This is a test. Do you feel tested?

Yesterday's blueness holds a desirable tranquility absent from the emotional and energetic violence coating today. It started with waking up. I think that I have to find something to wake up to besides NPR. Now that war news is the lead story, I rose to Kruschev-like threats from North Korea and escalating denials from Iraq regarding the evidence presented by C. Powell yesterday. Call me a weenie but I'm not built to deal with that. A shrill vibrating hum settles in behind my eyes, down through my voice box, and out between my shoulder blades in response to the posturing and shoving. I cry. I agonize, cradling my groundwater belief that we can do better. It's hard on me, constitutionally.

I can be accused of being too sensitive; I'm not sure where the label will get us, but if it suits someone to call me that, I won't duck it.

When we arrived at work, there was a personal email waiting for my partner that was so toxic and distorted that I'm not sure I can convey the intensity and impact with my words. It was literally "stunning". This message was the latest in what has been a protracted and grief-laden process plaguing her relationship with her mother. It was illogical and eviscerating and paranoid and so painful--so very, very painful. The hurt of it and the grief of it are two-fold. The first layer comprises just the words and statements themselves as they rage incoherently through time and space, bearing only slight resemblance to actual events. The second layer is the morass of grief that accompanies acknowledging that a parent has abdicated her role, utterly.

As mate, I've only had the poison slopped on my shoes from one point of view; but I'd be lying if I didn't acknowledge the stirring of my own feelings, the tension in my own body. I ache with the pain of it and I feel angry that she thinks this behaviour is acceptable. Inside, a keening wail wants release. Mostly is for the tender heart of my partner; some of it is for my own injury.

And.

There's a commercial software vision document to be written; there are meetings scheduled. So, with bizarre and reality-splitting emotional sleight of hand, I put this aside for now and get on with the day. To aid me in the energy transition, I've got 14 Louise Hay "Wisdom Cards" laid out on my desk. When my mind begins to travel toward the bucket of emotional slop that needs sorting, I read some of them, re-center, and promise myself a substantial date later today. It's what I can do.

Copyright 2003 Seasmoke All rights reserved

Not tons to report today. Feeling a bit blue. I think it's a post-adrenaline crash after a difficult weekend. But, the sun is shining, my health is relatively decent, I have an abundance of love and support in my life. Things could definitely be worse.

I've been having really weird dreams lately. Almost every night for two weeks I've been dreaming about some kind of death. Sometimes it's physical, as in someone has broken into my home and means me harm. Sometimes it's way metaphorical. In the dreams I don't feel traumatized so much as I feel stimulated: stimulated to solve problems, puzzle out an escape, or merely by witnessing the events and ideas of the dream. I wake up tired.

Last night's dream involved being in China and an old high school friend who suffered from dislexia and has since gone on to become a psychologist. I haven't talked with her in more than 20 years. But, she was there.

Another night, a large man who was clearly not right in the head broke into my house looking for someone called "Mrs. Sanford". He was calling, over and over, "Mizz Sanford?! Mizz Sanford?! I came BACK Mizz Sanford!" The menace came from his size and gun coupled with his obviously low IQ. He was dangerous but not malicious.

Bee Czar.

I think I need to do some shamanic journeying to the upper world to see what I'm supposed to be getting from this. Clearly it's about somd kind of transformation.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Copyright 2003 Seasmoke All rights reserved.