She Muses

I look at my Lithium tablet. It's labeled as an "Anti-Psychotic." I feel down, and am fighting the darkness. I begin to dream...I search with a candle, to twist the shadows into something I can handle. The walls enforce back their darkness, even when the candle flickers for one tiny half second. I am spooked, this feeling is here again: somewhere around me is the one I call the Aggressor.

Words break the dark and the candle flickers--it's about to go out. The gust of the Aggressor is here--she with long, terrible needle, and claims, such claims! "This will make you better," she says; I scream to no avail as she knocks the candle to the floor.

I can't see, for she has extinguished what little light I had; the shadows win, the gloomy room laughs, and I am enveloped in Bi-Polar as my eyelids flutter close, and the murky walls cover me with dark, sinister laughs, yet again...

I snap back out of it, take my pill, and lean back in my writing chair, certain that my eyes show fear right now: deep fear. So, I begin my Buddhist mantras and immediately I begin to feel better.

But first, I turn on the office light.

It's early morning and I am laying here in my bed, typing under winter's covers x 5. Head check-in: Been watching Frances with Jessica Lange lately--amazing at how well she displayed the tortured actress Frances Farmer. Jessica's depiction of Frances' Bi-Polar has left me reeling. It's so dead accurate.

l call it the Ten-Minute Movie; every night, after I have done an hour's of reading, I watch ten minutes of some old VHS tape I have. Frances is such an excellent film--my goddess, she is me, in so many respects. I relate to her emotionally, however, on every level.

And it got me thinking on how Bi-Polar (and all other such conditions) are located in our brains. But, our brains are such devious little alien hosts, aren't they? They put thoughts in our heads that what is wrong with us is something outside of us--some job or relationship or something. The brain doesn't want to be found out for the troublemaker it is. So, it defends itself and does a clever job of misdirection to get you looking anywhere else but in the mirror. Those thoughts you have that "it's not me that's at fault," come from the brain! But, the brain knows damn well it's the one at fault!

To come alive to our brains' deceptions, we have to use it to attack itself. And we are talking about one exciting chess match here, because the brain is very experienced at hiding. It's ancient and powerful. It can be a strange cycle of personal therapy. The brain issues a thought and you talk back against the thought because you realize it's not true.

But the question becomes, Just what is it that's talking back against the brain?

The check-in: I am the hotel check-in clerk and the guest. The attendant asks if I need help with my luggage. I look down at my baby pink wheeled suitcase and matching travel bag that I can move just fine by myself. So, of course, I say "Yes, I would like some help, thank you."

In the fine suite, I instruct the attendant where to set the cases. I then tip him heartily--I always tip big--and smile and show him out. Locking the door with all the protection it is set up to offer, I head to my bed, kick off my heels and lay back onto the queen sized goodness.

The post check-in: I am the psychologist and the patient. How are my head, my feelings, my loneliness, my forgivings, my purity, my dealing with stressors, my handling of my Bi-Polar? A mirror appears above me and I take myself in.

I still look good at 44, but there's still that searching, mysterious gaze in my eyes. I could liken it to someone in a film who's seen a ghost that turned out to be a treasure. That's how I look when I am quiet like this: intense, seeing through this mirror and beyond. I hold the treasure of knowing the deep satisfaction I have in the books I put out, but something still haunts. What is it, but a desire to write more and more--not for fame or fortune--but rather, to dance with the Muse again and again?

My head is good: stable, and sober of thought. My feelings: much more stable too these days; I know who I am (Saraswati), and I keep my third eye clear and focused. My loneliness: this is a problem. Every day I have slight reverberations in my heart of the walking around on it of the demon dragon called Abandon. I mentioned her in my poem Nosology for the book Dead Black Bird in a Furnace. She is, of course, my mother, who first abandoned me at 6 years of age because I contracted the chicken pox and had become "too difficult to deal with." She was Bi-Polar too. And ever since three years ago, I have been betrayed, hurt and abandoned by nearly everyone in my life. The footprints of Abandon are dirty, and she now leaves her dirt in the form of a subtle plea, Don't hurt me, please, found in my texted and spoken words. But, all considered, I manage these emotions and past abuses pretty well, I think. My forgivings: this I am doing excellently at. Every night I pick an issue from my life, look at it honestly, then forgive myself and all others involved. My purity: This area I am doing very well in, except for the Abandon issue. I just keep in my heart that when I am pure in thoughts and actions, then everything and everyone else is pure as well! My stressors are always financial related, but I am handling them with grace as of late. My Bi-Polar: sometimes I forget a pill, especially in the morning when I am manic; it plays hell on me trying to get to sleep later! But, no outbursts or suicidal ideations since June 21st, so I must congratulate myself on that! Doing better!

The check out: The mirror disappears, I know I am doing fine. I get up, look at my luggage, and think, "I will carry it on my own this time." On the way through the lobby, the attendant asks if I need some help with it to my car.

"No, thank you, I will handle it this time! But thank you so much for asking!" Then, just because he was so sweet, I gave him a big, genuine smile that got him smiling really bright too!

You see, I always tip big!

There's an old Japanese story about a samurai whose master was killed. So, the samurai set off one day to find his master's killer and to kill him for justice.

Eventually, he found the killer in a large cave. He cornered him in that cave and began to draw his sword. The man was frightened, and so, in defiance, he spit on the samurai.

The samurai was angered by this, so he sheathed his sword and left. When asked later why he didn't kill the man, the samurai said, "When he spit, it angered me; thus, to kill him then would have been out of anger and revenge, not out of justice."

In fall, the student and Buddhist teacher watched a leaf flutter to the ground. The teacher said, "And there went yet another type of historical belief, fallen because it was no longer needed by the tree of humanity."

In spring of the next year, a tiny leaf was seen growing in the same spot. The teacher said, "And now, a new type of belief has come to be, and someday it too will simply be yet another fallen leaf. All these leaves will last for only one Buddhist year. This is the way for the growth and falling of leaves, and of all beliefs."

Looking at the budding new leaf, the student was then enlightened.