, Iran

We have to build a CULTURAL resistance, to develop critical consciousness (critical thinking), to encourage and teach values of caring for each other and for our planet.  (We have to ask the tough questions, such as) why it is a country (United States) can spend  $2.5 billion on a single bomber plane, yet says it cannot afford to care for its own sick and hungry.  In a world in which 35,000 children die each day from hunger, we need to separate the reality from what we have been told is true-- and not accept as normal what is fiction and can change."

 photo mosaic, artist Wolfe Nkole Helzle

Esquivel ended his remarks with a call for conscious action in increasing peace and resisting injustice through personal reflection and change, and nonviolent social movements.  Even in the face of imprisonment, he has kept his feeling of hope about our possibilities to achieve these changes.  He cited numerous groups doing just this throughout the world. 


In the past few weeks, I have been privileged to be part of a global community art project.  Led by German artist Wolf Nkole Helzle, artists and regular folk like me from all over the world have been submitting daily photos from their corner of the world's living room.  This Spring, I have "met" persons from Pakistan, Finland, Iran, Japan, Turkey, Greece, Brazil, Indonesia-- to name just a few.  I have seen pictures of their daily lives, and suddenly the world seems much smaller, and my desire to make it safe for all of us has grown in return.  


We're all in this together, brothers and sisters.  Let's do our part to make it work.
Jana

Note:  the illustrations for this article come from my new friends around the globe.  Thanks, Wolf, for bringing them into my life.

Want to be part of a global community of photo-diarists?  Check out Wolf's project and sign up at  www.interactive-image.org