Thursday, March 29, 2018

Don't Look at Me. Look at Me. No wait, don't. Okay, now.

Being vulnerable is hard. I'm a chicken about it, too, but I keep pushing myself there. Not hard enough on the big stuff, like Love and Publishing Books and other capital letter endeavors that other people seem to do easily, but of course I know it isn't easy for anyone, and people do such things with courage and luck. I've always been lucky. Bravado has substituted for courage many times and I can usually summon it. But I can't escape the anxiety; just have to manage it. I made it happen with Paul Neevel and I'm glad I did get fifteen seconds in the Weekly, and I think its a rich coincidence that it was in their April Fools edition. Put it together how you will. Like I told Paul, I am a serious person. The Jell-O art is a serious part of my life, my true art, and I believe that authenticity is why people respond so well to it. It opens up your heart in a way we all need, now more than ever. For more about Jell-O Art, you can go read my other blog, Gelatinaceae, also on blogspot.com.

I haven't been writing here. This Facebook reveal has scared me, even though I know it's easy to scare people who have been slowly conditioned to fear by the repetition of confusing and traumatizing smaller drops. I still can easily recognize that many of us are operating in fear states since the election hijack. In some ways it's comforting to know the election was really stolen by manipulating fears, but it's also such a far-reaching betrayal of us, with some degree of guilt for our own cooperation. And of course it isn't over, and there is a lot hanging over our heads that spells destruction, even though we keep having enough hope leaking in around the edges to barely survive it. We've survived a lot, and we are strong.

I know every time I obsessively read political analysis instead of working or doing something that makes me happier, I am cooperating in the politics of distraction. I've limited myself, which has gotten easier as I limit clicking and googling and have also reduced my news feed on FB dramatically by eliminating all my preferences, but I'm still doing it. I know watching comedians is another way of diminishing fears and not mounting the anger for action, but I still need that humorous take even when I know there is a certain amount of "bought off" in their realities. It's easy to laugh but I remember how much we focused on how dumb W seemed and yet he pulled off a complete looting of our investments, with his cronies and their cynical willingness to sacrifice us. Focusing on personality and sensationalism is working to keep the real fixes from happening as fast as we need them to, but a lot of people are working very hard and I do have real hope mixed into my despair.

Big picture I know fighting hopelessness is our real task. We watch the repetition of what we know we knew last time and the time before and we still buy into it because of our spiritual needs for life to have meaning and love to be real, and for hell not to be true, and for saviors to exist. Mueller is so obviously our savior, and the kids seem so strong, like we were back in 1970, but I also remember how many illusions had to be destroyed and how much damage there is still going to be. Media is so much stronger now, perhaps, or perhaps not...we also have much clearer vision after sorting through things over and over, so we can still be most useful to the kids as they strip away illusions and build something stronger.


I was raised Catholic, so I can't escape the myths and attendant coercion, even though I generally see them. I swear I don't believe in heaven and hell, but I still try hard not to "sin" and I still care about approval, and I'm always going to be susceptible to authority and control tactics. Learning has been steady but slow, and eradicating patterns begun from early childhood is always about unearthing stories I told myself to make sense of my world.

I'm lucky I had a lot of nature in my world from the start. My earliest photos of me include me reaching for flowers, feeling safe in the world of trees and birds. I grew up roaming the woods and living high up in trees half the time, and it was easy for me to construct a happy childhood story and a sensual appreciation for beauty. I'm glad I followed it even though I took a clunky path that limited my options. I wouldn't really want to be famous and rich, I'm convinced, as it makes it so much harder to be genuine and generous, according to my puritan myths. And I'm so uncomfortable with the little bit of fame I have, and it makes me so anxious to call attention to myself, that I've probably landed in the right place when all is said and done.  Fifteen seconds is plenty!

It's easy to tip me over, so I have my avoidances. They make my life tolerable and give me the solitude I require now that I don't climb so many tall trees to get away from people. It's not that I don't like and appreciate people, it's just that I'm still scared of them. Of what I imagine about them, more probably. It's not easy to tease out our real motivations, so often when I have enough quiet I can go to my journal and really dive deep into my actual base emotions.

I can recognize the different types of anxieties and the reasons for them. I can explore fraught territory and then work through the reactions and limit the damage. I'm proud of that, even while knowing I have not done as well as I might if I were willing to work harder.

I've talked about my PTS reactions at length so don't want to get too far into it, but I watched the film The Glass Castle yesterday and watched myself start into the process, and then pull myself out. The duration of the episodes is so much shorter when I can begin right away to divert my hormones into better pathways. The family situation described in the film was way more extreme than mine, but the family constellation and elements of it made me queasy. I suffered grief about how there were healing processes in the film that my family didn't get, but I was sitting on my homemade deck in the spring sun writing in my journal and was able to acknowledge that grief, and the fact that film and novels can neatly tie up a reality that probably is not nearly that simple. At the end of the film they showed the real people Jeanette Walls had written about, and though her excellent memoir rings very true, you could easily see that there was still damage that would not be fixable, ever, and that the presentation of healing was a bit too simplistic and bright for me to waste any time being jealous of what they had that we didn't. We actually had much that they did not, which probably played a big part in why we weren't driven to some of the healing solutions they stumbled upon. Speaking for myself, I need more healing on my origin damage, but I don't know if it is possible to do it as a family, or if we should try. It seems more useful to try to pick up each day and work from there. We're planning a reunion, and I learned at the last one that there's a good reason we try not to bring up the past.

But long story aside, I went through all my known symptoms and process in a rapid cycle that was over by the time I finished watching a PBS show about math that reminded me of how ordered and brilliant the universe can be, and what mysteries and synchronicities exist that make things like religion and hell not even remotely useful to me. I cleared up a personal communication difficulty that seemed impossible with a single text exchange, and resisted the pattern of over-communicating my neediness and moments of desperation, and I successfully remembered that cravings for substances pass in less than fifteen minutes and dissipate faster than the guilt and shame from giving in. I would say that I used my Catholicism to allow Easter in, with all its vivid imagery, but not succumb to it, and whipped those archetypes and patterns into submission. (Setting aside the fact that whipping things into submission is exactly that imagery brought forward.)

There is residue today (blogging is part of the pattern of reaching out for understanding and support in an oblique way that is somewhat safe, with boundaries, and also pushing a bit more into the vulnerable state to prove that I'm strong enough) but I'm not feeling panicked or depressed. I'm grateful for shorter cycles, and convinced I can take on more now than ever. I can do this Jell-O Art Show thing, finish all the projects I've assigned for myself, and stick with all the other parts of my life that are also not easy, like getting myself to Market next week and maintaining my roles in my membership organizations that are so important to my survival.

Family stuff needs work, friend stuff needs work, but fun is on the calendar and I don't want to ruin it with anxiety and insecurity. Last year I burnt myself out and skipped the cast party, which was dumb to do and I won't repeat it. I've still taken on too much, but I set everything else aside so I could focus and it looks like I'm on track to enjoy myself. I'll work hard at it.

I'm definitely scared, of so many trivial things, but work is the way to fix that, and Sunday, Easter Day, will be the day to rise up from any downfalls that I assign my poor weakened soul, eat some hardboiled eggs and pick some flowers. I'll call my Mom as usual and tell her all about the show, and she'll be delighted. I'm hoping my friends will come see me and like me and still like me after it. I'm hoping people will understand me.

But I know it is part of my emotions that like Jeanette Wall, we throw our story out there, depending on mercy, and mercy is generally extended. People only look as deep as they feel safe to, and mostly they don't look all the way in there to find the less-fun parts. Mostly we get away with our shenanigans, and in doing so we give permission for others to try some of their own. Jell-O Art brings it out. That's why we do it. We do it for the promise of Spring, for how cool it is to roll away the stone and look into the glorious cave, to find the magical art left behind, to mount again the hope that someone will save us from all the things we so fear about our deep and terrible hearts. We all rise.

And...you may not believe this, but really, there is no judge. We are not on trial, and we don't have to defend ourselves. We don't have to be the best. We can just play, and have fun. And laugh. We need, above all, a good, solid laugh at the absurd, silly life where we find ourselves for such a brief time. So that, I guess, is why I'm here. Come see me at the show.Or just think lovely thoughts.