The Day is Iffy

I don’t know if I’m going to pull it, today.

The tightness that began in my chest when I learned that the ass-hats who have my birds are about to screw me over, again, due to their combined control pathos so that I might lose them, forever, has not budged.

I slept in 30 minutes stretches between hours of anxious wakefulness. I don’t even know if I managed a full 3 hours of sleep.

I know I was freezing my ass off outside before 6 a.m., this morning. I still can’t feel my damn feet.

Combining this imminent state of anxious panic with my lack of rest, no where to use a bathroom, not having been able to take a shower since early last week, another prospective day crammed in this 2′ x 2′ opening without food and surrounded by open hostility from once beloved people who have squarely lost their minds in some black pit of badness. (Real badness, as in evil bad not not bad-ass bad) .. it’s the queasy, greasy disquiet felt after eating a questionable burrito.

Okay.

I have to keep my head out of my ass. Seriously.

So, this is what I got to work with, today. I have to begin with prayer. It’s literally all I have left, what remains of my mind. Imagine that.

Psalm 138:7 
Though I walk in the midst of trouble, you preserve my life; you stretch out your hand against the wrath of my enemies, and your right hand delivers me.

2 Corinthians 4:8-9

We are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed.

I don’t know if I’m going to pull it, today, but, God knows I am going to try with everything I’ve got

Will Work for a Miracle

No longer do I have difficult, pressing problems

They have been replaced by one, uninterrupted nightmare featuring every one of my most dreaded fears and with a star cast of skeletons unburied and dug out of long entombed closets I spent thousands of dollars, invested an untold amount of hours and formed a half dozen lakes from tears in therapy over the course of many years to be assured would remain forever sealed, never to haunt the halls of my liberated psyche, again.poltergeist-movie-17

I am reminded of a scene in the movie Poltergeist when all the caskets of the dead people unceremoniously paved over for urban development came popping up to the surface, through the rock and dirt and floor boards of the living room, letting the nice people that had nothing to  do with the terrible way they were treated know what to look forward to after several decades rotting under 6 feet of earth.

And even though I am aware that the solution to the circumstances I am facing right this moment is simple and direct, I am also aware that my being able to apply this solution is a far distant cry from being easy. So, I won’t bother asking anyone to give me money.

Instead, I am asking for a miracle.

If you or any of your friends happen to be God or even know God well enough to contact directly, I’d like to ask you to consider doing me a super huge favor by just getting the message out that whatever it is God (or You, if that’s who You happen to be) has taken me out to the woodshed for is understood as having must be pretty fucking bad but I know that I wouldn’t be out here unless God loved me. And since God already knows what the outcome will be, I won’t bother promising never to do, again, whatever it was that got me here, because, knowing me, it’s likely God knows that I won’t keep that promise. I have a bad habit of returning to my mistakes for second and third helpings. I think it has something to do with my navigational retardation and complete lack of any sense of direction.

I am in desperate need of a miracle.

For the record, I did try going the standard route of asking family for help. The answer I received to the request (which was only to have them call me) was being ‘unfriended’ on Facebook. So much for the Lifetime movie Blood is Thicker Via Social Media.

Not On Walden Pond – Ch. 1 Beginning at the End

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The first entry recounts the events of the last day and the fallout experienced the days immediately following. This was written May 28th, a few days after the Great Escape, as it were:

I’ve descended into a waking nightmare and to describe it as such is an impossibly horrifying understatement.

My existence, my belongings, my personal being is now constrained to the back interior of a dirty, broken down Ford Explorer that cannot be locked nor has windows that can be closed.
There is room for my body when I fold my legs completely at the knees, my arms wrapped and my torso angled towards my left side and availing as much vertical space possible. Even
contorted this way, my feet spill over and the rear hatch can’t clear the space it needs to close completely. From the outside facing the vehicle, you would see the tips of my two shoes
poking out from underneath the bottom of the door.

The remaining space is packed with what was retrieved from the Astro van. The Astro van blew a head gasket and is not driveable. It’s also stuck miles up a poorly maintained dirt road
that ends at the gate of the property I had been camped on until the property owner’s son lost his relationship with sanity and in a paranoia and alcohol fueled rage
(against what or whom, I have no idea), dedicated several hours destroying my things, screaming profanities towards me, threatening to push me and my van into the gorge beside us and finally,
forcing me to flee on foot through the ink black woods down those two miserable miles of pitted winding dirt road while he made chase in his car by creeping at mockingly slow speed behind me,
screaming all the while. I tripped and fell several times, but on the last fall, I wound up twisted on to my back and couldn’t get up before he and the buddy in his car were able to spring out of the
car and each grab a section of me, lifting and stuffing me into the back seat. This is a long story itself, and I will post it in the Not on Walden Pond page when I am up to the task of talking about it.

For now, I really just needed to give voice to my status right this moment. That status includes being terribly cold and feeling an enormous weight of emotion, none of them positive other
than the intentional thoughts of gratitude I have to force myself to create in order to maintain some semblance of a rational perspective.
I am upset, but I also remain cognizant of the futility and danger of allowing myself to break down. I therefore am resolutely determined not to let my emotional response overpower my ability
to make logical decisions and take immediate action that moves me towards a quick solution to this survival problem I now have.
Prior to losing the use and safety of my van I had a stream of challenging issues to contend with, but, compared to what is taking place, now and the circumstances I am facing, I
would almost consider any of those issues ‘first world problems’.

Let me put it another way: On the hierarchy of human needs, I am squarely in the bottom row of the pyramid. My immediate concerns are finding safe, warm, dry shelter while also securing food and water as
well as a place for my body to rid itself of same as it must.

These are not emotional or social problems. These are not problems resulting from the chronic disorder of maladjustment problems. These are economic problems, problems from lack of exercisable resources and opportunity.

And, fundamentally, these problems have uncomplicated solutions. They have simple fixes. But, the fix will not be easy to make. What is simple is not easy by definition.
These are two very different descriptors.

I sometimes hate the way I write. Seriously. What’s even more weird is that I write as I think, yet, I don’t speak as I write. If you’ve never spoken to me, it’s understandable if you hate my writing, too.
And, it’s intermittent tangents like that one that help me maintain composure and prevent a state of absolute panic and fear.

If you’ve read this, please think good thoughts for me. Pray, even.

//–These are posts sharing the experiences of my In the Woods odyssey. It will take a little while to piece them together. All photos are originals I took while on the land.–//

Into the Wilderness

Generally speaking, i look around and think I’m surrounded by mostly incomprehensible life forms. It isn’t the overt, pedestrian words and behaviors that confound me. It’s the current I sense flowing beneath those words and behaviors that I find off-putting. A fundamental disconnect exists between what the people I collide with believe they are and what they show themselves to be.

I can’t exclude myself from this observation. And, that is what is disturbing to me. I think I love this and that person. I think I am trust worthy. I think I am reasonable. Then, i realize I’ve said something intentionally hurtful to one of those people I think I love. I lie about something thinking it will engender greater trust with someone who has something I want, like a job or knowledge. I abandon logic for emotional black mail.

I recognize doing these things and I don’t want to, or, I think that’s the case. And, i notice others doings these things, yet, never have I known someone else acknowledge the incongruity. If anything, i experience watching a tremendous effort given to obfuscate and conceal or deny what is real.

I never did swallow the idea that belief manifests into some self-created reality. The Power of Attraction I consider perforated with semantic rabbit holes. What we believe and perceive may define our experience of reality but not the truth of it.

Truth is not malleable. Its fixed and rigid and eternal. Other truths come and accompany it, but, this is the nature of what is true: it is independent from everything else. When this then that. Every time. No matter what.

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