Saturday, August 08, 2009

Ivy, Sunshine, and Ghouls

Ivy grows inside my large, lounge window. I've draped an old fishing net over the curtain rod, so the tender young ivy suckers have a structure upon which to cleave and spread. The cat, at first, seemed quite intrigued ~ gently tapping the young ivy with her lovely, smoky paw. Then, as it grew, she just let it be ... and so it grew. And we love her, our cascading Ivy. We love to watch her ~ nature ~  take it back. It fills me with a subtle joy to watch, before my eyes, how life finds a way.

That's what I have lived over the past year-and-a-half. Life finds a way. The light is where I walk, even when I fail to see it. Especially when I fail to see it, or feel its warmth inside me. Project 365 forces me to reach beyond the heavy and hazy darkness that often shrouds me, and touch the beauty around me. In a large metropolis infested with poverty, dejection, and social predation ... where cranes and gawkish steel ghouls loom above ... and, where rats the size of kittens scutter across filthy alleys, the beauty of life seeps through, looking large like a sunbeam leaking through a tiny crevice.

Though it's a little over a year since it happened, the PTSD lingers still. My tolerance for stress has not returned to me; possibly it will never return. Night terrors and nightmares frequently menace my sleep, now necessarily induced by at least 100 mg, and sometimes 200 mg, of Trazadone. Indeed, I do talk in my sleep. This strange practice began only in the wake that terrible thing that happened. I no longer have the night terrors in which I'm screaming and shrieking and desperately trying to escape an unseen monstrous predator, and then awake with a pounding heart. I no longer have the night terrors in which I'm being buried alive, or being helplessly swept to my death by the giant wheels of an Orange Winnipeg Transit Bus.

I do, however, still have terrors in which I'm running from some formidable uniformed predators, with nowhere to escape. Often Jonathan Baxter rouses me from these nightmares, unable to stand the agony of listening to me screaming and shrieking at unknown assailants to get off of me ... get out of my house ... etc. Wednesday morning he roused me from a terror in which I was screaming I hate you I hate you, simply by asking me, Why do you hate me? The sound of his voice pulled me toward consciousness, because I remember my reply, given him in the groggy twilight between sleep and lucidity, Not you. I have noticed that I fight the depression demon on those mornings following a night terror.

With time I do suppose these menacing night frights will subside. But perhaps my heightened paranoia about unformed personnel (particularly police and security guards) will remain. For example, the explosion of police presence (in anticipation of 2010 Olympics) in downtown Vancouver means it's become common place to see three coppers just standing at a street corner, casually chatting. I somehow convince myself they're just waiting, ready to pounce ... just looking for the right moment, like a lioness watching her prey from a hidden view. I draw myself out of this train of thought by casually telling myself It's not always all about you, girl.

My life goes on in endless song
Above earths lamentations,
I hear the real, though far-off hymn
That hails a new creation.

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?
~Lyrics by Enya ~ How Can I Keep from Singing


Mariana Soffer said...

What is PTSD?

* PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) is a DELAYED psychological reaction to experiencing or witnessing a traumatic event that is outside the realm of normal human experiences.

go ahead and try and let me know if it works as I have two messy little rug rats of my own and I’m always looking for ways to encourage cleanliness

* Individuals with PTSD demonstrate a range of symptoms including difficulty concentrating, flashbacks, feeling emotionally blunted/numb, being hyperalert/jumpy, feeling as though everything is unreal, experiencing nightmares and sleep disturbances.

Your poem is marvelous amazing, how you express your pstd with the imposibility of stop to sing is so beautifull that it makes me shiver to the bones.

VICKI IN AZ said...

I enjoyed very much reading about the struggles of your life here, it is very real and honest and I like that.
I looked at many of your photos on the other blog. Well done, creative and what a fabulous project. I admire your dedication very much.
Thank you for sharing.

chickory said...

youre right to distrust the police. im sure even with PTSD your dreams are informative. dont be afraid but remember them. i really liked the idea for the ivy structure. indeed life finding a way is something we can count on. xo

Ardlair said...

Hey Tinker
You continue to metamorphose
I lose track of your forms
One day
You will settle on

your own



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