Here's the Thing...

Posted October 26, 2014 @ 8:36pm | by S. Cutshall

One day you're fine, or whatever being fine means on any given day--or you are thinking you are fine, and the next day, BAM.

That's the thing, our brains and how they are wired, you compare and pick and choose, or contrast what Was against what Is--and of course, that great bitch of a way of thinking: what It should, as in Should, be. And that's where a lot of good, even great, things lay--but it's also where, by contrast, much & many problems can reside.

I am learning, albeit rather slowly and painfully, that the past and the future don't really make great bed fellows with the Now. I am seeing the benefits of Observation and Non-Judgement, but my brain is wired in such a way that this is very foreign turf. Very.

I was told recently that our brains & how we use them very much like to work off this paradigm: "Neurons that fire together wire together." I am seeing this.

I also am trying to embrace the notion that what I am going through will not, in fact, kill me... even though when it comes, like an endless wall of black fucking death, feeling exactly like the most urgent, nothing else even matters in the least, call to walk or better still sprint toward safety (but far worse, there is no such place that offers the kind of safety the Me inside my Me begs & pleads to locate). Additionally, eyes begin seeing in, what I can only describe as, High Definition, chest tightens--and quite literally I can feel my heart trying to slip through my sternum & geographically adjoining ribs (Amy & Chloe know it's en route because even though I seldom ever notice it I am apparently fond of taking my left thumb and jamming it in between two ribs just off-center left of my sternum, this locale on my chest has a nice vivid hematoma these days replete in yellows & purples), the top & front of my skull begin to throb like the sacs that house little baby Aliens -- when Sigourney Weaver & Co. locate that underbelly of the ship with all the perfectly horizontal misty fog layered above Ms. Alien's hatchery (except in my case, unfortunately, the sac never opens--it just reaches critical mass and stays there like a 9 month pregnancy that just won't end), my mind races in more ways than I can describe while bearing down with laser pinpoint accuracy that, "I must get this to stop," and, "because everyone can see me and I am exposed, vulnerable and no one can save me and I want no one to save me and I am embarrassing and everyone is quickly figuring out that that guy, yeah the jackass with the blond spiky hair over there on the sidewalk across the street, the one walking almost sideways, lurching with his legs spread too far apart while he keeps his head mostly down (exactly the best descriptor of how it feels like I am walking and being seen by everyone) is completely fucking insane and should be carted off by really big guys in work boots with off-white lab coats to an old decrepit institution or sanitarium or something... GET HIM OFF THE STREET AND OUT OF SOCIETY FER CHRISSAKES!", and lastly--my hands & feet begin to tingle (almost a buzzing kind of burn if you will) and right after that follows, what is best described as, my arms and legs detach from my torso (which probably accounts for how I feel I am walking -I would know for sure but I am a little too stressed and freaked out by that point in time to really take stock, sideways- legs splayed apart like I am in possession of two gigantic testicles in a huge overgrown scrotum, with my head cocked down but just upright enough that I can sort of make out where the sidewalk/intersections/crosswalks/street signs/home is... like a nervous Quasimodo hauling major ass back to the Cathedral of Notre Dame).

When I can joke, I am oft to joke to Amy & Chloe that I remind myself very much of one of those Fainting Goats (search YouTube and see for yourself).

But, like I said, I am learning that not only should I embrace these 'episodes' (I can tell you in all sincerity, that that is about as antithetical as antithetical gets... sort of like getting badly burned, healing from it, and being told your "memories of that terrible event will only fade away by going back, and back, and back, and back, and back again to an actual vacant house, setting it on fire with gasoline and stepping back inside & staying put to see if you are truly overcoming the bad memories of the original event") but that I should not, can NOT, judge them or rush them away or anything else that seems logical & natural. No, instead, observe them, float through them, become the chessboard that rests underneath the turmoil of the Black/White warring chaos that transpires above.

I've also read that this place and space that I am currently in, is exactly & precisely where I need to be. That this horrible black death bitch is actually my friend and trying to teach and show me something very critical and important before she is ready to be unheard from and quieted--before she is willing to grow silent and let me out the other side better, different, stronger, corrected.

I have said, "Why me?" a lot lately but I am starting to embrace the notion of this...

"Why not me?" 

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