Replenishment - Hiding Among the Leaves of Grass

I have not created a post in two weeks. Ok I can be the laziest of slugs. Still, there is much going on in my moved and on my mental life. I will be making a critical relocation at the end of the year. The excitement, apprehension and preparations for this change require much of my focus over the coming weeks. To ready body and spirit, I have followed a strict regimen: exercise, diet and complete immersion into leaves of grass (both upper and lower case). Whitman has served as my tutor, inspiring and opening me to new perspectives and possibilities.

Now, here is the best part of this post: Whitman

From Leaves of Grass, Song of Myself By Walt Whitman

A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?

Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.

Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyphic,
And it means, Sprouting alike in broad zones and narrow zones,
Growing among black folks as among white,
Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same.

And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves.

Tenderly will I use you curling grass,
It may be you transpire from the breasts of young men,
It may be if I had known them I would have loved them,
It may be you are from old people, or from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps,
And here you are the mothers' laps.

This grass is very dark to be from the white heads of old mothers,
Darker than the colorless beards of old men,
Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths.

O I perceive after all so many uttering tongues,
And I perceive they do not come from the roofs of mouths for nothing.

I wish I could translate the hints about the dead young men and women,
And the hints about old men and mothers, and the offspring taken soon out of their laps.

What do you think has become of the young and old men?
And what do you think has become of the women and children?

They are alive and well somewhere,
The smallest sprout shows there is really no death,
And if ever there was it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it,
And ceas'd the moment life appear'd.

All goes onward and outward, nothing collapses,
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

A Gift

What Calls Us

In winter, it is what calls us
from seclusion, through endless snow
to the end of a long driveway
where, we hope, it waits—
this letter, this package, this
singing of wind around an opened door.

- Ted Kooser

I love this poem. I need this poem. It brings me back to a time when I was small. When I was symptom-free. During this time, the cuddly heat of being inside alone was pure enchantment. I long for that magic. Now seclusion is different. Seclusion breeds fear, anxiety, and anger. My image of isolation is of fetid clutter and my own numb, useless limbs. A pathetic body that abandons the struggling and raging mind. The mind wrestling against the chokehold it has on itself.

Why pick this poem? What quirk of nature would motivate me to readily submit to a blow? My answer is simple. The poem’s ‘meat’ speaks of the struggle to emerge and rejoin the world. This strengthens me. It is literally ‘what calls’ me out of my hovel. My trip will be long. The wind will push me back. Cold fingers will inch between the buttons of my coat. My ears will burn and redden. Still, I am summoned. I must take one step, a single step. I answer with movement, just an inch. Movement starts a small tear and soon a breach in depression’s searing whiteness.

Bipolar Fun- The Con

It makes perfect sense. Bipolar disorder is an illness of variations, therefore the entertainment this week is from two variations on the con game. The first con exploits bipolar disorder in an attempt to trick the court system into handing down a ‘get out of jail free card.’ The second con uses caring words and ridiculous ‘celebrations’ to maintain the status quo thereby securing benefactor roles for two organizations. Bipolar disorder is once again at play this week. This time it is a pawn in simple and elaborate con games.

Let’s begin with a master con artist, Sharon Blevins. Blevins, the would-be ‘poster child for bipolar disorder,’ seems an unlikely choice for a poster child. As, Mike Willis, the team leader of the U.S. Postal Inspection Service describes, “She [Blevins] [is] the most highly skilled identity theft person we have seen.” It is amazing that Blevins displayed such expertise when, as she described, “[her] mind is [sic] not functioning” due to Bipolar. As Pat Hartman put it in her article, “The implication that bipolar disorder has, in and of itself, the power to turn some people good and others bad doesn't wash with the realities of mental illnesses.” Blevins needs to drop the "mental disease or defect" defense, and admit that she willfully managed detailed and creative cons for years. Now however it seems her luck at cons has run out.


Blevins magic with the cons maybe gone but no worries, The National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) is ready to play the next con. NAMI, with a little help from Abbott Laboratories, invented Bipolar Disorder Awareness Day (BDAD). You read that correctly, the 5th annual BDAD is Thursday, October 11, 2007. Together NAMI and Abbott announced that the day’s goal is, “to increase awareness of bipolar disorder, promote early detection and accurate diagnosis, reduce stigma.”

These goals are impressive, especially since they represent a bigger con than even skillful Bliden managed. What plan could possible begin to approach any of the stated goals via an awareness day? These goals indicate that NAMI and Abbott feel a need to elevate their stature with song and trumpets (but don’t listen closely or you will notice that the lyrics are gibberish). Why would create these goals and this day? On the surface the sponsorship of the day and goals looks altruistic. However, since both are set up to fail, they will keep those with bipolar disorder marginalized and in need of large ‘benefactor’ organizations to protect (control) them.

Putting aside the goals for a moment, let’s focus on the ‘day’ itself. At its core BDAD is a swindle. Again, it presents NAMI and Abbott as caring, goodwill ambassadors to the bipolar and non-bipolar communities. However, for those with bipolar disorder the day is at best laughable and at worst scornful. Scornful for conveniently overlooking that wearing a ‘Bipolar’ label sets one up 1) as a victim – ‘I am only my disease’ and 2) as an immediate focus for stigma and discrimination. The day is scornful for not considering the true consequences for those with bipolar disorder. If one becomes the victim, ‘a bipolar,’ there is an intrinsic loss of something vital and distinct. One may have a disease but one is NOT the disease. To be a disease/victim is to drown in the waste of society. The society that is happier with the easy stereotypes and preconceived notions. Why would you add a banner and a button to this?

Without any real PR or education efforts, the ‘special’ day is a waste. The general public will learn nothing and will see only a physical manifestation of their undefined fears, questions and suspicions in the faces of the BDAD participants. Shape will be given to their unformed notions. A mold is set from which their preconceptions can harden into the shiny glow of stigma. Stigma is not defeated with ‘awareness’ gatherings attended only by informed participants. Lofty, meaningless goals so nothing to attach stigma, rather they add a coat of polish to stigma’s shine.

It is a commonly held belief that our culture has solved, or at least hidden its prejudices and discrimination. Well bless your lucky stars, mental health is here! Those bottled up prejudices and discriminations can role! It is not only allowed to be prejudice against one with a mental illness, it is encouraged. Many reasons are reasonable excuses for prejudice and/or discrimination: safety, drama, anxiety or any other type of entertaining reason (check out Oprah's 'crazy' fun).

As with any deeply held belief, stigma dissolves slowly. Erosion prods forward based on lived experiences and loud and persistent responses to every half-truth and dramatization regarding bipolar disorder. Realist goals drive meaningful progress over time. Empty, lovely words and undefined goals lead to failure. Is the promise to bright, too good to be true? It probably is and most likely you have been conned.

ok rant over...so here are some images to soothe...

Inspiration

Friends and family have wondered about my reasons for creating this blog. Articulating my motivation has been challenging since a multitude of inspirations, uncertainties and schemes pushed me here.

While considering my motivations, the question of my profile has also remained unresolved. My current smattering of adjectives is lazy and feeble. The list is feeble largely because I have not resolved who I want you to think I am.

As you can see these are big (yet really superfluous) questions. For now, I choose an easy solution. I use the brilliant words of another - Wislawa Szymborska.

Szymborska, highest honor is the Nobel Prize in 1996, 'for poetry that with ironic precision allows the historical and biological context to come to light in fragments of human reality.' Beyond this and her many other prizes, most of Szymborska's life is unknown, precisely as she wishes. Szymborska believes that the details of a poet's life not required since they will not the analysis of the poetry. Interviews and personal details are refused by Szymborska on a regular basis. There is simply the poetry that requires analysis. Szymborska, the woman, happily remains unknown, in the shadows.

Below are two poems that I particularly enjoy. My desire for writing springs from one while the other provides a self description I wish I could write. Ahhh well...it is fun to dream impractical dreams if only for one moment.

Enjoy!


The Joy Of Writing

Why does this written doe bound through these written woods?
For a drink of written water from a spring
whose surface will xerox her soft muzzle?
Why does she lift her head; does she hear something?
Perched on four slim legs borrowed from the truth,
she pricks up her ears beneath my fingertips.
Silence - this word also rustles across the page
and parts the boughs
that have sprouted from the word "woods."

Lying in wait, set to pounce on the blank page,
are letters up to no good,
clutches of clauses so subordinate
they'll never let her get away.

Each drop of ink contains a fair supply
of hunters, equipped with squinting eyes behind their sights,
prepared to swarm the sloping pen at any moment,
surround the doe, and slowly aim their guns.

They forget that what's here isn't life.
Other laws, black on white, obtain.
The twinkling of an eye will take as long as I say,
and will, if I wish, divide into tiny eternities,
full of bullets stopped in mid-flight.
Not a thing will ever happen unless I say so.
Without my blessing, not a leaf will fall,
not a blade of grass will bend beneath that little hoof's full stop.

Is there then a world
where I rule absolutely on fate?
A time I bind with chains of signs?
An existence become endless at my bidding?

The joy of writing.
The power of preserving.
Revenge of a mortal hand.



Possibilities

I prefer movies.
I prefer cats.
I prefer the oaks along the Warta.
I prefer Dickens to Dostoyevsky.
I prefer myself liking people
to myself loving mankind.
I prefer keeping a needle and thread on hand, just in case.
I prefer the color green.
I prefer not to maintain
that reason is to blame for everything.
I prefer exceptions.
I prefer to leave early.
I prefer talking to doctors about something else.
I prefer the old fine-lined illustrations.
I prefer the absurdity of writing poems
to the absurdity of not writing poems.
I prefer, where love's concerned, nonspecific anniversaries
that can be celebrated every day.
I prefer moralists
who promise me nothing.
I prefer cunning kindness to the over-trustful kind.
I prefer the earth in civvies.
I prefer conquered to conquering countries.
I prefer having some reservations.
I prefer the hell of chaos to the hell of order.
I prefer Grimms' fairy tales to the newspapers' front pages.
I prefer leaves without flowers to flowers without leaves.
I prefer dogs with uncropped tails.
I prefer light eyes, since mine are dark.
I prefer desk drawers.
I prefer many things that I haven't mentioned here
to many things I've also left unsaid.
I prefer zeroes on the loose
to those lined up behind a cipher.
I prefer the time of insects to the time of stars.
I prefer to knock on wood.
I prefer not to ask how much longer and when.
I prefer keeping in mind even the possibility
that existence has its own reason for being.

FFFFOUND

FFFFOUND is a website located here . The site consists of images that are posted by members. Members also choose their favorite images from those posted by others. This creates a web of images: one image leads to several others then to others and so on.

I find the process of looking around very addictive. I often find that I have spent more than an hour on the site without even noticing. It is well worth the time, however, as the images are beautiful and challenging. Ffffound is a nice stretch for the right lobe.

A great feature is that any visitor can save an image. Once you find an image you like click on it to open it in a new window. Working in the new window, simply hit the apple plus S keys or go to the File menu and click on 'save page as.’

Membership is by invitation only. These invitations are very scarce and quite exclusive (as I understand it, the small number of members can invite a small number of members). I am not offended by this policy. As smaller member base keeps ffffound unique. Flickr already exists there is not need for another. Also, ffffound presents a unique perspective on visual art and design despite the disparate sources of the images. I can only guess that the limited and interconnected membership creates this unique perspective.

In any case, I love the site. For me it is magic; a trip down the yellow brick road; meditation in color.

See below for some of my favorites and definitely check out the site.

Cheers :)

BP Education - Better with Video

I stumbled across this on digg. This video elegantly capture BP for me. The illness is hard to describe to others and yet the director of this video makes it look easy. Have family and friends who are still confused by your moods or behaviors? Please show them this. I think the song that is the soundtrack works well with the visual content, however, your mute button can easily remove it if you disagree. So check it out - the director showed brilliance, confidence and strength putting this together.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=rs8F_2-Juiw

House keeping note - I added more info and share links to the sidebar. Let me know if this is a good thing or if this sprays cheese whiz all over your face.

Cheers!

Wishes and Thanks

I added a wish to the robinhood fund that I hope is honored.

I need to express my love and uncontainable gratitude to those who have supported me this year. Picking me up. Forcing me to open myself to calm and hope. Each one Deserves more than can ever be given. However, I must start somewhere soo....

Thank you for my life. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for laughing at me. Thank you for shoving me onto the path towards stability.



Support given to me can grow to thank and embrace the givees

Voting starts in 0 minutes

Burma

I cannot add anything to the coverage and commentary that is all over the web. I provide the link below with deep sadness and anger that no one stepped in to stop the slaughter.

Life means so little to many. If life has no meaning to you, then why do you, killer, continue to breath yourself?

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/pages/live/articles/news/worldnews.html?in_article_id=484903&in_page_id=1