Solstice Sunday

It sucks to be depressed on the most beautiful day of the year. We’re smack dab in the middle of the longest days, with a small cold front from the north. It’s only supposed to be 85 degrees today, in late June! I don’t want to go to the drum circle. I don’t want to go to Earth Jam. I don’t want to get out of bed.

Yesterday, I ruined the first drum I couldn’t recover. It sucks, too, because it was my first PERFECT piece, and then…

I’ve never made a mistake that I couldn’t modify or mask or turn into a surprise success. I told Jax, “There’s something I hate about every drum I’ve made, but she’s perfect! I love her so much. She’s perfect!”

I couldn’t leave well enough alone. One thing too far.

I gave her weeks of detached consideration. There were several small attempts at a fix that didn’t work, so I put her away quickly and thoughtfully, certain the answer would come. Finally, I found the solution, which I applied yesterday, to her destruction. There was no taking it back, no coming back, no way forward.

Many years ago, an artist friend told me the secret. “You just have to accept that you will hate 29 out of 30 things you do.” And I had, I thought, but I just can’t let go of how much I loved her. To lose her is killing me.

After the week of tolerating this awful user who just won’t leave, I crumbled. (SO much more to the story of the unwelcome couch-surfer.) I fell deep, deep, deep in the hole. At first I tried to watch the self-talk, but that only made me more abusive. Just be honest about the useless, talentless idiot you are. Stop killing yourself with that insufferable silver lining, and those unbearable lessons in the loss. Shut UP!

There’s nothing to my future but the last of my desperately clinging looks and a body that doesn’t belong to me. I fucking HURT! I have nothing and will die with less.

I’m so sick with this goddamn depression. At the worst time. It’s far worse to shut the door and draw the blinds when the weather is so lovely. I can’t get out of bed.

wind in her hair

If only I’d photographed her after finishing her body and limbs, and outlining her curves and edges. Something to remember her by before ruining everything.

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SOLD! (in half an hour!)

Since I started making drums, my cousin has been talking about buying one. Yesterday, I posted my most recent and she messaged on the spot, “That’s my drum!”

It was really interesting, because I had only that moment got a sense of the drum’s energy, and added that thought to the description of my experience with it. The moment I saved the edit, she messaged. I think it was her energy I felt! I really do. It was thrilling.
moon-drum
13″ on wood frame, w/ mallet
$200 (family discount price $100)
(You could talk me down, too. Order yours today!)
1.11.17

This is my first departure from the original sun/ sunflower center (sort of), and I’m really happy with it. I struggled deciding what colors to tenatively map out. Usually, I can picture how each color option will look on each round, how it will “speak” to what came before it, and how it dictates what remains. I could not get a picture in my head! This is no small thing. I was in fits and couldn’t proceed for over a week. Ultimately, this one ended up completely surprising me, and it was so exciting!

I also didn’t “trance out” as much with this drum. What’s happened with others is a mindless escape that I don’t notice until … well, until I notice it, I guess, and then that drum has its signature somehow. Their personalities really come out of absent imagination. This drum was exciting in a very cerebral way. I concentrated and stressed quite a bit, but I feel more proud, almost. I have that satisfied sense of hard work paying off.

There is a feeling to it. Except for that spectacular lavender burst, it has a softness. Mostly, I just think it’s beautiful.

SOLD!!! To my cousin JoAnna!
I KNEW this drum felt gentle! It suits her.

drum corner.jpg

I love this little corner!

I was going to clean the house yesterday and run some errands. Instead, I decided to eat marijuana and have a day of ceremony and dancing with my cousin’s drum. Oh man, I had some visions! Or I was stoned. Whatever. Powerful, wonderful, hilarious, joyful day.

(P.S I didn’t “trance out” with this drum because I didn’t eat funny brownies making her, haha! I haven’t quite recovered from that deathly flu – A MONTH AGO, grrr – and felt lousy. Didn’t want to waste good communion on a body with no strength or energy. I didn’t mention that on that description above, because I post those on Facebook and my sweet Mormon mother sees me there. She knows, but, you know. )

(Btw, the flu triggered a son-of-a-bitch of a Fibro flare. Like, one of the worst that just will not relent. I have no time for it, because I’m rehearsing a show and I don’t pace myself there. OWWWW! Marijuana helps, a lot, but I can’t walk around talking about Spirit all the time. People think I’m crazy enough with a filter!)

Halloween Capers

and Random Acts of Kindness

I’ve been taking a Community Ed class at East High here in Salt Lake. Quinn decided on a break from teaching djembe [that threatens to be a long-term shift], and I needed focus and music in my life. I’m not terrifically self-directed, so I pulled my old guitar out of the garage and started again with Beginning Beginners. I love it.

My wrist has not complained like it did when I dusted off my rusty, twanging dreams 4 years ago, when my real journey with Fibro began. I definitely feel it, but pain patches and yoga really seem to be taking care of me for now. LARGE BLESSINGS!

My body is my own again!

It’s clear that the janitors come during our class, because every week when I leave, the halls simply sparkle. For some reason [I’m weird], last week I got the idea to leave notes for the cleaners. I giggled and giggled dreaming up my caper and yesterday, I finally played out my little impish frolic. I ducked around a corner every time I heard someone approach, then re-emerged to post another note. No explanation can capture the why of this, or how hard I had myself laughing.

Trick or Treat!

Halloween is my FAVORITE HOLIDAY!

2011

Redhead Costume Idea … FIRE Itself!

second-floor

thank-you

“Excellent Work!” “Wonderful Job!”

About-Face

I went back to Salt Lake Homeopathy today for my follow-up appointment. I had faith in this once, and excitement for what it might do. It’s easy to lose faith on pain days, so I decided to stick with it for awhile longer. I haven’t yet reached the dollar amount I committed to the experiment and, really, I can’t be disappointed if it doesn’t work. I was willing to risk that, and I’m going to.

Don’t make decisions when you’re discouraged.
Don’t make promises when you’re happy.
Don’t makes speeches when you’re angry.

Something like that.

The homeopath asked me, first thing, “Are you feeling a little rough?”

“Oh! Does it get worse before it gets better?”

That was a relief. It was also heartening that, once again, he knew how I was feeling. Maybe this is real and still has the capacity to help me? To heal me?

I told him I didn’t see any worm corpses. He was nonplussed. “Well, you could. I didn’t think you would, but I didn’t want you freaking out if you did.”

Take that as you will.

The most compelling evidence, for me, if you can call it that outside of science, is the muscle testing. He can tell me what he picks up from my muscular responses to his inquiries. I can believe him or not. He can lie to me and I’ll be none the wiser. That’s why this is a leap of faith. However, when I hold a bottle of herbs, minerals, or medication and cannot keep my fingers together – or conversely, can’t have them pried apart  – how can I believe it’s anything other than he says? “You don’t need this.” “You do need this.” I’m not making up how strong or weak my grip is! It’s quite incredible.

(I brought all of my supplements and prescriptions to see what the homeopath thought of them. He muscle-tested me holding each. I need none of the supplements – they’re all made from crap – but I need my antidepressant. He couldn’t pry my fingers apart holding the bottle, and asked what the pills were for. When I answered, he was surprised.

“You need it.”

“Well, yeah,” I teased. “That’s why it’s prescribed to me.”

“Well, a lot of people are prescribed antidepressants unnecessarily. I never tell anyone not to take their medication. That’s not my business, but most Depression can be healed in other ways. You need it.”

“Yep.” 10 tiny miligrams of Citalopram, and thank god! Better living through Chemistry.)

So I bought more herbs and tinctures. Now that the parasites are vanquished, we can get to the real problems – like deficiencies, and scars from old injuries and traumas (car accident, 2006; bike accident, 2009; surgery, complications and surgery, 2008).

“I don’t have kids to put in braces, college, or therapy. I do what I want!” And I want a body that can travel again, and dance, and not sleep and ache for days/weeks at a time.

Karmic Update

Not really. I’m referring to starting my life as a Karmi at Salt Lake Power Yoga. That’s what they call the volunteers who exchange work for unlimited yoga at the studio.

I’ve only worked 2 shifts, and it’s pretty disheartening to feel like I’m not physically capable of doing a job! Both days resulted in high pain, Level 8. Last Saturday, there were pain spikes I’d actually classify as 10, that made me unexpectedly … vociferate, I guess. I don’t know how else to describe it. I wasn’t moaning. I didn’t scream. But these muscle spasms would come on and just force the voice out of me.

I don’t describe anything as Level 10 pain, because I’ve never had a baby. Surely, that’s the 10 on a pain scale, right? Not even this ghastly post-surgery treatment I had to endure without anesthetic. At one point, the doctor said to the nurse, “If she were a man, she’d be screaming right now.”

“Really?” I asked. As a kid, my mother told me that women tolerate pain better than men. I heard an inner voice that said, “Not me.”

But this doctor told me my infection had burrowed an inch and a half into my flesh, and he had to, first, dig it out, then pack the whole thing with antiseptic tape.

“Women are tough,” he assured me.

“Even me!” I was amazed.

“Absolutely,” he answered. “I’m impressed.”

“Well, it isn’t fun,” I told him.

“You can yell, if you like.”

“What’s the point? You’re almost done. Tell me you’re almost done.”

“Done.”

That was a 9.

Last Saturday, solid 10 pain. I’m pretty damned frustrated.

I went to Salt Lake Homeopathy 2 weeks ago and can’t say I’ve noticed any difference whatsoever in my pain and fatigue. Neither have I noticed any tapeworm corpses leaving my body, and if they’ve been there since I went to South America 5 years ago, they’d be too big to miss on their way out. The homeopath told me to expect to see them. Where else would they go? I was plenty grossed out, but glad for fair warning.

Now I just feel like a fool. The snake oil did not kill the snakes – Rather, there weren’t any – and my Fibro remains uncured and undeterred.

Is there really nothing I can do other than immunosuppressants? The side effects are as bad as any disease!

I hoped fine weather would help. (Cold temps can be a trigger.) I’m taking easy hikes, in spite of waking each day with discomfort, and constant concern that over-activity will ruin the rest of the day.

I’m doing everything I can.

I do know that yoga is not working to manage my pain, at all. I feel better doing yoga, because I’m stronger and I enjoy the improvements to my body. I truly love the peaceful, meditative feeling that accompanies each class. I feel pride in myself for finally doing something proactive, and for sticking with it. But I admit, by mid-April I am deeply discouraged at the lack of relief I find from a regular, committed practice. NONE.

That’s the most frustrating of all.

I’m in pain every minute of every day. Between 1 o’clock and 3:00 p.m., it tells me whether or not I need to start popping furious Ibuprofen, adhering Salonpas patches, and praying!

It’s too much. Nothing is enough. It’s not working. I HURT. I’m tired, and I’m tired of it!

Okay, okay. I haven’t tried everything. Hell, a regular massage. After my karmi shift on Saturdays, perhaps. A chiropractor? (I’m secretly afraid of chiropractors.) The point is, there are options yet remaining. But I gotta say, I’m getting pretty tired of being so goddamned optimistic.

There’s always something more that can be done.

Oh. The big one. Better diet. Every single day. Healthy, regular meals.

I haven’t tried everything. I am getting there. There is a solution and I will find it, because I don’t quit. I do feel like it sometimes.

(P.S. My doctor took his wife and 2 teenagers to Burning Man a month later, based on our conversation at that appointment, haha! I had to have surgery again after the infection healed, and I was worried about being healthy enough for the playa that year. I was.)

I’m A Karmi!

That’s what they call the volunteers at Salt Lake Power Yoga. 🙂

Now I can practice for free, in exchange for reliably working my single Saturday shift. I’m feeling stronger. (I don’t need a nap after every class.) Perhaps soon, I’ll try 3 weekly sessions again and see how I tolerate it.

For the time being, however, I’m going to leave everything the same to watch for any result after my first homeopathy consult!

Many of you know that I have Fibromyalgia. One year ago exactly, it changed from something I could live with to a monster that stole my life. I’ve been in agony – as much from fear as from discomfort.

Years ago, my cousin recommended Salt Lake Homeopathy, where she found relief from Fibro. She now considers herself cured. I was leery of some stranger’s version of the right snake oil, and I didn’t really believe that Fibromyalgia was a thing. Even after getting it, I continued to fight with Imposter Syndrome. I’m just a faker, a baby, a complainer. It’s just in my head. I want to be sick, so I am. Get up, Lazy! Everyone has aches and pains.

Recently, a synchronistic turns of events put this clinic back in my mind as an option. I decided to take a leap of faith.

So far, all I can say is… weird and wow. This homeopathic guy did muscle testing, and for every bug he found – literally, I’m crawling – he described my symptoms perfectly.

“This hurts here and here… ”

“Uh huh.”

“Do your eyes sweat?”

“YES!!!” (Every time I did yoga for the first 2 months, my eyes would water all day as if I was crying. Not a little irritation and weepiness, but full-on tearshed! All day.)

“You don’t remember your dreams, do you?” He wasn’t asking. 

“How do you know that?!”

“[This bug] takes your dreams. But the ones you do remember are prophetic.”

Here’s a link to the last dream I remember, in January: Wingspan.

He told me how I sleep – I mean, the positions I toss to and from – and how I function during the day (no energy at all, deplete and incapable of movement). He knew every nuance of every ache, dull or sharp, the minutia. He knew me.

“In other generations, they would have called you a Witch. You’d be the kind of woman who loves to dance around the campfire naked.”

“I’ve done that! I have a great group of ladies. We call ourselves Women Who Dance With Wolves.”

“You can still enjoy it,” he said, “but let’s get it in balance.” 🙂

So I sat in an electric zapper bed and killed off parasites. Now I have several weeks of drinking bitter tinctures and herbs. Then we can move onto some mineral deficiencies and phase-in good vitamins that aren’t made from GMO corn in a factory in China.

I think this is going to work! I’m encouraged and excited.

Now excuse me, please, while I kill tapeworms.

Synchronicity

I had another dance with… let’s see, it was ten 2s this time… on my trip home. They came at a significant location and hit really hard. I mean, you don’t often see ten of anything, but when it’s 222 – my number – I really pay attention.

I didn’t include it in my little report of the home visit, ‘cuz, I mean, don’t you get tired of me oohing and aahing over repeating numbers? And really… Really? Numbers?

I know I’m a little weird.

But that was a signal to me to pay attention. It was such a big one I was feeling really connected and alert, but I didn’t know why. When it’s my regular 222, it’s just a smile. I call it a little hug from my Cheerleaders. Four 2s, well, that’s a real howdy! But ten! Wow.

So I’ve been in dialogue with my Crew since Sunday, thanking them for being with me and getting my attention, and asking what it was I should be noticing.

Yesterday, I ran into my cousin at the supermarket. I haven’t seen her in at least 4 years. She’s an energy worker, with a focus on generational healing. How trauma changes DNA through the line came up in conversation. I brought it up, can’t remember how. “Funny you should mention that,” she said. “I just had an ancestor come up yesterday and I tracked him to 7 generations ago. I’ve been asking myself why he popped up for me, and why there is so much death around him.”

“Well, if you think about it, early Mormons would have left us with an imprint of terror. If they weren’t killed themselves, they were in fear of it. They watched their friends, neighbors and family being run off their property, at best. Terrifying!”

“Oh, I hadn’t considered that. He was a peer of Joseph Smith, too, and everyone at that time would have been in fear of death and loss.”

“Well, there you go. His actual friend was murdered. And it would have been everywhere, that palpable fear. We’re wired by recent history to expect an enemy.”

My spidey-senses were tingling. It confirmed for me that Tarot and other forms of divination are not poppycock. They’re just tools to help me fine-tune my intuition. In fact, the conversation was validating simply because intuition is so easy to dismiss, period, as ego or more hippie goddess blech. But my cousin is an easy-going Mormon gal not given to every mystic whim that rolls around. She’s just intuitive and knows it.

I admire the confidence she has in her connection, and it was a thrill to be in the right place at the right time to help her find some clarity and a new area of exploration.

The best part? She used to work for a homeopathic center. Years ago – right after the Fibro symptoms started, long before a diagnosis – she suggested I try them out. I seriously considered it. After all, she’d suffered from Fibromyalgia for a decade and had complete remission after treatment there. But… Well, you know, there’s the possibility that Fibromyalgia is a made-up malady (I still fight with that!) and herbs are so much… hippie goddess blech. “They’re natural, they can only help you.”

No. Anthrax is natural. Herbs are medicine and I don’t take that shit lightly. Yes, I believe in the benefits of plants – and Western pharmacy – but who knows how much is safe and what of interactions and and and… ?

And it’s $80 just to be seen, before they try to up-sell you on their snake oil.

Yesterday, I updated my cousin on how much worse my Fibro’s become.

“Did you ever go to that clinic?” she asked, knowing I hadn’t.

“Nooo! I should just do it. If I’m willing to spend $45 on a 15-minute phone call with a pet psychic…!”

“Go!” she scolded me.

“A couple of years ago, I could hope it would just resolve itself, but this is unlivable!”

“Go!” she ordered me.

“You know what? I’ve been asking my angels why they got my attention this weekend and I run into you. You say it worked. We’re on the same wavelength. Ah hell, I’m doing it!”

My appointment’s next Tuesday. I’ll tell you all about it! 2222222222!