Surreality.

Every day I see people who knew you in life, sometimes running into them for the first time in decades; and, they inevitably ask about you as if they expect to find out that you’ve moved away to Canada, like you always threatened to do. The news of your short battle and premature death unfailingly drops jaws all the way around, and I regularly find myself in the position of having to firmly convince someone that you are dead and gone: a highly dissatisfying instance for me.
At least once a month I see a dress or a couch or a set of dishes that oozes your still lingering essence, and this essence permeates my existence for some time – maybe an hour; maybe a day…and as much as it stirs the burn of the embers inside the firepit called Pain, I greedily and secretly lean into the heat because it’s the only way I feel like I still know my Mom. Like I still have my Mom.
Every single night I walk my dog down the street your house is on. Although somebody else lives there and its appearance has been drastically altered since you died, I sometimes see your faint ghost on the front porch doing a crossword puzzle. I see your ghost watering the lawn too, or occasionally it even excitedly waves a hand at me from across Camden Avenue in the darkness.
I catch myself more frequently spitting out random statements and sayings that were always unique to you, alone.
Things like,

“In like Flynn.”

Or I sing stupid bits if stupid songs like,

“Here we come,
on the run,
like a hamburger on a bun.”
Or,
“Jonathan Joe had a mouth like an O”

I know its really you speaking in my voice, but I wonder what any of it means.

I often thank the Gods that you and I were able to at least scratch the surface of our reciprocal amendments to each other before you died so horribly fast and miserably. I’m continually thankful that I was able to thoroughly explain myself to you after all was said and done between us, but before your brain got so full of metastatic tumors that you were unable to comprehend me. I’m ever thankful that your passing wasn’t during any of our many former years apart, and that I was there to hold your hand when you asked me to be, because I can vividly remember that you were afraid, truly afraid. You never lost face though, you remain a bonebreakingly strong idol of my candlelit shrine. And no matter what else life throws at me, I will meet my last day on Earth with your smile on my face and your strength in my bloodstream. And, while your death killed off parts of me and stole any comfort I knew in the big, bad world, I haven’t let it burden me.
Though, I still bitterly wish we could have had Christmas in Sutter Creek, but it wasn’t meant to be.
Every single day passes with a strangling sense of your absence. And some days, I find you staring back at me from a mirror or the reflection from a storefront window as I pass. The tiniest and subtlest bits of your essence still trickle from the hole that losing you that way has left in my heart.

Inklings.

Don’t humor the inkling to test me,
Always searching for angles to best me,
Your presence must constantly tempt me,
daily fail on your part to preempt me,
Too pathetic to bend,
Bite at the bowl that’s empty.
bullshit side-stepping,
pathetic button pressing,
Get on track dead last,
Any shot you had to win has passed,
Neurotic tail chasing,
Your stupidy’s amazing
Go long, carry on,
its so entertaining,
Your need to bear teeth,
at absolutely nothing,
It’s so funny,
You humor me,
Not a soul cares,
If you never get out of here,
You made your bed and it’s filthy,
The stench of the things you can’t be,
So many piles of what’s needy,
You think your logic is stealthy,
But your face makes me angry,
I want to punch at you; God help me,
For striking a helpless puppy,
It made me.

Thoughts on ‘Detachment from Reality’.

Face It.

Face It.

The human species has the baffling propensity to become manic with enough fear of the ‘terroristic’ kind. I tend to flash onto the scene from the early 80’s movie I saw as a super young child in which the hostage, desperate with fear and doom and gloom (from being terrorized), finally can’t stand it anymore – and runs off the side of the building’s 125th flight rooftop – as opposed to remaining any longer in the grips of the terror. Same example can be attached to 9/11, and the many terrified souls that we watched leap from the burning buildings – in desperation and terror, on some level, obviously, innately aware that the end-result would be the same – DEATH. These realities are indeed, tragic as Hell; however, perfect examples of how the human species tend to respond during circumstances defined by terror.

We all have the capacity to detach and dissociate when it becomes a necessary element to our own livelihood; we have honed this psychological mechanism to a truly universal skill in our time here on Earth so far, so well, that many of us perceive this type of dissociation as something other than what it is: a coping mechanism in its rawest and purest of forms. It is one that everyone has used already before in his or her own experiences with Life and Death; it is a ‘skill’ that we will each use again before we die, also. It has become part of the human nature that spans across the globe. There is no question about that.

My question then, based on the implications surrounding this truth about dissociation and detachment from reality as a means of human survival, would be:

“If we all execute the use of its affect, and we do, why are we not, as a species, focusing much more on the “channeling” (for lack of a better word) its presence in a more positive direction?”

 

         To me, it doesn’t seem to be brain surgery, to conclude that we have been, and will continue to evolve psychologically, just as we have physiologically – throughout history. Evolution is an unmapped process, despite the ways that it is in our genetic nature to do so, given environmental changes and the presence and/or appearance of variables that have such effects on us, as an Apex Species. To me, this streak of “instability” in certain individuals who display dissociative behaviors stands out as strength greater than any physical one that our collective species can stake any claim to. It represents the will of the mind to bend the body’s ability to endure great physical feats of survival in many different contexts, and sometimes in very young human beings.

I am totally honest when I say that each and every human individual that I personally know who suffers from traumas so horrific, the presence of this thing called ‘dissociation’ has become permanent – is also someone who has strength so powerful and unique to only him/her. These are always the MOST human of human beings. These are all people who I would depend on, have depended on in times of need, with success and a supportive outcome. These are all people who were robbed of something crucial to them early on in their young lives, every last one of them was. They are each hard-working, loving, passionate, deeply spirited individuals also, with very uniquely burning fires that can’t be distinguished by anyone or anything – outside of themselves. And too often, this is what happens, because of the complete lack of support and understanding put forth by the rest of us. It is the understanding of the child inside of these people, one that was robbed deeply during childhood and never moved on. How can we be angry at a child for being “unstable”?