When we were living in Malaysia all the hotels in the more remote areas, those near the rainforest, had signs telling people do not leave balcony doors unlocked because the monkeys would go in, open the mini fridge and clean it out. One day we were at the beach on lounge chairs eating crackers and cheese and having drinks. We were being entertained watching as the monkeys entered someone’s room through an unlocked door and carting off all kinds of food. I noticed an elderly monkey looking at me from about 50 feet away. I thought I better hide the crackers and cheese before he comes and grabs them. I turned to pick them up and that monkey was at our small table and had grabbed our food before I could even get my hand close to picking it up. Then we turned our attention to the hornbills being fed by the hotel staff. They put out a huge platter of fruit around 5pm every day and the hornbills would swoop down out of the forest for a yummy dinner. Such is life in the tropics.
Life Continues on this Bumpy Road
All these months I’ve been saying I won’t go around Meg, Jonathan and Freddie because I don’t trust them to be isolated enough for me because I have autoimmune illnesses and asthma. With covid running rampant and many people ignoring the precautions, I just can’t take the chance. As I’ve said many times, I am not afraid of dying but I am terrified of the side effects of covid. I never want to be as sick as I’ve been over the past six years, or sicker. Well, Jonathan texted Gary this morning and asked if he and Freddie could come over to introduce us to their new dog, Archer, and to bring us some new artwork that Freddie had made. Gary wasn’t sure what to say because of my stance all these months, but I jumped at the request. So, then it surfaced, in my mind, that all these months I’ve been saying the above because I have been told by Jonathan that he doesn’t want me in his life. And I’ve always known Meg does not care for me. So, my stance was a cover up, an excuse because of the dynamics of our relationship. It was easier for me to say I didn’t trust the precautions they’ve been taking rather than say they don’t want me in their lives.
Now, finally, after 6 1/2 months of not seeing my honey-bunny, in a few minutes I’ll get to see Freddie. Gary will get to talk to Jonathan and we’ll both get to meet the new puppy.
So, Jonathan, Freddie and Archer came over and we had lunch in the backyard, socially distanced. It was very pleasant. Jonathan was friendly, looked me in the eyes, smiled and was friendly. I was so worried at first but the worries melted away. We had a lovely time and it was wonderful to spend time with Freddie.
Shortly after sitting down Jonathan asked about Freddie spending the night. I told Jonathan ‘I’m not afraid of dying (from covid) but I’m terrified of the side effects from the covid virus. After being sick for the past six years I never want to be that sick again.’ He took it in stride and that was the end of it.
As they were leaving I threw out that we’d have to do this again, soon. Will see what happens.
Life continues on this bumpy road.
Me and 125 Chinese People
About 10 years ago when we were living in Penang, Malaysia a Chinese friend of mine told me about a class that was starting that I might be interested in. He said it might help me lose weight. Everybody is always suggesting things to help me lose weight. Such is my lot in life.
Anyway, I signed up for the class and the first night I discovered it was me, the Gweilo (white ghost) and 125 Chinese people. It didn’t phase me. I like adventures. We would be meeting every night for two weeks – 14 nights, three hours per night to learn how to run qi (energy) through the Ren Mai and Du Mai Channels, part of the Eight Extraordinary Channels (see how smart I am) in the body. I can’t remember but think it is a Daoist or Buddhist practice.
On the first night we were told, amongst other things, that we were not allowed to eat anything with a tail for the duration of the class. The tutor saw the dumbfounded look on my face and she clarified “No dog, no cat, no monkey, no cow, no pig, no……….”, you get the idea. I took it in stride and jumped in with both feet (no tail).
We practiced and practiced and were coached and coached. I was able to feel the energy (qi) moving up my back and down my front as the days went on. The tutors really pushed us. They were determined that everybody would be running qi in these channels by the end of the two weeks.
At the end of the class I had no idea there was going to be a kind of celebration, not with food or drink but speeches because our teacher was some renowned guy from China. Anyway, as the evening wore on I kept seeing people looking at me. I realized they wanted me, the lone white person, to get up and say something. I was not prepared for this and had no intention of getting up in front of a room full of Chinese people and give accolades to our teacher. So, during the break, I quietly snuck out the back door never to be seen again.
Now, 10 years later, I’m taking another class here in America learning to run qi through the same channels, Ren Mai and Du Mai. It’s being taught by a New Zealand woman and the class is on Zoom, because we’re still dealing with the covid pandemic and my whole life seems to be revolving around zoom classes. Anyway, it’s much different. There’s no pushing but, rather, a gentle approach. The teacher says it could take months, or longer, to get things moving. After several weeks, my qi is moving through Du Mai and Ren Mai. I’m learning there is much more to learn about these Extraordinary Channels. I appreciate the pace with which I am learning these techniques. And, most of all, I’m grateful I will not be expected to get up and give accolades to or about my teacher.
There is nothing wrong with me
There is nothing wrong with me because I no longer accept the roll of being the ‘problem’. There is nothing wrong with me because I no longer accept the roll of being the scapegoat. There is nothing wrong with me because I refuse to be the one who has to ‘work on herself’ to ‘overcome all her problems’ so that her kids will accept her and love her.
My friend Carol told me tonight that raising our two kids took both of us, me and Gary. I wasn’t a single mother. I didn’t do the raising all by myself. There were two of us in the household, two adults, even though Gary was emotionally absent. BUT, because I was raised in a home where I was the ‘problem child’, the ‘scapegoat’ it was easy to slip back into the same mold. For years I’ve blamed myself for the way the kids treat me. They don’t call. They don’t say ‘I love you’. They say hateful, nasty things to me and about me. They don’t want to have anything to do with me. I’ve taken the responsibility. AND, Gary has stood by and not said a word to protect me. <He agrees that it is my problem. He has always supported me in my getting help, my working my butt off to heal myself so I’m a better person.> He has never reprimanded the kids, never ‘whooped’ them into shape. Never told them ‘YOU DO NOT SPEAK TO YOUR MOTHER LIKE THAT. EVER’. Nope, I’ve been on my own. Have had to stand up for myself, protect myself, scream when I needed help. But did Gary ever stand up for me? Put himself between me and my kids when they abused me? Give them a good beating when they were not respectful? Nope. I was on my own, and still am.
So, I’ve been ‘working’ on myself, as usual, for eons, and am coming to the conclusion that I don’t need to keep putting up with this crap. I’ve done it for almost 40 years. The positive thing about working on myself all these years is that I’m waking up. I’m realizing that I can make it on my own. I realizing that maybe there is someone out there who will appreciate me for all the hard work I’ve done. They’ll not see me as ‘the problem’ that they can hide behind. They will take responsibility for themselves and their actions. They will not let other people abuse me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Life may look a lot different than what I have now. I may not have a big, beautiful home. I may not have a big, beautiful garden. I may have to scrimp. I may end up living in a trailer. But, I’ll be taking care of myself. I will draw people around me who will support me, stand up for me, protect me against others who try to abuse me. Oh, and I will be standing up for myself, protecting myself, refusing to let others abuse me! Yes, life will look different but, I think I’m strong enough to face the challenge.
Dad, dad, there’s a rattle snake on the path
I must have been around seven years old. We were up at Casey Flat, the hunting camp where we had a very rustic place. There were nine ‘homes’ (term used very loosely) on this property. Each home/camp had its own outhouse. Ours was maybe 75-100 feet from our structure.
One night I had to go pee so I woke my sister, Beverly, up to go with me. We put on our scuffles (they’re called thongs now), grabbed the flashlight and headed out. Halfway to the outhouse we heard the rattle. We shown the flashlight around and there, maybe 5 feet in front of us was a rattlesnake. Thank god he mad some noise. I wouldn’t want to think what would happen if we stepped on him or kicked him by mistake.
We turned and ran back to the sleeping room and over to dad practically screaming at him. Dad, dad, there is a rattlesnake on the path to the outhouse. Dad rolled out of bed, grabbed his shotgun, which was propped up next to the bed, then grabbed our flashlight and headed out. A few seconds later we heard the bang.
Dad came back to the sleeping room, handed us the flashlight and went back to bed. He hadn’t said a word but we knew the snake was history. We were terrified to walk past the dead snake but nature was calling so we mustered our courage and made it to the latrine, did our business and then ran back to bed.
Just another day and night at Casey Flat.
You’re not giving me a shot!
My father was a doctor, a GP and surgeon, back in the days when doctors made house calls and carried a little black bag. We kids never did go to a pediatrician. I don’t think they existed when I was a kid. At any rate, we never saw a doctor, except my dad, growing up. I was 27 and in shock and at the emergency room when I saw my first doctor. But that’s another story.
I must have been six or seven years old and dad was giving all the kids a shot. I don’t know what the shot was for but I was not going to be a willing participant. I ran into my parent’s bedroom and crawled behind their headboard. It was one of those huge things with an enclosed shelf above the bed, and shelves, cubby holes and cabinets on both sides. It’s these side pieces that allowed for a hollow space behind the monstrosity. I could hear my parents and siblings going around the house, including this bedroom, searching for me and calling my name. After a time they all gave up. I hid in this space for hours.
That’s the end of the memory. I’m sure I got a beating AND the shot when I came out of hiding. I never did tell them where I had been. This space was a treasure, at least while I remained little enough to get back there. And, then, the piece was gone. They most likely wised up and realized how ugly it was and purchased something more respectable.
Chant for the Departed
This came about a couple weeks ago when I did my first zoom Pilates class. The gym shut down the middle of March 2020, along with everything else because of the coronavirus. So, I hadn’t done any pilates for two months. We were all on the floor, a different way for me since I have always done pilates on a reformer. Anyway, we were working away and I swung my left arm over my head. This normally wouldn’t be a problem except I hadn’t done any exercise for two months. I wrenched my left shoulder, went to the doctor and turns out I aggravated my bursa meaning I now have bursitis.
About a week after hurting my shoulder I was in my Power of 8 Intention Group and it was my turn for an intention. I had them intend on my shoulder being healthy. Afterwards one of the people mentioned feeling depression and grief. I mentioned how I’d been working hard on strengthening my lungs (which in Chinese medicine is the seat of grief, depression and sadness) with qi gong practice because I need healthy lungs in case I get the covid virus. One of the guys in the group said he would send me a recording of a chant for grief called Chant for the Departed.
Night before last I had the weirdest experience. It wasn’t a dream, I was awake and saw this person, I think it was a female, she had a yellowish turban on and a yellowish dress and a pitch black face with no facial features. Just a black, black face, no features and this yellowish turban. I tried thinking of other things, happy things to get the image to go away but it didn’t work. I thought of waking up Gary, which is something I do if I have a really scary dream, but this wasn’t a dream and I wasn’t really scared, just uncomfortable. So I laid there with her in my mind. Finally I fell asleep. I told Gary about this peculiar event yesterday and that was it.
In the afternoon I was cleaning up emails, putting stuff in folders, deleting tons of junk and came across the Chant for the Departed so thought I’d listen to it before putting it in a folder. As it played, this faceless lady appeared and hung out with me as I sobbed and sobbed. I thought of Beverly and Carol, Mom and Dad and me all sitting in a circle with this faceless lady in the center and we cried for her, or I cried for me – who knows. I can’t remember. But I realized this faceless lady IS my grief and sadness and she told me it was/is time to deal with the grief. She is the loss of my two sisters, my mother and even my father who I was never close to.
If I want to heal my lungs, to have strong, healthy, inflammation free lungs I need to address these emotions. And I am dealing with them with my qigong practice, the intentions from my Power of 8 group and now this recording – Chant for the Departed.
Anxiety and sensitivity to smells
Brandon mentioned this correlation the other day. I had no idea. I’ve always been very sensitive to smells. I used to love going to Nordstrom’s and smell all their perfumes. It was one of mine and Beverly’s favorite past times. We’d ask about the top, heart and base notes. We’d peruse through their perfume encyclopedia that came out every year categorizing perfumes by florals, woody, oriental, floriental, citrusy, etc. We loved perfumes.
Then I got hit with the black mold and all that changed. I couldn’t stand being around any perfume OR any chemical smell. They all made me deathly ill – horrible headaches, sick in my body. I couldn’t tolerate anything. And don’t get me started on fragrances in laundry detergents. How can companies subject people to such chemicals that rub into your skin and thus into your body. What a noxious mess. Any people think they smell ‘fresh and clean’! Ha! I know it’s just a way to cover the rank smell of a dirty house or clothes that aren’t washed properly. Anyway, enough of that.
So Brandon made me aware of the connection between anxiety and smell sensitivity. I never in my life thought I was anxious until the black mold episode. After being exposed, I didn’t leave my house for three months. I was terrified to leave. I only went to the doctor’s office and Gary had to go with me. I held his arm. I couldn’t speak for myself. I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t think. I was confused. I couldn’t formulate a sentence. And I had to take anxiety meds like Ativan and Valium.
But Brandon told me I’ve always been anxious because he sees it in himself and thinks, this is what mom is like. I wouldn’t have believed it but my functional medicine doctor told me the same thing over and over again when I started seeing her in 2014. I didn’t believe her either. I knew I’d always been depressed. That’s a thread that has run through my family since childhood and comes from my mother. But anxiety? Who knew?
So now with this Coronavirus thing swirling around the world, I find I pick up on people’s anxiety. I can be home and be calm, puttering around doing my thing then, I go to the grocery store and come home a complete basket case. I pick up on their anxiety, their fear.
I have discovered over these past two months of sheltering-in-place that I’m an empath. Who knew? I’m learning so much about myself. An empath has the ability to tune into the mental and/or emotional state of somebody else. That’s me. It’s always been me. I didn’t know what it was called. I’ve always said I’m like a sponge, soaking up everybody’s stuff. Now I have a name for it.
So, what to do? These past months of sheltering-in-place have given me the opportunity to really look inward. I’ve been doing my Ren Xue Qi Gong for about 15 months but I’m taking it deeper and looking inward, working on love and self acceptance. Also working on centering myself (dantien breathing) so I can know what is my stuff and what is other people’s stuff. It’s helping so much.
Back to anxiety. Feeling anxious these past couple months has been difficult. I haven’t wanted to go back on Ativan or Valium so asked my acupuncturist if he had some magic herb I could take to help with these emotions. He said California Poppy. It comes in pill form or tincture. So I RAN (actually drove) to the herb store and bought the biggest bottle of tincture they had. And it really works. I took some as soon as I got in the car and the adrenoline the surges through my body so much of the time, just dissipated. It was gone immediately. I am so grateful for this stuff. AND, it doesn’t make my sleepy, it just takes the adrenaline rush away. I don’t even have to take it every day now. But, when I do wake up in the night feeling the adrenaline surging through my body, the bottle is right there and all I need are a few ml and then it’s gone. I’m so grateful.
So, anxiety and sensitivity to smell, who knew?
I Have A Choice
I realized yesterday I have a choice. I can choose to be spacey, unfocused and allow the currents of life to toss me around. Or, I can meditate and become grounded and thus focused and stable and choose my reactions to life instead of letting life throw me around.
Frozen In My Home
For months I’ve been at home. I don’t want to socialize, I don’t want to go out and exercise, I don’t want to work in my yard. I just want to sit at home. I’m not happy about this but I can’t seem to get out of this rut. On top of my stuckness, frozenness, I see all my friends on Face Book traveling and sharing pictures of the places they’re visiting – Italy, France, the Netherlands, Thailand, Nepal, China, New Zealand, Australia, and on and on. This makes me feel even more stuck and frozen.
As I wrote about this in my Journal this morning I saw me as a small 3-4 year old girl, the small girl being abused by Howard S. All she wanted to do was get out of that room, to be outside, but she couldn’t leave.
Then I saw a picture of me sitting at the breakfast room window looking out at my siblings and friends playing in the snow. This was a phenomena because it was San Francisco and it never snows in the City. But it did that day when I was 6 years old. I told my mother I had nothing warm to wear so I couldn’t go outside. She said “Fine!” I wanted to go outside and play, but I couldn’t. This was a self imposed restraint I know. Why did I do this to myself? And why do I continue it to this day?
I am no longer the little girl who longed to leave that room where she was being abused but that imprint (?) still plays out in my life. I want desperately to go out and be in the world – just to walk and be in nature would be wonderful. But my mind comes up with all sorts of reasons/excuses why I can’t get out of the house.
So I sit here and look out my window.
My Sensitive Life 