Somewhat Confessional

 

        Today I climbed up to essentially the top of town. The walk up was a nice way to get out some pent up energy and helped clear my mind a bit.  I thought about what I would write and now that I'm sitting here, I realize I didn't figure out much. I'm still trying to wrap my head around the gig I had on Saturday.  It was an absolutely beautiful service and a true celebration of life.  I'm overjoyed that even though the event was sad, I helped people feel better.  Music truly is magical and I am honored that people think that I do it justice.  DJs are trusted to provide the soundtrack to people's memories. To me, that feels like a huge responsibility, one I take very seriously. Sure, there's a lot of fucking around and I'm the first one to insert something smart assed in the mix but there is always a time and a place. 

    As a kid, I was always taught that everything had a time and a place and that you succeed in life sometimes just by being at the right place at the right time. There's an art to being able to read the proverbial room and know when to show up and where. I feel though, sometimes, that it happens on a subconscious level.  Call it instinct, gut feeling, vibes, whatever, but it really does feel like it comes from someplace outside of my conscious awareness. 

    It is odd.  I feel like I have such a deep and profound connection to the soul of the universe.  I feel as if I have touched the chaos of the divine being. There is a oneness I share with existence and time and that I hold everything that was, is and ever will be within myself. At the same time, nothing really makes a whole lot of sense.  I am bound by this meat brain and it's incredibly limited software. Sometimes, this manifests as suicidal thoughts.  I can't endure another moment of not being able to grasp what I can feel is so painfully obvious.  I understand suicide, not because I know what drives people to it exactly, but because I know how easily the mind gets to that point. 

    I almost took myself out.  I have no idea what conspired to save me but I did live. For the longest time, I didn't want to talk about it.  It was in the past, it was a manifestation of something stupid, I am "over" it, it wasn't that big of a deal.  Truth is, it is a point of trauma that has stuck with me.  I need to talk about it and process what almost killing myself did to me.  I need to contemplate the what if. I need to remind myself of all the absolutely beautiful things I have experienced because I didn't die by my own hand. 

    I guess a good start is to put the facts of the event out there.  It was the year I turned 19.  I was in a relationship with a girl I had met at college while at the same time dating another girl locally. For this I feel like a total asshole, which was honestly a contributing factor if I'm being totally truthful. I really have no idea why I kept on with the local girl.  She made my life hell and I was constantly wondering if I had any value in her eyes.  I was obsessed with the attention, though. The hot was satisfying enough to endure the cold at least to me.  My perception was definitely skewed by inexperience. 

    I was living at home and working for the state.  Home life was strained, as I had dropped out of military school and my family was sorely disappointed.  I was disappointed in myself but for the wrong reasons. The job was miserable and not at all what I saw myself doing as a career but it was money.  I was living out of various cheap shit motels for four days out of the week and only socializing with my gruff co-worker (this guy made talking to rocks seem interesting) and phone calls to my girlfriend which were limited because at the time, long distance calling actually cost money. 

    It was the last week of August.  It was hot as hell and the hotel I was staying in was absolute shit. I spent the last little bit of cash I had on a calling card from some sketchy convenience store. I dialed one of the few numbers I had memorized.  I remember being surprised the girlfriend actually picked up.  Usually it was her mother who picked up the phone. I don't remember the exact details of the conversation.  The gist though, was that she didn't want to be together any more because she wasn't sure if she was actually a lesbian. That our entire relationship had been an experiment that she wasn't really happy with. 

    My entire identity was called into question.  At the time, I wasn't exactly sure I was a lesbian (I wasn't) but I knew I was more than just some sort of experimental fling.  I had spent an entire year in college being told that everything that made me who I am was evil, wrong and something to be shunned. My entire self-worth was tied up in two women, one who realistically should not have been my emotional support (totally not fair at all to her) and the other who really didn't love me, she just liked the idea of being with me because it pissed off the religious establishment. When it became more of a hassle than what it was worth, she dropped me like a hot rock. 

    I remember her asking me if I was okay with things.  I lied.  I said expected it, and that I knew it wasn't going to last.  I hung up with a half-hearted "see you around." I didn't sleep that night.  I stared at the stained ceiling, formulating a plan of action.  I wished I would die right then and there but I knew that wouldn't happen. The next day, I spent the drive home in silence. My co-worker noted that I was silent even for me.  I collected my paycheck and cashed it at some bullshit casino. I bought a 50 count bottle of Tylenol PM and stashed it in my glove box.  I don't recall if I spoke to my parents.  I do know I did go home at some point to grab my car but if I talked to them before things went down, I'm not sure. 

    I drove up into the hills where I spent a lot of my youth.  It is a magical area and also a place where you could disappear and no one would know.  I ate the entire bottle of pills while blasting Cranberries - Zombie as loud as my sound system would go. I remember laughing and sobbing at the same time. I remember thinking "What the fuck did I just do?" As I felt the pills take hold, I thought that if I was going to die, she should fucking know about it.  I drove off the hill in a haze and ended up at her church. I don't know why I knew she would be there.  It wasn't a normal church day.  

    Next thing I knew I was puking on her shoes.  Everything became sort of a blacked out blur at that point.  I woke up in the hospital as my stomach was getting pumped and I have this vague recollection of a doctor telling me that I was probably going to die anyway.  I'm fairly sure I said "Well...fuck me." and then I was gone again.  There was a brief moment of clarity where my brother called me a "fucking idiot." 

    I fully regained consciousness in the behavioral health unit.  The head psychiatrist was a fat, balding guy that diagnosed me with being "female and emotional" and we did yoga every day.  I managed to be helpful by talking to other patients and developing a rapport just by listening. I tend to do that.  I had a session scheduled with an outpatient therapist but that fell through.  I briefly was on an anti-depressant medication but that didn't do anything good. The topic was avoided by just about everyone.  No one was interested in hearing about it and I wasn't interested in talking about it.  The wound never went away.  The trauma of being in the hospital never went away.  The sensation of death never went away. 

    I have nightmares about feeling myself fading out of existence.  Nightmares about how much stomach pumping actually hurts. Nightmares of people just not giving a fuck that I almost died. Avoiding it isn't helping. 

    Telling this story is the first step towards healing. 

Meditation to a Groove

Music has literally saved my life. Music is the first thing I remember. I'm convinced that I started my love affair with music while I was still in the womb. It helps that mom is just as in love with music as I am and that I was exposed to music even before I was born. There's something to be said about music being in a person's DNA too. Both my parents are musical people as well as my grandparents as far as I know. When I was younger, music was an escape from the chaos that makes up my existence. I had the usual pressures of childhood to contend with. Bullying, trying to navigate through school while being "different" and all that crap. I also had to deal with being pathologised and being whispered about behind closed doors. Even though I didn't fully understand the scope of this, it still hurt. Music made the hurt a lot more tolerable and for a few minutes at a time, I could just lose myself in a song and not really think about anything else.

Through high school, I shared my love of music with others and connected to people deeply through mutual musical interests. I developed a love of the art of the mixtape (mix CD if you want to be technical) and that's where I think I got the DJing bug although I didn't know it at the time. Eventually, music became digital and I had access to a medium that I had never thought was possible. Digital music is amazing. You can have enough songs as not to repeat one for a year in a small physical space. I don't think anything is really lost with digital music for the most part and the advantage of easy access usually outweighs quality issues.


Throughout the years, many people have suggested meditation as a way to stay grounded. Traditional meditation techniques don't really work well for me. My brain just isn't wired that way. What I have figured out is a way to meditate through music. At first, it involved just listening to a mix of music and allowing my mind to go blank. That still works surprisingly well. Throughout the years, as mixing music has gotten easier through practice, I've managed to get into that meditative head space while mixing music. It is quite therapeutic. I've noticed even if I am at my lowest point, a good mix session can bring me out of it. It is interesting recording these sessions too, as I can play them back and work through any emotion I might have been feeling at the time.


Sometimes I forget that I've trained my brain in this way. I have to keep telling myself that I have this awesome relationship with music for a reason. Yes, it's absolutely wonderful and amazing that people enjoy the music I mix but that isn't why I do it primarily. I have to routinely let my brain escape and mix for the pleasure of mixing, not just do it for scripted shows. Don't get me wrong, my podcast is really fun to do but if I just confine myself to that format, some of the therapy in it is lost.


Here's to meditation to a groove. Hopefully it helps others as much as it helps me.

Fractured Reality

I'm sure I'm not the only one who is feeling a sense of disconnection from reality.  The state of the world is so ridiculous, the mind can't be blamed for checking out at least a little bit. Sometimes, this makes me incredibly sad.  I weep, for what exactly, I can't say.  I also find myself laughing at everything too.  I'm the type to laugh at a funeral, though.  There are people who find my habit of using humor as a deflection annoying at best.  Oftentimes, I am seen as insulting and offensive. I understand where a joke could hurt, especially if is made at the expense of a person. However, I don't think joking about an absurd situation is particularly offensive. The world is a dumpster fire. Arguably, there isn't a single point in human history where the world hasn't been some sort of trash fire. I think seeing humor in the darkness helps us make sense out of the pain.  Gallows humor always has a place. 

Along those lines, I feel like I am stuck inside my own head a lot more. Now that I'm not fighting for basic survival (feels weird not struggling as much even as things objectively get worse in general), I find myself thinking about the internal struggle.  I have always dealt with some crossed wires in my brain.  In between spending childhood being told that my perceptions were either fake or dangerous coupled with the fact that basic survival takes precedence over everything else, I have spent way too long pushing these things to the side.  Ignoring something doesn't address or solve it, really.  It is interesting hearing myself describe what life inside my head is like. At the same time, there's a lot of fear because I am used to people telling me I'm either stupid or crazy. I am starting to come to terms with the crazy label being incredibly harmful. I have really internalized it and it is going to take a lot of unpacking to undo the damage. 

It really is a double edged thing at this point. I have to not only redefine my identity in a lot of ways, I also have to integrate these things back into myself. I've spent far too long thinking of my mental particulars as disorders even though oftentimes they help more than they hinder.  Sure, some of it is a total pain in the ass but having experienced life without them, I can honestly say that I'd much rather deal with navigating some pitfalls as opposed to crippling absence and existence in a void. Fuck what conventional "wisdom" says is normal. Even medicated, I can't hang with that shit.  I might as well focus on embracing myself as a whole person and not feel bad because I don't fit in even as a fractured soul. 

Meat Space

Weather I like it or not, I exist in meat space. There is a level to my consciousness that would rather skip the mundane.  Maybe mundane isn't the right word, really.  There is a certain appeal in being stuck neck deep in the human condition.  I suppose it is a matter of perspective but the trappings of daily life are amusing even though they are sometimes soul-crushingly sad. Plenty of people have observed that without suffering and loss, the joy and beauty of existence would be meaningless. 

Couldn't hurt to at least see what it would be like without pain, though. 

Part of me wonders what the motivation would be? What would life look like without suffering? Pessimism tells me that humans would manufacture suffering just to have some sort of fucked up balance. Humans manufacture triumph all the time so it stands to reason that in the absence of something, they would default to figuring out how to get that something even though it is negative or unpleasant. 

Self sabotage is something people are really good at. 

I end up doing it to myself all the time in subtle ways.  I have to wonder, though, how much of it is really self sabotage? It might just be the longing for comfort, for the familiar. The mind has a really odd way of loving to live in the past, again even if the past isn't exactly something pleasant. It's kind of like an old shoe that fits a certain way, even though it is painful, nothing else seems right so why even bother to get new shoes?

A lot of suffering is internal. While humans dwell on the past internally, externally they espouse the virtues of living in the present. Mindfulness and present-mindedness is the theme for a lot of self-help advice. While I think being grounded in the present moment is a really good thing, it is sad that people don't really feel comfortable with unpacking their past and working through the trauma of life. It is said that misery loves company but company really doesn't like misery.  I suppose that's why I have a great deal of respect for people who tend to the mind. Like doctors of flesh and bone, these souls are exposed to the horrors of humanity. I can't imagine how many fucked up things therapists and counselors hear on a regular basis.  Flesh and bone heal visibly, the mind is a much more complex and subtle creature. On top of it all, these healers of the mind are often the only people some can trust. 

I'm a mostly open book and there are things that I won't say to anyone but my therapist. A good therapist is non-judgmental (within reason, of course) but a great therapist is someone who can make sense out of the bizarre and can soothe the chaos with at least some sort of rationality. It fucking helps, more than I can put into words. 

I've been on this roller coaster before but for the first time it feels like I'm starting to make sense of all this, even in the midst of a confusing existence.  Maybe I'm just making peace with meat space.  

A Spiritual Day

Today started with a grim image of the future. Everything was in ruins and the bombs were dropping. Chaos spun through my head and I felt helpless. The smell of blood and fire consumed the air. I started to run but there was nowhere I could go. I knew this, but I couldn't do anything but run.

Something snapped me back to reality. Soft fur and tiny meow slowly worked its way into my consciousness. I can only hope this special soul knows what she means to me. 

I decided to go on a walk to see the roses in bloom. My path happened to go by some railroad tracks and a building with absolutely stunning street art. As I approached, a shirtless man caught my attention. He told me that my pocket was open. I'll admit, sometimes I'm so lost in my own head that I don't acknowledge people on the street. Sometimes my creep radar goes off and I'll try to politely avoid interaction. This time, I felt that I absolutely needed to listen. We got to chatting and it struck me that the guy was probably hungry. I had some bacon jerky on me and I offered him a bag. He was genuinely appreciative. He asked sheepishly if I had the means to get him some ice and a soda. A simple and easy ask since there was a convenience store a couple of blocks up the road. When I came back, the guy seemed surprised. I figure that people have said that they'd do stuff for him but instead of helping out, they would just vanish. Such is the nature of the streets, unfortunately. I stuck around for a little while and continued to chat. The guy was all over the place but had a genuineness about him that I could definitely feel. I felt, through a connection of conversation, a sense of the divine nature of the universe. It was incredibly powerful. I thought in that moment that we are all revolutionary in our own way. I may not have the spoons to be an out loud activist but I can do other things. I've always been consumed with the notion of helping people. I do this because I feel it is the right thing to do. As a child, I was fascinated by the stories of Jesus my grandmother told me. Of course as I got older, I realized that those stories are often twisted by evil people and used to oppress and demean others. I have distain for anyone taking a message of peace and love and corrupting it for personal gain. I hold the myths in my heart and try my hardest be like the human I look up to while acknowledging that he was human too (at least partly). Today I felt like I got close. Of course I have to be mindful to not be boastful. As beautiful as this moment was, I have to keep in mind that I gained a lot from the interaction too. 

I said my goodbyes and stuck around to photograph the amazing art on walls surrounding the railroad tracks. After that, I took a walk through the rose garden and caught a few pictures there. The beauty of the day was intense. Pictures don't do it justice although I did try to capture a small part of it. The infinite nature of the universe was manifest for just a moment today and I do not feel worthy of the experience. 

All of the photos from today can be found here: https://photographywolf.smugmug.com/A-Spiritual-Day/

Hoodni: A small biography

Hoodini

A small biography

Vital Statistics

Age:3 years

Weight:9.5 lbs

Species:Cat

Coloring:Tuxedo

Arrival

Pictured above is my kitty, Hoodini. He came into my life in the summer of 2007. I was visiting my parents house and while conversing in the garage with my dad I noticed a tiny black and white creature staring at me. I turned to it and said "Hey, kitty kitty!" which sent the creature scurrying for the bushes.

A short while later, the skittish kitten ventured into the driveway again. I asked my dad how long the kitten had been hanging around. He told me that three months prior a cat had a litter of kittens under thier shed and that he had been trying to catch them so they could be adopted into loving homes. The kittens were in a dangerous situation in my parents neighborhood. They lived near a field inhabited by a pack of coyotes and the neighborhood children tended to be mean to outdoor cats. My parents also had a dog that was very unsympathetic to cats in his yard.

Being a cat person, I decided I would try and help capture at least one kitten. I asked my husband to try and help corral our black and white observer. As we approached from both sides, the kitten had a bright idea and thought it wise to hide up inside the engine block of my dads Jeep. Unfortunately this got the poor kitty hoplessly stuck. We worked for over an hour trying to extract him from his sad situation. Eventually we managed to extract him and place him in a pet carrier. The kitty was frightened and the animal shelter was closed so I volunteered to take the kitty back to my house until I could call the shelter.

Fostering Fail

Of course I never called the shelter. When I got home, I pulled the kitten out of the carrier and comforted him. The long ride home and the events leading to his capture had him quite scared.

First Picture

After holding him for a while, I realized that I was quickly getting attached. My husband, who said after we got our second cat "NO MORE!" was getting attached to the little guy too. As days passed, we noticed that he got along with our other two cats as well. We named our new little furball Hoodini (intentional mispelling) because of his abilty to escape our sight by hiding in the wierdest of places. The name also lends itself to a whole host of interesting nicknames.

Hoodini's favorite Websites

Pet of The Day
A website dedicated to pets.

Each day a new cat, dog and pet is featured. The site also has a forum where users can get advice
about all things pet!


Remus' Catster Page

Caster is a site all about cats. Besides information about cats, users can make individual

pages about their kitty friends. This page belongs to Remus, Hoodini's adopted fur brother

and best friend

Page created by: Kristina Hanson

Last modified: November 23, 2010