The way things are going, I'll likely not have another entry here before Christmas, so the best of the Season to anyone who drops by. I'm going to try to enjoy it all, but I've started sleeping in the afternoon again, and that's never a good sign. I have my son Jeff coming to spend a few days with us, and hopefully a visit by my daughter Tree and her bunch as they pass by on the way to The Valley. My son, my daughter, my Grandboys Caleb, Aidan and Liam Perry. That'll be a fine Christmas, whether I'm face-down on the couch or not. I've certainly been in worse shape for some recent Christmases, so I should count my blessings.

So, friends and family and all the people I haven't met yet, Merry Christmas and the Happiest of New Years. Hope Santa's good to you.

P.

not a daily blogger

Hmm, not exactly getting around to this every day. I've got little to say, I guess, which sounds like I live a pretty boring life, and I guess it might be, but my life usually ends up running along the lines of how much my brains can stand. It's funny, but whenever I write, poems, short stories, emails, snail mail and now blog entries, I feel a responsibility to anyone who might read these things to be smart and concise, even profound. And well, right now I'm so far from being profound, or smart. My poetry has always leaned toward brevity, saying the most with the least amount of those unwieldy words. That's what I've always liked to do, sometimes working on an 8 line poem for days before I consider it done. But there have been times when words and I have become much closer, more intimately entwined. The results are a couple of novellas, one of which I'm very proud of. It's the leaf in the picture, startling colour in an otherwise rather mundane life.
But mainly it's been poetry. Or free verse, subsisting on rhythm instead of rhyme. Short pieces, quick looks, because in the creative sense I've been limited to short flareups followed by long periods of quiescence. Mania followed by depression. And so when I find myself wanting to do the participatory creation thing, there's a little voice whispering in my ear that it ain't going to last long, so better get busy. And I, voluntarily, cut this latest creative flareup off, with the therapist's help, to try to stop mania from having full control. So far it's working; I find myself walking along the euthymic or middle line, even a little depressed. Psychiatry isn't an exact science, and we're trying hard to get me and keep me where I've always wanted to be, somewhere in the middle.
So. When I came out of a terrible depression over two months ago, I went manic in the space of a day. And got scared. Because mania for me can be scary, even dangerous. My pdoc and I decided to try to head the mania stampede off, and so far it's worked. At the expense of my creativity, with words, with music. No new poems. My last original piece was written in June of 2003. And pieces or excerpts in this blog predate that.
I miss my poetry. I want it back. But not at the expense of my mental well-being. I can't go down that road again.

challenge songs

robins sing a battle cry
and I think of my journey -
destinations made possible
through discipline
careful guardianship
of my small and true self,
that little man inside
and the truths told to him;
truths taught to me
through birdsong
and new leaves on the trees
because
Gaea knows
what to put in front of me.
grackles and robins -
challenge songs -
this music background to my today,
marching away from yesterday,
pushing into tomorrow
and destinations
all there in fine detail,
highlighted by birdsong
and new leaves on the trees.


7 June 2003

no secrets

Today's going to be a lazy day - likely won't get out for a walk, I feel the need to rest after walking home in the snowstorm Monday night. I've been feeling a little down for the past couple of weeks, probably due to overmedication. I have a mood disorder, and some of the meds are sedative as hell.
I'd like to try to use the blog as an actual daily journal, thus getting back to what I did for ten years, writing a journal faithfully every morning. That was mostly a good experience, and I've had some fun now and then looking through the old entries. Roller coaster ride, yep. My therapist tells me that she's going to work hard to change that old life-pattern of a seemingly unending series of ups and downs, change it to more along the euthymic or middle ground. I tell her that's great, and mentally raise an eyebrow at her optimism. Sounds great (holy shit, who wouldn't want to be "normal" after a life of extremes?) and really, I do allow a glimmer of hope for such a wonderful thing to happen. Maybe it can happen. I would like that so very much...
So, maybe I can get back to journalizing every morning. We'll see. It'll probably depend on how "normal" I feel.

ancestral memories

someone
my great-
great-grandfather's ghost
maybe
whispers in my ear -
hold your isness in
as best you can;
today, let your wasness
loose
to walk with you.
your soon-to-be
counts for nothing
smoky magic tricks
and tarot cards
guessing in solitaire.
frame the day
in finite recollection
of yesterday, back and back to the
beginning.