Tag Archives: puzzle

2 Things:

No Love at the King

In the house buying process, there are moments where you set appointments and everyone has to show up to accommodate.

One such moment, we ran very early. Unusual for us, being we’re usually a few minutes late, but it necessitated finding someplace to burn 30 minuets. Burger King was our only available answer.

I haven’t had fast food at all in over 2 years, and it’s been probably 3 years since I’ve set foot in a Burger King.

We ordered fountain drinks and a small bite to eat. I got as close to my needs as BK had available. Our “meal” cost all of $6.00.

As I went to get my drink of choice: tea; I discovered that there was no unsweetened tea available. I went with raspberry tea, because though it’s been a while, I thought I knew what to expect.

We sat down and proceeded to consume our time and our food.

I took one sip of the tea and nearly gagged from it’s overly sweet consistency. It was far sweeter than I remembered raspberry tea being. Then I took a bite of my food and I could taste the extreme amount of sodium in it. It also tasted just horrible to me.

I should have immediately spit it out and thrown the rest away.

Did I?

No

Two reasons:

First, I suspect that the short span of time the food was in my system was just enough to trigger the old patterns of addiction. My brain launched the familiar chemical storm response to an old, well ingrained trigger. As I’ve said before, there’s a reason they’re called addictions.

Secondly, I was trained very well from an early age not to be wasteful because there are people in this world starving. I had the luxury of buying such a meal, I should not waste it.

So yes, between the two I consumed most of what was in front of me, only dumping half the drink down the drain.

Feeling dirty, I then looked around and realized that the whole environment was like my meal. I saw all the dirt, the uncleaned surfaces, the dingy decor, the burnt out lightbulbs. The visually unappealing environment was nearly depressing.

I realized there was no love at Burger King.

No one had put any love into any aspect of this experience.

No one had made the food with loving care. No one had cooked the food with loving care. No one had served the food with loving care. No one had cleaned with loving care. And evidence of litter on the floor and on tables indicated that patrons had shown no loving care either.

I felt that was the reason that fast food was so hard on as person’s physiology. I also felt sad that this moment was evidence of millions of people’s daily existence. I wished for better for everyone.

I sent a prayer as we left to head to our nearby appointment.

My prayer started with a request for the food to impact my system in the gentlest way possible. Then I prayed that those millions of consumers find the love for themselves and God. That our society finds a way to show the love more and respect each other in every way, even down to cleaning adequately.

Show the love, even or especially when you work somewhere that you could just get by with a minimum of effort.

Western Medicine- Please Acknowledge:

Just because studies document averages, doesn’t mean we are all average.

I’m one such person, breaking pretty much every widely accepted norm. I am not average.

My thyroid personal-normal skirts the high side of the acceptable range of function.

My body wants an hour or more of exercise nearly every day. One day off is okay, but 2 or more and my body starts down a slippery slope that becomes difficult to stop.

My body does not tolerate many foods that are considered normal healthy foods for average people. Nightshades are a perfect example, but also chicken, turkey, beef, pork, walnuts, and nearly every grain. For any average individual, any one of those foods may be okay, but my body no longer tolerates them.

My body needs more fluids than the average acceptable intake. I drink a minimum of a gallon a day, usually quite a bit more.

My health puzzle has found many solutions that are not pills, but work quite well if I am able to maintain them.

My blood sugars are indicators of my puzzle pieces falling out of place, not true disease. When I keep my puzzle completely together my glucose numbers are perfect all the time, without medical intervention.

My body is ultra sensitive to changes that are not for my highest benefit. Simple as that.

Please, please acknowledge that some of us are unique, different, and the average solution is unnecessary and perhaps hazardous. That’s all.

This ultra sensitive unique person will continue to work on myself and my puzzle, which often includes blogging while on a treadmill, just like right now!

May you feel the love in every way, especially your food experiences and health journey. May you find everything you need and desire and have an easy path. May information always come when you need it. May your health providers work with you as an individual. May we all find our puzzle and the love and fortitude to keep it together.

Blessings

Siva Hir Su

ReBirthing

Normally re-birthing is a process that happens over a few hours in a therapists office. It’s a very specific process that is intended to uncover and work through issues that center around birth and very early childhood, and the resulting body-memory/energy/emotional-set-point  that a person could potentially carry indefinitely.

For me, I have essentially experienced this as a gradual unwrapping over approximately the last 2 weeks (a bit more perhaps). It as happened in little snippets of those intuitive flashes I reference so often. For me the flashes happen as images, short clips like YouTube videos or memories, and sometimes feelings, sounds, and even muscle memory. Anyway, I’m going to relay my unfolding to the best of my ability, and what it has helped me figure out, so that others might be able to glean similar progress.

——-

The Facts I know of my birth from parental stories:

-I was delivered by Cesarean (c-section). My mom was lightly sedated, so upon delivery my father was the first to hold me. Story goes I immediately peed on him and the nurses has to change his gown.

-My mom had blood sugar issues, but no treatment. It was a time when gestational diabetes was still a new-ish diagnosis and diet suggestions were made but not even strictly enforced, no medications were used because they were not widely accepted as safe during pregnancy.

-The doctor was a short man (my dad thought that was hilarious and has joked about it repeatedly over my life) that needed a step stool for delivery. His name Dr. Gupta, he was from India.

-At birth I was Jaundice and spent a few days in critical care nursery. My level of jaundice was so intense my skin looked orange and my dad nicknamed me pumpkin. I also didn’t want to eat for several days, but was tickled into nursing/bottle feedings to keep me hydrated. It necessitated at least an hour of direct sunlight (4 hours suggested) daily to help bring the jaundice down. It took about 2 weeks for my skin to return to relative normal color.

-At the time my mom was the only significant income in the family, so she only had 2 weeks off  (whatever the minimum was for the incision to heal) and went back to work.

———-

Facts about me in general:

-I require regular sunlight or I get depressed.

-I have been told I’m borderline diabetic and was considered Gestational Diabetic during my son’s pregnancy/birth. I controlled the pregnancy and my current state with Diet, Exercise, and certain Supplements.

-When I am very depressed or in a moment of severe negative emotions, my inclination is always to rock myself. I literally sit in a quiet space and close my eyes and rock my body back and forth like in a rocking chair. It is nearly always the only thing that helps when I’m at my worst.

-I don’t believe that I have actual conscious brain memory of my birth, but there is possibility of subconscious memories or body/muscle memory.

——

The intuitive flashes I’ve “received”, which may or may not be 100% accurate, please know that these all happened in meditative space, I have not consumed any mind altering drugs:

-I had a visual clip of the doctor rocking and rocking my bassinet in the nursery and humming/singing quietly to me.

-I had a similar clip of my dad’s early interactions, lots of bouncing, holding me and touching me with furrowed brows and very stiff movements. Another clip of the moment after I peed on him, being held in mid air (almost like Simba from Lion King) while nurses wiped my dad off and put a new gown or blanket over him.

-I had a moment where I felt the sensations of the rocking in the nursery, the lights seemed too bright so I closed my eyes, I felt very scared and wanted to cry, and then the rocking started and the humming/soft singing started shortly after.

-I had a moment where I felt very scared because I didn’t know where mom went. Dad was there but I really felt like “I want mom”, again making me feel like crying.

-I had a visual of my mom in the rocking chair by the window (at home), rocking me and singing.


My current interpretation based on all of those elements put together:

Mom was all I knew before birth. I perceived her as being my protector. Yet, she was unable to protect me from sugar, and I got far too much sugar while in-vitro. She did her best, and especially after birth, once I was home, she really worked hard to try and make up for it, rocking and rocking me, singing to me, like the doctor had done.

My dad loved me, but being a man from his generation, didn’t really understand how to interact lovingly with a newborn. Men were simply not taught how to do that. He was doing his best, but I as an infant without words could tell he was just different from mom, and I wanted the feeling place of mom, really I wanted the feeling place of what the doctor started.

As an adult I’ve learned a lot about alternatives. I perceive the doctor, even though he functioned through western medicine, probably had beliefs regarding spirit and it’s ability to heal because of his upbringing. I think that immediately he saw a beautiful baby girl, that was very special (I’m certain that my skin tone evoked memories of certain rituals in India) and that he knew I needed a little extra TLC. I think he was so touched by my appearance that he simply wanted to help me heal. He would have gone to his upbringing and did what would have been done in India. Attempting to connect me with my inner self, my spirit, to heal my body. So, he didn’t hold me directly, knowing that babies can get attached to those first few people in their lives. He rocked my cradle and sang to me, helping to calm me and soothe me so that my body could heal.

Now he probably thought that not actually holding me for any length of time exempted him from me getting attached. Unfortunately my new understanding is that I did anyway. For the first few days of my life, he was the only significant interaction outside of my mother at nursing time. Holding me or not, his interactions helped to soothe me and did help to heal me, so I attached anyway. His presence was a God send in an otherwise harsh sterile environment, and I now have no doubt that it was a major influence in decisions that I have come to over time. I simply didn’t know that I was making decisions based upon that interaction.

What do I mean?

I went searching for that feeling place early on in life. I was in 4th grade the first time I tried someone else’s church: a Pentecostal church (prior to that we’d gone solely to dad’s Mormon church). The Pentecostal church was fun, but didn’t give me that feeling. By the end of middle-school I’d been to the Quakers, Lutherans, Methodists, and Catholics. By high-school I’d read the Bible (blaech-boring and so damn convoluted with contradictions), Sidhartha, most of the Tao de Ching, and had looked up tons information on Confucianism and Zen Buddhism. I was a junior in high-school the day that my friend Erin invited me to her home, which doubled as the Buddhist temple, to speak with Lama Renpoche. It was a very expansive experience, being 2 hours of 5 high-schoolers speaking with an esteemed Buddhist leader. It answered some of my questions, but not all of them. It was about that time that I started learning about Paganism and Hinduism. Between the knowledge of the 3 paths, I found mine. I called myself pagan, because no other label really fits, no one box label is truly accurate, because honestly I just blend what works for me. Adding hindsight about the birth, explains why I resonate with mantras, it’s likely that that is what the doctor was singing to me. Regardless the feeling place of being rocked in the cradle with the mantras being sung is evoked when I meditate, and I would not have found meditation if not for learning about Buddhism and Hinduism. So the attachment to that doctor guided me to find the knowing.

Fast forward, and my birth again guided me when I went to have Ian. I knew that I wanted my child to have an amazing birth. A loving birth. Essentially, I wanted my child to have the experience that I was denied, I wanted the opposite of my birth. I went to great lengths to ensure a home water birth while having “Gestational Diabetes”. I stuck to it because I was deciding for someone that had no say. And I did.

Ian’s birth was nearly perfect. 12.5 hours of labor, as gentle as could be. Soothing warm water surrounded me for three quarters of it. Ian was born in occiput posterior (OP) position (really most of labor was that way), but my midwife was unfazed by the positioning and so I was fine too. I knew I was in capable hands and that helped the birth experience go great. Ian was born, and with the exception of a very brief removal of the cord from his neck, I was the first person to hold, to touch my child in those soothing warm waters. Dad (Nathan) reached forward around me and held his tiny hand. It was a very soothing wonderful experience. Even when we finally got out of the birth tub, it was 10 steps to bed and cuddle time for essentially 24 hours straight. Blissful.

I have said and will continue to say that Ian’s birth went as perfectly as any mom could expect, and I know that a major part of that was my willingness to do whatever that took with diet, exercise, and mindfulness.

The only thing that I would have changed was how much time I took off of work afterward. I too was the sole income for our little family (perhaps another remnant of my birth re-manifesting), so I only got 3 weeks off and even during that 3 weeks I did work a little. I sincerely hope that Ian can forgive me for that when he gets older. We minimized my working as much as possible, but when you are the only source of money, it’s unavoidable to return to work sooner than you’d like.

My birth experiences as a baby led to greater effort on my part and decisions that produced entirely the opposite experience for my child. I am ever so grateful for that. I can not fully put into words the relief I felt when I realized that. It was a very healing realization.

That being said, I love myself even more. I appreciate that I was able to undo a well accepted and well established “necessity” to provide my child a loving birth. I appreciate that the energy of the birth experience far outweighed my desire to take the easy route with medicine and a hospital birth. I appreciate that my efforts will likely turn into better manifestations for my son later in his life, and hopefully a better understanding of my love for him.

—–

The only thing that remains from my rebirthing is this cycle of Indian men ‘loving and leaving’. I can see the pattern now. I can see that I keep inviting them into my life when I need help the most, my darkest hours. And like the doctor at my birth they duck out when the worst of the storm is over. It’s really more of a quiet unnoticed exit, as in you can’t see me, so now is my chance. This latest man is the 3rd such repeat of this cycle: one when I was a child in school, and the other -Rajesh- as an adult.

At this point, now that I see the pattern, I find myself reiterating that I would like for one of them to stay. I would like for one of them to love me enough to be a permanent part of my life. As much as I appreciate the healing they provided, I want to wipe the idea of detached from their slate. And perhaps it’s because I can see that even though they tried to remain detached, there is really no such thing. If I have these memories, I have these feelings, I have these associations, then there is an attachment- for better or worse.

You don’t remember things that you don’t care about. Do you remember what color your shoelaces were on a pair of shoes from 3rd grade? Do you remember what you ate for lunch the 3rd Monday of 4th grade? Do you remember all of your clothes from your entire childhood? No they were things that you were not attached to, so your brain didn’t lock them away. You might remember your favorite item or events from each school year, or your most precious toys, but you won’t remember them all. You simply didn’t attach to them all.

To me attachment is an inevitable subtle side-effect of caring. When you care, it affects you, and then you remember those things, those events, those places, those people. I want the things that affect me in that way to leave happy feelings, like childhood vacations and favorite meals.

Yet, my current experience of 3 of the 4 Indian men in my life is regret. Regret that I wasn’t able to convey my appreciation for them being there. Regret that they got away without knowing truly how much they helped me. Wishing that I had said or done something that would have led them to reconsider leaving. Wishing that they could have taught others in my life a better way (though that mostly pertains to the doctor in regards to my dad’s interactions).

So, it all boils down to love (thanks Ms. Hay :/ ). Those are all symptoms of love. Those are all aspects of interactions based on love. I couldn’t tell them that they helped me and that I loved them for it, and yet those that remained in my life were somehow unable to do what those men did. It also boils down to my ability to love myself and find that connection. Those men taught me how, but I don’t seem to be able to maintain it consistently to this day. I can’t spend all day sitting in the sun rocking myself and singing mantras. I can’t convince myself indefinitely that things will really be all right. Oh, I have my moments like that, I can do it for a few minutes here and there, even a few  hours at a time, but all day every day is where I slip. I have yet to find their level of zen. SO then I want them to stay, because maybe I could absorb it vicariously through them.

That’s probably not healthy either. It must be another lesson on learning to love myself. I find it interesting that every layer of the onion produces one round of healing and another yet to solve. I love and forgive myself over birthing experiences, but have yet to figure out a way to love and heal myself in regards to interactions with other adults. Perhaps the point at which my memories of the men no longer carry regret, I will have one decide to stay. But maybe that is just a belief needing revised too. Some days I feel like all of my work is on myself, and that the interactions with life are merely the filler.

 

 

 

Dreary, weary, exhausted; still chugging.

So I have a little bit of time to blog tonight. Quiet air-conditioned house of a friend. She’s at her kids’ game, and I’m waiting here to let other friends in when they arrive. I think this is the first quiet, ME time that I’ve had in over a month.

I miss that.

I’m introverted at heart, so when I don’t get that space it wears me down. I’ve worked very hard over the years, practicing my “smile like I care” face to deal with strangers and acquaintances on a daily basis for work. I’m pretty good at it now, but in my ideal universe I wouldn’t have to interface with the public- work with people directly. I think that is why I like Distance Reiki so much. I can still help people and provide healing services without actually having to socialize with the client. Socializing in and of itself is a stress for me. I do want to help people, but being able to do that without spending so much time conversing and socializing would be wonderful. Alas, for now I work predominately as a massage therapist, so I will continue to socialize to be able to continue to help people.

Beyond that, I love my family, very much, but sometimes- especially after having spent nearly a solid month in their company outside of work- I just wish they would go away and leave me alone. Being in a home with no walls is definitely a challenge for me. There is no space yet to call my own. Eventually there will be, but the biding of time is very challenging and I’ve already had multiple melt-downs. This is going to be an excruciating remodel process for me. I’m hanging in, but just barely.

There doesn’t seem to be enough thyroid medicine or lithium in the world for me right now, and I keep praying for my miracle healing so that my brain can make it through this time just a little easier. It seems that it will never come, after having made the same request of GOD for the last 21 years. I was telling my friend before she left that the few times I’ve used Pot as medicine, it’s worked. It helps balance my brain and take me out of Rage or Depression, to an even keel, and without even activating my asthma. However, it’s not legal here in Missouri yet, even as medicine. So  I keep trucking without it. If I get too desperate for mental balance I may disregard that and find some anyway, or take a day trip somewhere that it is. I just wish I didn’t have to break the law to get the only relief that I’ve ever found. Believe me, if the psych drugs had worked, I’d have kept taking them.

Anyway, I’ve been called Debbie Downer twice this week. I don’t like being Debbie Downer, and above all else, I wish I could change that about myself. I would love to be consistently happy, I’d love to get along just dandy having to be around people all day every day, I’d love for my emotions to maintain balance the majority of the time. I’d love to feel like I’m a sane human being.

AND I keep searching for answers to that puzzle. Every day of my life. As I’ve said before, I’ve found some of the pieces- it’s not nearly as bad as it has been in the past- but I still have a LONG way to go!

I keep chugging.

This heat wave isn’t helping. We’ve been 100+ degrees several days this week. The mobile home doesn’t have air-conditioning right now. And being that I haven’t made it to renovating the outside, it’s still pretty much a tin can. Do you have any idea how hot a tin-can-mobile-home gets when the outside temp is 104? I’ll tell you- it makes you wish that you were either dead or in Antarctica. Then to top it off, the battery and fuse died on my scooter, and the air-conditioning went out on our van. I have no way to cool off other than going to work or friends houses. People are gonna get sick of me, especially if I can’t keep my emotional shit together.

But, that’s life- keep chugging. Keep doing the best you can.

Eventually you’ll either figure out how to make things manageable, downright enjoyable, or die trying. I’m hoping for the former, but have resigned that the latter is entirely possible and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about that, except keep praying to the God that doesn’t seem to have the time to answer my millions of prayers. Maybe, one day, he will, and it’ll knock my socks off. Maybe.

Keep chugging.

I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, I think I can.