The Fiery Flame of Rebirth/The Stone Faces of Reverence

Ever the Bipolar am I! This entry was not intended to have such juxtaposition! My hope that it still possesses a sense to it, but I can live with it just being what it is, very me indeed!

I was going to stay silent about the terrorist attacks of 9/11 because I no longer “feel” it, or at least not the way I once did. Feeling unclear as I did, not having an opinion, I wasn’t going to add to the static.

The reason I had a change of perspective? I was shown one via an oracle card. Leave it to my love of divination and guidance to open my eyes to what I have been feeling all along…that this is about death.

Set aside everything else, take it right to its core, we are talking about death. Not just any death, the death of many in unimaginable ways. This was the perfect act of terror because the form of the death was that of a horror movie. When I think upon 9/11…this is what I remember. I care not about the politics, yes it is indeed a horrible thing how these deaths were used to further this countries, already well in place agenda, but that does not erase that many died a horrifying death. So I set all that static aside to remember and honor death of the many and their families left behind.  

The card I pulled is The Phoenix. Its key words are: resurrection, surrender to change.

So this is my moment to honor the lives lost, just simply put,  people where subjected to a terrifying death but I find comfort in that they were released to be….what ever it was they decided to transform into next. Life, their lives as well as deaths were intended to teach lessons in the intricate web we all interconnect with, to surrender to this change brings some sort of enlightenment.

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Just now whilst writing this blog entry, a sound shook our house in the form of a massive motorcycle caravan rumbling by. Outside my large picture window rode an endless sea of motorcycles of all sorts, even a few crotch rockets. Many had American Flags on their bikes, some had women riding on the back taking pictures, but they all shared the stone face of reverence.

Here is the picture I took. I will admit to being easily moved by this sort of display of unity for any cause. It’s an energy thing. I feel what they believe in, and when its of this magnitude…its a beautiful thing.

Tomorrow I will celebrate the Harvest Moon. I will ponder, reap, lament, and honor the coming death of Summer, of plants that brought us our bounty. I keep thinking there be a link, a connect back to the events of 9/11, but that’s when I get lost in the hurricane energy of pain. Perhaps someone less empathic can see the interconnective threads into the web and how it must have impacted the collective, on the side of the positive.

On a sunny day like today, like it was that day as well, The Sun is the symbol of life. And so I come full circle. Life, Death, Rebirth.

Musical Appreciation Gone Wild

I always say I have no real form of escapism, I said this just day or so ago. But I’m chock full of bullshit and falsehoods, and this be but one.

I escape deeply into music. I waste away hours listening to my iPod. Sometimes it requires ear buds so music can fuse with me, where I get lost in my stories yet to be written. Then at times I want to hear the world and the world to hear my music, so I play it on my iPod player…loud! I have found there is a kind of cycle as to which way I go with my insatiable listening habit. Oh and a habit it is.

When I look at my bank statement online this “habit” glares at me in the form of numerous debits. My addiction sings as clearly as Florence and the Machine or who ever is my current obsession.  

See, I get bored. I repeat new songs till love nearly turns into loathe. So off to the store I go. The iTunes store that is. I’m in love with the journey through iTunes finding independent music so few are listening to. Finding these gems I tell myself I’m supporting the little independent guy, and yes this be true, but I’m also feeding my “need” for new music, my musical fix.

The lusty need began at the New Year, in this pondering I see an intersecting of my sexuality blossoming via belly dancing, with my “Musical Appreciation Gone Wild”. If I were to look back and see the total cost of this fetish, I would cringe at the magnitude of it all.

My confession is really to be writing…you know anything to dance around the large block to accessing the writing you ought to be doing. But it’s also about coming clean, that I do possess “things”, including but not limited to escapism.

As to my other “things”, you really will have to wait for my book. You know, when I write it.

P.S. I would love to hear some juicy confessions! You know I heard something about it being good for the soul and yes, I'm feeling awfully Catholic today. What's up with that??

Of Light, Shadow, and Scar Tissue

I am the Illustrated Woman with my byways comprised of connective scar tissue, a mapping of a life lived.  I can package well enough, but the underneath of me, what I hide so well, that’s the map I speak of. It’s only tissue but it tells the tale of what I am without wordy language, and it speaks louder than I do.

I wish my body told a tale that I was proud of, but it doesn’t. So I will tell my tale with a humor that I only in the last few years have found buried deep. This humor, this admittedly dark humor is how I will heal the deeper scar tissue. The surface of me will only deepen in appearance, which I will learn to live with, but I can retrace my byways and find a way to connect to others.

So I declare me a storyteller here and now with the intent of healing the shadows I/we all have within us. The neglected aspects that without love and acknowledgement fester into entity like beings only wanting our attention.   

The Grrr, The Arrgg and the Wonderful of Being an Empath

I recently had a conversation on Facebook about being an empath and asked what others thought an empath was. I was only answered back by the woman who wrote the post asking who all was an empath. So now I take this and other questions to all of you that find your way to my blog and read me ramblings.

What do you think an empath is? If you’re an empath, what does that mean to you? How goes this gift/curse in your life? Has it eased your path or hindered it? Do you think that people confuse empathy with sympathy? Think I asked enough questions? Cause I can do more, seriously.

Being an empath for me is not just about what I “feel” from others, but what others sense about me, and that is the fact that they can confide in me. Being an empath and a confidant has always gone hand in hand ever since I was a wee lass. I often heard "I have no idea why I'm telling you this". Well I had no idea how I managed to have answers! I was rather young and adults were doing the confiding and though I could “see” a snapshot of them and somehow had the right thing to say, it still made for very uncomfy moments in my preteens.

Empathy and being an empath are kissing cousins but may not be the same thing. As an empath I use empathy to access my more expansive skill of “reading” people…that snapshot thing I mentioned earlier. It’s the foundation for my tarot readings and really most of my dealings. I truly am a person who bases decisions on what I “feel”, not what’s logical and sound. Having a mood disorder makes this tricky.

It may be obvious or not…that I feel at times this “gift” may be more “curse” in how it has impacted my path, how it has at times felt to be a hindrance and how being bipolar only amplifies this all. And so, when I’m able to utilize my empathic nature to help others, it be a gift. When I’m overwhelmed by knowing what others hide or do not see and oh so not wanting to be privy to so, then it be a curse.

Yes, I do think empathy is often confused with sympathy and this only because of those manners we were taught. Those empty I’m sorry/s we dole out liberally these days. In order to be empathetic, you need to see the person on a whole, the info that is all there to be observed. If you do not take that moment to really try to understand, then you are not empathizing, you are sympathizing. Which in my opinion, is as empty as asking “how are you” and are put out when someone actually does tell you! But you know, this is my opinion, which I use not sparingly at all.

Well there be my uneven post about empathy! Circumventing just one meandering path in the map of how my brain works. Is that “in the map”, or “on the map”? So not a map person and unclear as to why I’m writing in pirate speak.

Illness/Wellness

Sarcoidosis has reared it’s not so pretty head in my life once again. I have been in treatment for it via methotrexate for immune suppression. Having had Sarcoid lesions on my knees off and on for a long while, the doc said if they return that they would be a external indicator as to what is happening internally. Well, here we go again because they are back, very rapidly even. I did not have any to show my Sarcoid doc two weeks ago!

The physical slow down has been stealthy but not unnoticed. I just keep pushing and hoping I will get better, but my mind in its self-imposed isolation did not want to make more than a note about it, and so it went.

Depression is coming for me and I will just have to ride it out. I will find my way back to the wellness that allowed me to dance, go where I want, and be who I please. I have come to a place where I feel I can make this declaration having the support and love to strengthen my conviction.

This is where I see my transformation solidified and practiced. I now ask for help. I now self heal. I now do not depend on Western medicine to make me well. Sarcoidosis has no cure, but I have a say on how I conduct my life. And I say I’m a person who has something to offer this world and who just so happens to have Sarcoidosis.    

To that end I am asking all my wonderfully talented healers, in all your many guises, to support me in this. I’m not sure about asking for anything specific, just think of me and send me a wee bit of energy when you can. It all adds up and I promise to honor it and return the favor when I can. And I can! I do not feel depleted, just run down.

Thank you to all that read this and feel inclined to help me in this not so stellar moment in my life. Oh, and could someone please speak to Mother Nature about this weather…so not helping.   

Diagnosis: acute Michelle-oma.

It was a day of mishaps and amazing moments of disbelieve that ridiculously often happens to me. I know I’m different but really…seriously?

Often when I see my doc she ends up shrugging her shoulders in the now familiar way to denote that “well you are Michelle”, as though this is an actual diagnosis. Even at the medical marijuana dispensary they have taken to looking at me in the same way, again as though it just simply is.

So we start the day at radiology at the UW medical center. There they torture me with the drinking of contrast (radioactive dye) that makes me ill as it always does. I really don’t give a frak if it tastes like water, it feels like poison. Even after explaining to them that my doctor said I did not have to drink, they said he ordered it, therefore I must. They were wrong. Asshats.

After drinking what I believed would appear to be my best attempt, I informed the front desk of this with my most emphatic “I’m going to vomit on your desk” face. With fear in their eyes they moved me right along to the IV nurse who was cute, sweet, and got me on one stick! I could have kissed her, with tongue and everything.

Soon thereafter I’m whisked off to the CT where intravenously, radioactive dye is dispensed throughout my entire body. A disconcerting sensation that makes you truly believe you have just pissed your pants. To buffer this I find amusement in the little characters that light up above my head on the big CT donut letting me know when I’m suppose to hold my breath. You know like a little cartoon head with big poofed out cheeks to note it’s time for you to hold your breath and then a big smiley face that lets you know it’s time to let go. I would like to think these are for children.  

The CT was really fast and so I was off to sit a moment then released after having my lovely IV nurse to remove the needle in my arm. I am still pleased with her and kinda want to make out, but I haven’t the time and run off to my appt as I am late. As it turns out, so is my doc. So despite my being told by two peoples that my surgeon’s office had been informed as to my lateness, this did not happen. Asshats.

I sit and wait filling out more paperwork, my blood sugar drops dramatically. I had to fast four hours before my appt but really I cannot see how this has any bearing at all since I skip breakfast in an act of rebellion, all the time. So I suck on some candy I keep in my purse just for this “just in case” moment. But nothing happens. I start to feel sick enough that I actually ask for help at the front desk. They send a nurse with apple juice and graham crackers. Finally I feel a bit better but still very much playing the part of addict looking for my next fix. Neat.

Doc sends me off to eat because he and his med student want to read the CT report before we talk. So I eat. Egg salad sandwich, mocha and a muffin. Yea, I know, perhaps better choices could have been made but I was starting to feel more sickly and I was bound and determined to look less addict and way more needy in a “get this over with” way.  

I return from my lunch feeling like something has horribly gone wrong. The doc says I have no lipomas but I don’t give a shit because I feel like I’m going to both vomit and pass out. Sweaty, breathless, and chilled…I was whisked off to the ER. This day was not done with me. Crap.

A large group of ER professionals surround me being that there is NO ONE waiting in the infamous UW ER!!  

So after a large bag of fluids, I perk right the frak up. This means nothing to the bitch of a nurse who decided to not get me released before her shift change. The silver lining here is that my new nurse was amazing. It just took a while to see her, so we sat there. Well ok, I slept off the Benadryl as Terri sat there now pondering what the hell she was thinking that it was a good idea to go to Half Priced Books while I was at getting my radioactive on. 

Hours later….my nurse says I’m almost ready to go. ER doc comes in and declares me hypoglycemic. Insert big frakking duh____here. My nurse however being all wise and wonderful explained about being dehydrated and it’s impact as well as other wise things that made me want to French her as well. But in the end we only hugged.

So Terri goes happily off to get the car. This is when I start to hear over and over again, “doctor what’s her face, come to the ER STAT!” To this my mind starts the mantra “frak…frak…frak”. Soon a flurry of chaos comes into view…a large portable x-ray machine, a baby warmer/bed thingy and far too many eager medical residents all lobbying to be in the room…the room directly across the hall from me. Hell I wanted to be in that room, for there was a woman who did NOT know she was pregnant and was giving birth…NOW.

This is when I declare that I am indeed in a Grey’s Anatomy Moment.

My nurse and ER doc keep telling me that they have not forgotten me, and well how could they since I was in my doorway craning my head to see the woman/girl giving birth! But I had no chance, she was surrounded by an army of “omg can you believe this” residents and doctors of all sorts. I’m not sure where they had room for the soon to be there new born. There were people lining the hall way hoping to get a glimpse just as much as I was, but of course they were wearing white lab coats and I was wearing a white wrist band. They win.

I at one point tell my nurse that I need to call Terri to let her know what’s going on and the only place you have cell service is in the lobby. She escorts me out and lets the reception peeps know I need to come back in after making my call. But Terri is in a parking spot that ironically is reserved for mothers to be. She sees me and starts the car and I start to wave wildly indicating that all is not well. So I tell her that Grey’s Anatomy is playing out right across the hall from me and that I have NO idea how much longer I will be. Now mind you I have my purse and no IV and I could get in the car and leave, but I am far too intrigued by what is happening inside than rebelling. Freaky.

I go back in and my nurse keeps coming in with any excuse (like running the IV bag fluid into my garbage can to make sure it was flowing) just to tell me how cool this is and that the ER is the best. She is an ICU nurse and so I liken her attitude to being like Christina from Grey’s Anatomy…”This is like candy…only with blood, which is so much better!” Again I want to make out with her.

Abruptly and suddenly too soon I am released from UW ER missing the babies birth but still with quite a tale to tell. A tale that will be added to so many others…like “Killer Pregnancies” or “The Brain Pain” and oh so many more. As I struggle to really get my memoir going, my life keeps writing stories of Michelle-isms and diagnosis. It’s fucking distracting dammit!

Oh and my “unique” fat lumps, well we shall call them…Michelle-omas.

For now.

When intent is not...enough

I intend on being many things to many people in as many places as possible. Yes, “intent is everything” is a common catch phrase of mine and though my knowing this to be true has not faltered, what has is the fact that the “attention” that intent requires to survive past illusion, is far more difficult to maintain than I could ever have imagined. What we mean to be is far too easily pulled into the muck of Fear and Doubt…my personal arch nemeses.  

I know what I want, so why do I step in the way of this? Fear and Doubt only possess power I give, knowing this and transforming it seems to be one of my greatest challenges. How much I can overcome seems to be born from the fact that I create scenarios I must survive. I know that sounds off, but if I’m busy focusing on the nodule in my left breast…I’m not writing.

The simplicity of this crick of the brain is both fascinating and infuriating. The “why’s” matter not one tiny bit when something this fundamental within me is so fundamentally fucked up. All that matters is circumventing my way to the prize.

Really, I need to outwit…me.