Wednesday, November 21, 2007

Thankgsiving: A Work in Progress

A month of fall has somehow slipped past, one horrifically slow in the roller coaster meanderings of these up-and-down days, and one frighteningly quick in the progression of have-tos and must-nots and all too fleeting glimpses at joy.

Every day I walk past a billboard advertising I think that movie that they're making out of Kite Runner. The source really doesn't matter, its the caption that gets me: There is a way to be good again. There is a way to be greater than all of these faceless despairs, many ways in fact. It got me thinking about inspiration, motivation, what ever little kick in the pants that helps you get through the day. All the people whom I most admire seem driven by almost supernatural forces and a strength too remarkable to be human. My own pithy attempts just to make it somehow from dawn to dusk more than pale in comparison.

To continue yesterday's musings, I'm wondering and wandering on the things that keep me going. I'm thinking about the things that remain, even through all the stomach clenching chaos I have a knack of discovering for myself, the glimpses of better that have a habit of popping up at all the right times. I close my eyes and I can see mountain silhouettes, pretty much universally. I see the shades of green darkness, the shadow horizon of the Siskiyou's in Southern Oregon, and the dirt road unfurling in front of me. I see the hills of the Orlicke hory, where I am making my way aimlessly from foothill village to village. Mostly I am just on the edge of the woods, looking over and across the fields to the sunset beyond the next ridge. I close my eyes and I am lying in the middle of a deserted Forest Service campground, with two little girls clinging to me as I point out made up constellations. I keep them closed and I am running, simply moving for the sake of feeling my body, freely and without pain. I am on stage, bathing in music like water and the presence of people whom I love. I am sitting too close to a campfire, one which I have built with my own two hands, and we are singing. I close my eyes and I am on the top of Neakanie Mountain, and I am tucked into the hillside in the sunshine, drowsy, and amazed at the beach and endlessly blue water so far below me. I am sunrise and unencumbered time. For all of these things I am. And in all of these things it is the simple act of being which is remarkable, and holy above all.

I get up in the morning because somewhere deep down, sometimes more hidden than others, I believe that in this day something astounding will occur. I have faith that I will meet someone or something who will challenge the boldness of my perceptions. Or some small conversation will manage to reach me unawares. I get up because, or with the hope of being surprised, of being pushed, and hopefully of pushing back. In each day I need movement, the promise of the strokings of endorphins, and of big sky and fog. I need to know, and to constantly be reminded that the world is still out there, still pulsating. Sometimes this is as simple as taking away my breath, or as ethereal as shattering the hard shell of some wayward soul. I live for connections, for connecting people, for connecting to people, and for being connected to my own little turtle-shell atmosphere.

On this day of reflection and benediction, what moves you?

Sunday, November 11, 2007

Its so hard to remember, I'm just trying to remember, this time around.

I've made it no secret to the world lately, how shitty life has been for the past few weeks. Admitting that I am out of control is one of the hardest parts of being depressed for me, because I am way to good at being like this. The last few weeks of this supposed living hell have taught me alot, have reminded me of a lot, and have left me questioning the very foundations of the life that I find myself living these days.

I got back from working a fantastic week-end long outdoor trip over on the coast for the weekend. I spent two whole days frolicking in the forest, falling asleep on top of mountains, and offtrailing it over sandunes to find the ocean. We had mushroom fights (apparently thats how you can tell certain types of mushrooms, whether or not the crush on impact), we rocked out with a handfull of guitars and drums and failing that pots and pans. I forgot everything for two days, and in a lot of ways its just crushing to come back to town and loose all perspective on life and love and loss and stress and challenge and meaning and belonging. I forget myself, I forget how to be myself, and I forget the incredible strengths that I have been given.

Its a good question, actually, what is so blinding, why in the heat of things its so hard for me to remember all the good in the world and in myself. I was talking on the phone tonight to a very dear friend, one who I am so blessed to have in my life. He simply said to me, "you know, Peggy, in the heat of things in the backcountry I have no doubt in my mind that you can take charge when you need to. I know you can be confident and sure of yourself and be the person you need to be when there are people who need you. The trick is to learn to do that in the front country as well."

Thats really the rub, is remembering all of the good that I have been given. Remembering how powerful I can be, and how calm, while sitting on top of mountains. Keeping hold of people around me, particularly those with the infinite ability to see through my varying mascarades of bullshit, those who know me well enough to know the truth, that this is not me, and definitly not a me that I enjoy or am capable of being for long. I read some things I had written this summer, about how I wished I could take with me the serenity and the awareness of those experiences. I wrote, literally word for word, that I wished I could remember summer, once school starts kicking my ass and I'm too far gone to realize.

Kind of prescient.

Or sad.

What I mean to say, I guess, is that I am having a hard time. Maybe not today, maybe not tommorow, or yesterday, but I'm having a hard time. I dont know why or how or where from, and I'm not totally convinced that it is for me to know, neccesarily. I know that for whatever reason, winter here in Portland seems to bring out the worst in me. I know that this time around I am doing my damndest to fight it with acupuncture, excercise, solid outdoor time, friends, strangers, music, and cutting the crap. Some days I do pretty damn well and I am conscious and aware and thankful to be alive. Somedays it is all I can do to get out of bed in the morning. Somedays, like sitting here tonight, its all I can do not to run away, to totally flee because doing what I need to do to get through is so intimidating that I cannot even begin to comprehend how to accomplish it. Depression for me is not a sadness, its not an overarching malaise. Its a loss of perspective, a lack of energy, and a total abandonment of logic and rational thought. I still consider myself an optimistic person, I have hopes and dreams and big plans for the future. Its just that sometimes the space between here and there seems unconquerable and unending. Its all the worse, too, because I know that I dont have to be here, I dont have to be like this, that school and the pursuit of that one piece of paper is keeping me here.

My knees are wearing out, and I'm terrified of loosing running and hiking and that absolutely visceral reminder that I am alive and awake and aware and strong. I am very afraid of what comes next.