Here’s a short little video (definitely not for the faint-at-heart!) I found on YouTube which illustrates, I suppose, my rather perverse sense of humor — and reflects, to some extent, my current life situation. In recent days and weeks I’ve mentioned to some that an element of my chronic pain condition consists of getting up in the morning “feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

Well…some have it worse than me!

Here we are: a mid-winter Saturday. And, baby, it’s cold outside. I went out to do a couple of errands earlier today, but I believe I’ll just stay huddled here inside until it’s a tad more hospitable in the great out-of-doors. Two days ago it snowed enough to close down all the area schools, and there’s still some of the white stuff left on the ground as we speak (write? read?). It’s below freezing right now and, cold-averse weenie that I am, I need to keep cozy underneath my electric comforter for a while longer.

So, I sit. Thinking. But mostly trying not to think. Being with myself. Accepting my life. Breathing in and out. With the in-breath, opening my heart. With the out-breath, clearing my mind. Focusing on the breath. Trying to just be: in the here and now.

I seek comfort in the wisdom that is available in the universe. So I sit. And also read. There is so much to learn about this existence.

…everything we see, hear, feel, and think is [in] constant flux and change. Nothing endures. We long for permanence and as a result we suffer, for we find none. Buddhism Plain and Simple (p. 46)

The Messiah’s Handbook (Richard Bach, 1977, 2004) advises us:

Here is the test to find whether your mission on earth is finished.
If you’re alive, it isn’t.

I’ve had this quotation on my refrigerator door for several years now — as if I actually need a daily reminder that there’s always something (big and bad) coming at me right around the corner (and ready to throw my entire known universe into utter chaos).

This time the issues are all about my health… which probably won’t surprise anyone who has kept up with (or browsed) these Musings very much at all. I’ve been writing about what I first labeled “peripheral neuropathy” since at least last March. Then, later in the year, after my move south, I found a doctor who seemed to have some kind of clue about what was going on with my body, and labeled it “chronic myofascial pain.” And, as you know, I have chronicled such avenues as low-dose naltrexone and acupuncture in my quest to address this predicament.

The latest development is that I seem to have entered some kind of acute phase (or an “eruption,” as my chiropractor likes to call it) with respect to the constellation of my pain issues…enough so that my physician has ordered me to stay away from work. This is a real first for me, so it’s taking a total mental adjustment to accept that I am in such a serious state. The theory is that I can take some time away and calm both myself and the symptoms. I’m scheduled to return to work in a month.

In the meantime, the latest label for my woes seems to be headed in the direction of fibromyalgia…a widespread syndrome that afflicts women much more than it does men. (As usual, in my life, I’m finding myself in the minority.)

I will be seeking much assistance in the coming days, weeks and months. I know I have lots of support out there, and that is very comforting.

Here is what I know I need to do right now:
Breathe.
Take it a day at a time.
Breathe.
Go for a walk.
Breathe.
Keep showing up.
Breathe.
Keep writing.
Breathe.
Take a hot bath.
Breathe.
Go for a drive.
Breathe.
Take a picture.
Breathe.
Keep trusting that the universe will provide.
Breathe.
Appreciate life.
Breathe.

The cover story of the January 15 edition of Time Magazine examines the question of “what a surge really means.” It now appears as if we’re headed for another boost of troop levels in Iraq, doesn’t it?

Despite the clear will of the American people expressed during last November’s elections, and contrary to the advice of practically everyone that matters (except, I guess, Senator John McCain), W is going his own merry way yet again: obviously living in a fantasy world that hardly anyone else inhabits.

MORE TROOPS IN IRAQ!?!?  HUH!?

Hey, George: you’re going the wrong way!

(I know, I know…there’s a punctuation error in the sign…it’s why I took the photo in the first place! See Eats, Shoots & Leaves for a thorough discussion of how we regularly – and publicly – botch punctuation.)

A Parable for the New Year

The vibration that invaded Teller’s consciousness was mostly, at first, mosquito-like in its intensity: a teeny, tiny, annoying little buzz in his ear. It was difficult to make out what is was, precisely, at this extremely low volume, but it rather sounded, when he paid attention closely, like: di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit.

It was a pesky, irritating sound, this, and Teller wished that he could just find the right insect repellant to rid himself of the miniscule pest (if that’s what is was), or be able to q-tip his ear in the appropriate manner to eliminate whatever physical “thing” it was that may be scratching his ear drum.

Over and over again: di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit. Just barely loud enough to overcome the awareness barrier. Insistent enough, though, for him to start thinking he might be going slightly mad. And, slowly, ever so slowly, day-by-day, it seemed to be getting louder.

Piled on top of his many, already-existing personal and professional woes, Teller believed this to be yet another, obnoxious, frustrating new dimension to his life; but something he could (and would) clearly resolve. I can’t put up with this distraction for long, he thought, I’ve got other stuff to attend to.

Still: di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit. It just kept happening, with him every minute of every day. What the heck is going on?

Now that he thought about it some, Teller recognized that he first became aware of the phenomenon back in October. That was weeks and weeks ago, and this background noise to his life was definitely getting disturbing. Or, more aptly put, over this period of time, Teller was becoming increasingly alarmed by the presence of this irritating, incessant, crazy-making addition to his existence. If this was going to be the new soundtrack to Teller’s life, he certainly wished that he had had more say in the selection. After all, why not some classic rock? How about a great radio station? KINK FM in Portland would do just fine, after all, thank you very much. 

But it just kept coming: di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit. Was this tinnitus? A website he found stated that tinnitus is “the perception of sound in the ears or head where no external source is present.” Well, that sure sounded about right. Apparently tinnitus sufferers “report hearing all kinds of sounds: crickets, whooshing, pulsing, ocean waves, buzzing, even music.” Ah, ocean waves, thought Teller…so why do I get di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit?

And, then, almost magically, it dawned on him. Oh, my: how friggin’ obvious! How is it I didn’t catch on sooner? Di-di-di-dah-dah-dah-di-di-dit = S. O. S.! Teller was hearing (of all things!) Morse code in his head!

Teller knew (from his Boy Scout, Ham-radio days) that SOS is the internationally utilized distress signal, sent out over radio waves by vessels in trouble. The code, and the letters “SOS” associated with it, have long been equated with such common phrases as Save Our Ship, Survivors On Ship, Save Our Sailors, Stop Other Signals, and Send Out Sailors.

None of these sayings really fit for Teller, however. Why would he be hearing “Save Our Ship?” Ah, but then he remembered…SOS could also mean “Save Our Souls.”

And, then, with that one thought, everything just seemed to fall into place. The noise stopped; it just plain ceased to exist. The message had been received. Teller understood. Finally.

His physical body had been sending his soul a message. “Save yourself,” he was being advised. “You are not well. You are not in a healthy place.”

The Morse code he’d been hearing was entirely consistent with recent dreams he’d had, of course. In the guinea pig dream, the episode had concluded with him calling out HELP! to an unknown presence upstairs. One interpretation of the dream held that he was appealing to his “higher self” – shouting for attention regarding the desperate condition he was in, crying out for assistance in order to escape his ridiculous predicament.

Then, there was a more recent dream, also involving stairs. His recollection of the plot line was fairly garbled, but Teller remembered that, again, he was wondering what was at the top of a staircase, even as he knew that he had to traverse all three flights to the top. During his slow, plodding steps upward, wondering what entity was to be found there, he was very carefully carrying a precious liquid made up of a viscous purple extract from African Violet plants. Curious, yes: but he knew that this was a valuable, life-affirming substance, and would be used for good…if only he could successfully deliver the goods.

Teller had come to understand from both dreams that he was trying to get in touch with his higher self…in order to use the knowledge, wisdom and experience readily available to him to resolve his current life situation.

And, now: SOS. His very soul was obviously at stake. His own body was sending him a message: loud, clear and unmistakable.

So Teller made a promise to the universe, “yes, indeed, I will save myself. I am paying attention.”