Moderates United

I have long been trying to craft a set of habits which support my objectives of deep learning and the activation of my inner resources.

I really think there is wisdom, especially now, in our crazy world, in a Day of Rest.  And the more I contemplate it, the more Saturday makes sense. 

Here is the thing: do you pay the world first, or pay yourself?  Do you give your best to the world first, or to the people and things and activities you love?  Work is not life, or in any event, it should not be.  Work should be important.  It should be done competently and ideally with passion.

But most of us are working for someone else.  Do they deserve, should they get, the very best part of our selves, of our capacities, our efforts?  I don’t think so.

The week starts with Sunday.  This is when you pay yourself.  This is when you do the things you always said you were going to do.  This is when you start or work on the novel, plant the garden, listen to beautiful music, paint the house a color that makes you happy, spend time with your family (which you also do on Saturday).  This time is for you.

Nearly all of us, even if it takes some long days, can get done in five days what truly needs to get done.  A friend of mine who knew someone who had been through both Norwegian Jaeger School, and American Army Ranger School, said the former was significantly harder, DESPITE the fact that they got every weekend off.  It was, as I understand it, Monday through Friday, roughly four weeks.

Most of us underestimate how much we can truly get done in a day if we focus.  I think it is much, much smarter to work HARD as needed, for a defined period of time, them to take a determined, serious, break.  To lay around and do something close to nothing for 24 hours.  Then, to get up, and do something creative and fun.  Amble towards your work week in this way, THEN on Monday, set off at whatever speed you need to to keep the whole thing working.

This makes emotional sense to me.  Sunday, you work, but you do work you want to do, which is important TO YOU.  It is not for “The Man”.  It is for you and your family and your friends.

In a way I can’t precisely define, I feel making Monday the first day offers all power to the Church, which instituted this idea.

I have scoliosis in my upper back, between my shoulder blades.  I may or may not have mentioned it.  It hurts to some extent most of the time, but I more or less keep it under control through a variety of techniques.  I stretch it out, of course.  I do pilates.  I have lacrosse balls I put under it, and a foam roller.  I put foam blocks under my back and stretch out my neck.  I have a wheel and a Swiss ball I lay on.

Sometimes, though, if I go too long without doing any of those things it will spasm up while I am sleeping, and cause a sharp pain in my chest, which always feels like a heart attack.  It is very unpleasant.  I have spent many hundreds of nights hoping and praying I would not die in the dark.  This is over and above all my other adventures when I go to sleep.  Last night was such a night.

I woke up this morning and decided to light a cigar, sit on my couch, and go more deeply into this whole feeling.  It is a trigger point, a place where feelings congregate and attack, but it is simply an aggregator of feelings which emerge everywhere in me every day.  It is like being in a boat which is constantly filling with water, and constantly needing to bail it out to stay afloat.  It’s an exercise I am well used to by now.  Some days I do it better than others.  Some days, as with last night, I don’t do it at all, and sometimes I pay a price for it.  The work I do for a living is pretty focused on my rhomboids and trapezius muscles, and they were very sore last night.

And it felt to me like some inner part of me feels like a soldier trying to cross a battlefield where shells are landing continually.  It is impossible to know where to run, what to do.  These “shells” are traumatic emergences, and I can see my parents on a ridge, shooting at me.  My father is happy every time he hits me.  He wants me to fail.  My mother is much more angry.  She wanted me to be her slave.

And it occurs to me that in the real world, the soldiers who get PTSD are those who, like me, suppress their feelings, who simply do what has to be done, while emotionally numb.  Who are unable to engage with their fear, unable to engage with and focus on the task to be done with something even approaching confidence.  Who go in thinking “I am going to die”–or even nothing at all–and who then simply watch a body go through the motions while feeling, consciously, close to nothing other than the raw sensations the body cannot but go through.

Every day is like this for me.  I have learned, through the exercise of will, to get done what needs to get done, but there is no place, no time, no way for me to ever feel at peace with the world.  There are no times where I feel “all is well.  I am safe.”  There is no other side, when the battle is within.  You carry it with you, wherever you go.

Most mornings I create a plan for the day, and most days, I deviate from the plan nearly immediately.  What really, truly needs to get done, does get done, but the line I had wanted to follow always comes to seem impossibly frightening very quickly.

And this image which came to me this morning, of running zig-zag through a field filled with the holes caused by detonating artillery, with shells exploding all around me, makes all of this make more sense emotionally.

The will is a powerful instrument, but it has limits.  It does fatigue.  You cannot spend every moment using it to its limit and not at some point run out of steam.  So what I have managed to do is figure out a way to regularly use it in spurts, where it is really needed, and allow my fear to redirect me the rest of the time.  It is not a good solution, but it has kept me alive.

And as grim as this image is, when I contemplate it, it represents a victory in itself.  I am seeing more clearly my own inner world, what really makes me tick, how I really work.  This would not have been possible, had I not been in a position where I can now begin to alter this inner world, in a positive and healthier direction.

Given all that I have been through, when I get myself to a position where I am able to form and retain positive habits, when I am not having to dodge or deal with head-on traumas popping into and interfering with my emotional life, then I will be capable of a great deal.  In important respects, I have not yet begun to fight my main battles, but I am slowly reaching a point where I will be able to begin, and I cannot begin to imagine how much energy will be liberated when I am free, or as close to free as I am destined to get in this life.

Someone was telling me that suicide rates have gone up significantly since Robin Williams’ suicide.  We had Kate Spade two days ago, approximately, Anthony Bourdain yesterday.

I am reminded of the adage, which I quote approximately: “what does it profit you to gain the world, if you lose your soul?”

Anthony Bourdain had the perfect life.  He could set the terms of his shows, go wherever he wanted, get paid big money to eat fantastic meals.  He had a beautiful girlfriend, and was getting headlines for how fit he was at his age.

In the end, none of those blessings were weightier than the pain he carried with him.

For my part, I GET in some ways how this happens.

Certainly, I understand the feeling that causes people to take their own lives.  I have felt it.  And if you have never felt it, then it is impossible to explain.  It is a pain, a grey pain, which expands to the horizon.  Every fiber and particle in your being hurts.  You cannot escape, you cannot go anywhere, you cannot any longer distract yourself, you can’t hold on, and suicide feels like the most wonderful, soothing way to just make the pain stop.

Now, in my particular case, holding on when there is no hope is kind of what I do.  It is a character trait I thankfully developed long ago.  I keep going when I can’t keep going, and it is a habit.  And things are getting better.  I am feeling feelings I have not felt in many years, feelings I had forgotten were possible.

But it is likely confusing to many how someone who outwardly has everything can feel such despair.  It is not complicated, I don’t think.

When dealing with Developmental Trauma, with primitive feelings you felt and then forgot before you were 5 years old or so–feelings of betrayal, of chronic fear, of cruelty, of profound sadness and isolation–you are dealing with people who early on learned to lie to themselves about who they were, and what they wanted.  Their own lies led to lies to everyone around them.  They developed a personality, a persona, a presence which “worked” socially.  Maybe people even liked them and found them charismatic, as with Bourdain.

[For my part, I have always felt a darkness in Bourdain, in what little of his shows I watched.  I couldn’t put my finger on it, but if I’m honest, I felt a presence of evil in his vicinity.]

But this lie, this living of a lie, this inserting yourself into the social world in a way which prevents honest communication, and honest connection (they say the man who found Bourdain was his “good friend”), is tiring.  You get tired, oh so tired, and the older you get, the more it wears on you, the heavier it feels.  Add to this work stress, physical illness, and it’s not hard to go into a feeling of being overwhelmed.  Add, finally, Robin Williams strangling himself with a belt, Kate Spade strangling herself with a scarf, and shit, all it takes is a couple minutes, one dyin’ and a buryin’. 

[Take a moment and listen to this short song.  Miller killed himself with alcohol (as I understand it), but as Kurt Vonnegut said of smoking, it’s a somewhat sociably acceptable form of suicide.  If this song makes you cry, that is the point.  It reminds us all of how sad life can sometimes be.  But crying makes you stronger, and sadness is perhaps the only means to deep and reliable joy.  Logically, if sadness is a part of life, and joy comes from embracing all of life, then one must go through sadness.]

In my own case, I have always been able to see the first whiffs of clouds on the horizon.  I see things before other people do.  I saw where my life was going literally in my teens, and have been working hard since then to figure it all out.  That’s what I do all day, every day.  I have work to do, and I do it reasonably well, but my mind is always on the big picture.

And it’s not just life itself, but we have so many unknowns in this world.  I was laying in bed worrying about AI last night.  It may be a Godsend.  It may kill us all.  As with most new things, the truth will likely be in the middle somewhere.  It does seem obvious, though, and this is what bothers me, that most of the people who are most obsessed with this sort of thing are the least socially connected, least emotionally intelligent among us.  They are, in other words, moral imbeciles.

My three Big Principles are a good survival code.  I have discussed them many times, but to repeat, they are 1) Reject Self Pity; 2) Persevere in living, and eventually in what makes you happy and emotionally fulfilled; 3) Be curious.  The world is filled with countless marvels, and so are you.  It’s all quite interesting.  Every moment and every street corner has things you have never seen before.  Be like a child chasing a bird or a kitten chasing yarn.

Neurofeedback, if you can afford it or get it funded by your insurance, is in my view a worthwhile investment for most ailments, and certainly Developmental Trauma.

Beyond that, I can’t honestly say I know of any palliatives which are reliable.  Booze isn’t bad, but you reach a point where it hurts as much as it helps.  I haven’t done anti-depressants, but they are likely good for some.

For those of us who are really hurting, my principles are what I would submit are the best hope.  Will yourself into survival.  Your will will grow, and over time, if you start to open up to your feelings, the pain will ease.  Kum Nye is a fantastic practice, and I am growing to like Jill Miller’s “Roll Model”.

Say a prayer for the dead, and thank God for your life.  There is sadness in this world, heartache and pain, but there are also beauty, gratitude, wonderful human beings, the joy of growth, and a God which fills it all.

Here is something from Tecumseh which I read most days:

Would it not be useful to ask the question, when discussing a nation its dominant mores, if there is any other culture which really matters? 

In some respects, what might be called “ordinary evil” is nothing more or less than a habit.  As such, you can both fall into the habit, and fall out of it.

Clearly, some actions make this very hard, because they represent qualitative thresholds, but if evil is as evil does, then it is, indeed, a habit, and as such redeemable and replaceable.

If you have not taken the time to review the many–hundreds at least, with some dozens jaw dropping–cases of reincarnation, most particularly, but certainly not exclusively those gathered by Ian Stephenson, then I would suggest you do.  The evidence, cumulatively, is compelling.

Be that as it may, I got to thinking of Lincoln specifically for some reason the other day.  I’ve been to his massive tomb in Springfield.  I felt profound discomfort.  I don’t know why.  There was an energy there I didn’t like.

But it occurred to me that, as well as we understand these things, he has likely reincarnated by now.  Who would he be?  This, to me, is an interesting question.  You’ve been to the “top”.  You’ve been beset by care, woe, loss, grief, and unrelenting stress.

Why not be a farmer in Iowa?  Marry a cute local girl, raise a couple kids, one of whom becomes a doctor, and the other a businessperson of some sort?

Who knows: maybe Billy Bob Thornton really is the reincarnation of Benjamin Franklin, as I read he thinks he is, and maybe Patton really was the reincarnation of Alexander the Great, as I seem to recall reading he thought he was.

I say this in many ways, but perhaps, just perhaps, the world is VASTLY more interesting than our present day Dismalists deem it to be.

Truth has a tendency of hanging just out of reach, and telling you to go fuck yourself.  This is perhaps its most charming characteristic.

I’m looking through some posts I made on my phone, and live and love are sure awfully close.  I flipped them at least twice.

Surely there is a fortune cookie lesson in here somewhere. And for the record, I like fortune cookies.  I keep the better ones in my wallet.

I had a couple pretty major, for me, insights last week.  But I am holding them for some reason.  I don’t know why.

I saw a demon again last night, but this time it was somewhere else.  I was on its turf.  And for the first time ever, I realized it was afraid of me.  The second time I told it to leave, it did.

When I get through all this–and I will, believe me, because I don’t quit, even if I sometimes pause, sometimes quake in fear, sometimes avoid movement for a long time–nothing will shake me for long.

This is my apprenticeship.  It’s a long apprenticeship, because there is both a lot to learn, and because much of it has to be invented by me to conform to this unique time and circumstance.  But I will get through.

I should have a couple interesting posts this week, when I feel ready.

Take a look at this: https://thegoldwater.com/news/27864-Veterans-Rights-Group-Discovers-a-Child-Trafficking-Camp-in-Arizona-MSM-SILENT

Are they overreacting?  I don’t know.  I can’t comment intelligently.

But I will say that I have thought for some years that the massive influx of children that happened under Obama in his last year or two was a pedophiles dream come true.  You have thousands of children in this country under our control, who do not speak English, and who are fully disconnected from their parents.  This, alone, should have sent up signal flares everywhere.  Obama welcomed them. He, obviously, wants as many people here illegally as possible, provided they understand their debt to Democrats.

But how corruptible is ICE?  How corrupted WAS it?  We saw pictures of kids in cages.  The drug cartels have billions of dollars.  Should we assume everyone on our side of the border is honest?  Why?  I see no reason.

This may turn into something.  It may not.  But that there are evil, sick human beings in this world is beyond dispute, and that looking for evidence of their presence and activity is a worthwhile activity is also, in my view, indisputable.

And it seems likely to me that the complicit media, in general, wants to avoid these sorts of stories like the plague.  There was a lot of very sketchy stuff going on at that pizza place in Washington, which did not deserve to be mocked and dismissed outright.

This world, in my opinion, lacks for genuinely serious people.  Most people are vain, superficial, glib, and eager to avoid trouble, embarrassment, or controversy.  This means most useful work is done by those who do not suffer from these profound character defects.

It is not good to seek out fights, but also not good to avoid them.  If they are there, don’t back down.   

I was doing a deep relaxation exercise yesterday, and the feeling of trauma came through much more slowly than it usually does.  What normally happens is it shows up and my body immediately starts shaking to dispel it.  The shaking is already a diversion.  I don’t get the texture of the feeling.  It is like something dropping on me.  Perhaps.  I’m not sure that’s quite right.

But I felt the texture of the feeling yesterday.  I can’t begin to describe it, other than as highly unpleasant.

I wonder if one aspect of relating to time as compressed has to do with the habit of dealing with emotins in bundles.  If you slow down too much, they come undone, and all come tumbling out, one by one, most of them harmless, but a few quite toxic, or seemingly so.  My personal feeling is there are no truly toxic emotions.  All of them exist for reasons.  The feeling of trauma is the residue of the decision forced on a nervous system to keep you alive and moving.

This feeling I felt, though: hidden, buried, disappeared–it is the root of evil.  Evil, too, is logical.  It is emotionally logical, and flows naturally from feelings which cannot be borne, cannot be carried, cannot be expressed in any healthy way, and which are thus expressed in unhealthy ways.

I am beginning to see through people.  Through their defenses, through their annoying habits, to what lies at the core.  You cannot be angry at people when you understand them, and how logical their behavior is.

This is, I hope, the root of something good.  Finally.