Who do you think loves you? (Love vs Sex 244)

A woman said to a man “You have repeatedly called me a bully and a person who suffers from mental illness and delusion, how could you want to be with me if you believe that and I am constantly making you miserable?”

The man replied “I never said you were making me miserable. I never said that. You are putting words in my mouth that I never said. Instead of trying to tell me what I believe or how I feel about you, you might do better to pay attention to objective reality and my actual behavior, that is if you want to engage with the truth. You do not get to tell me how I feel or put words in my mouth to justify your fears. That is a distortion and a manipulation of reality which I cannot acknowledge for more than what it is. I cannot defend myself against your delusional projection and I will not. You are avoiding reality by creating a false premise regarding all of my feelings for you. You need to engage with reality.”

The woman flustered, fearful, and full of emotion, shot back “You have called me delusional. . .and a bully. . .and you have told me I was mentally ill! You have told me those things many times! Those are real! I am not making any of that up. Those comments, your comments, came out of your mouth. They were and are real, and they have happened many times. How can you think that I am such a monster and say that I do not make you miserable all of the time?”

“I have said you were a bully and that you are being delusional. I have also said that you suffer from mental illness and you do. I said all of those things and they are true, they are. I stand behind every one of those words and I am not recanting any of that. You are not always a bully, and you are not always delusional, but you do suffer from mental illness, and all of those things are connected and part of the same issue. I have discussed that calmly and indisputably with you a number of times. You know that.” Maintaining as stable of a tone and cadence as he possible could, the man continued, “How many times have I told you myself that I have also been delusional, and a bully, and suffered from mental illness? How many tales have I recounted about my negative and ugly experiences from being lost and confused in that delusion in the past? I have moved beyond almost all of that now, but it still lingers and I suppose that it always will. So, I’m not pointing any righteous fingers at you or pretending like you and only you are some kind of demonic abomination. I am trying to help you, you damn fool.”

He turned away from her for a brief moment as her silence and softened expressions seemed to suggest that she was trying to process his words. He gave her this moment of silence alone, intentionally, before continuing with what he needed to say. “I would look at your question differently. I would look at it and think about it in almost the exact opposite manner. Why would you not consider that if a man you know who is highly aware and perceptive, who knows you maybe even better than you know yourself, . . . if this man knows every one of your damn archdemons and slithering sufferings; your bully behavior, your supreme delusions, your overwhelming fear and insecurity. . . if he knows all of the intricate complexities of your mental illness and anguish. . . if he knows all of that shit, and not just the happygolucky superficial or watered down version of yourself that ninety-eight percent of the other guys and other people assume is the total culmination of you, . . . that he is the one who truly knows the totality of your existence inside and out, and that even with that knowledge and the burden of that knowledge, he has chosen, willfully chosen, to stand by your side despite all that excessive and weighty baggage you keep toting around with you everyday. Who do you think loves you? A person who just plays with your pseudo-perfect selfie projected persona or a person who truly forms a union with the good, the bad, and the ugly of you? You need to answer that question.”

Cribb          2017

 

Attempting to Serve as a Healing Hand of God (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 183)

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From an involved surgery from last week.

Balancing life in your hands, knowing exactly how delicate, remarkable, and interdependent, such a force happens to be, is grace, a blessing, and also a curse to those with a comprehensive awareness of the responsibility of their involvement and intervention when attempting to serve as a healing hand of God.

Are you good enough? Are you deceiving yourself in your own perceptions and/or your own capability? Are you being too meticulous and tedious or perhaps, not enough? Can the fear of failure or mistake be kept at respectful bay? And in the end, no matter the reality and the truth, will you be judged an unquestionable hero or incompetent charlatan by those in the periphery of the act? Is it enough or too much to be the only one who might know the truth either way?

It is a supreme honor to be sincerely entrusted with such responsibility and faith. It touches my soul and lifts me up more than you know. I hate to fail a patient, a client. . .and even myself, but nothing is ever guaranteed, no matter the intent and no matter the skill. This is the burden that weighs upon the true healers and that you might not ever see. These are the thoughts that linger and dwell throughout their daily lives, in between their every breath. These are the demons they (we) must fight alone, for themselves (ourselves) as much as for what we may do for you and yours.

This surgery actually went as well as it possibly could have and the patient is recovering in good fashion, but he will be on my mind day and night, 24/7, for the next 11 days, that is until he has passed out of the real post-op risk period. I’m hoping for my hospital, my staff, and myself, that once again we will all be heroes. . .for Sampson and his mommy.

Wish us all luck if you will.

Dr. Cribb

Picking Flowers in the Midst of Hell (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 182)

“I try again and again to console my heart and to pick the flowers that grow in the midst of hell. I find bliss, and for an hour I forget the horror. But that does not mean that it does not exist.”

“You expressed that very well. So you find yourself surrounded by death and horror in the world, and you escape it into lust. But lust has no duration; it leaves you again and again in the desert.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Most people feel that way, but only a few feel it with such sharpness and violence as you do; few feel the need to become aware of these feelings. But tell me: besides this desperate coming and going between lust and horror, besides this seesaw between lust for life and sadness of death—have you tried no other road?”

Narcissus and Goldmund

Hermann Hesse          1930

Anything for Diversion (Warrior Poet Mental Yoga 181)

“There are quiet places also in the mind,” he said, meditatively. “But we build bandstands and factories on them. Deliberately—to put a stop to the quietness. We don’t like the quietness. All the thoughts, all the preoccupations in my head—round and round, continually.” He made a circular motion with his hand. “And the jazz bands, the music hall songs, the boys shouting the news. What’s it for, what’s it all for? To put an end to the quiet, to break it up and disperse it, to pretend at any cost it isn’t there. Ah, but it is, it is there, in spite of everything, at the back of everything. Lying awake at night, sometimes—not restlessly, but serenely, waiting for sleep—the quiet re-established itself, piece by piece; all broken bits, all the fragments of it we’ve been so busily dispersing all day long. It re-establishes itself, an inward quiet, like this outward quiet of grass and trees. It fills one, it grows—a crystal quiet, a growing expanding crystal. It grows, it becomes more perfect; it is beautiful and terrifying, yes, terrifying, as well as beautiful. For one’s alone in the crystal and there’s no support from outside, there’s nothing external and important, nothing external and trivial to pull oneself up by or to stand on, superiorly, contemptuously, so that one can look down. There’s nothing to laugh at or feel enthusiastic about. But the quiet grows and grows. Beautifully and unbearably. And at last you are conscious of something approaching; it is almost a faint sound of footsteps. Something inexpressibly lovely and wonderful advances through the crystal, nearer, nearer. And, oh, inexpressibly terrifying. For if it would touch you, if it were to seize and engulf you, you’d die; all the regular, habitual, daily part of you would die. There would be an end of bandstands and whizzing factories, and one would have to begin living arduously in the quiet, arduously in some strange unheard-of manner. Nearer, nearer come the steps; but one can’t face the advancing thing. One daren’t. It’s too terrifying, it’s too painful to die. Quickly, before it’s too late, start the factory wheels, bang the drum, blow the saxophone. Think of the women you’d like to sleep with, the schemes for making money, the gossip about your friends, the last outrage of the politicians. Anything for diversion. Break the silence, smash the crystal to pieces. There, it lies in bits; it is easily broken, hard to build up and easy to break. And the steps? Ah, those have taken themselves off, double quick. Double quick, they were gone at the first flawing of the crystal. And by this time the lovely and terrifying thing is three infinities away, at least. And you lie tranquily on your bed, thinking of what you’d do if you had ten thousand pounds and all of the fornifications you’ll ever commit.” He thought of Rosie’s pink underclothes.

“You make things very complicated,” she said, after a silence.

Antic Hay

Aldous Huxley          1923     

Sand Sculpture 4 of 4 – Snoopy

Normally my blog is committed to the written works of both myself and others, but sometimes a little detour in expression and form is a good thing in immeasurable ways for author/artist and audience.

On a recent beach vacation over the holiday weekend of the 4th I had a chance to forget about reality for a while and slide back into some youthful imaginations and creativity that I had let recede into the past. From this hibernation emerged four sand sculptures channelled through an adult Super Nerd Boy. I hope they each stir something within your soul.

All components of the sculpture were taken from the normal beach debris that rested in the near vicinity.

Snoopy1Snoopy2Snoopy3Snoopy4Snoopy5

Sand Sculpture 3 of 4 – Sea Monster

Normally my blog is committed to the written works of both myself and others, but sometimes a little detour in expression and form is a good thing in immeasurable ways for author/artist and audience.

On a recent beach vacation over the holiday weekend of the 4th I had a chance to forget about reality for a while and slide back into some youthful imaginations and creativity that I had let recede into the past. From this hibernation emerged four sand sculptures channelled through an adult Super Nerd Boy. I hope they each stir something within your soul.

Octo1Octo2Octo3Octo4Octo5

Sand Sculpture 2 of 4 – Crouching Sea Lion

Normally my blog is committed to the written works of both myself and others, but sometimes a little detour in expression and form is a good thing in immeasurable ways for author/artist and audience.

On a recent beach vacation over the holiday weekend of the 4th I had a chance to forget about reality for a while and slide back into some youthful imaginations and creativity that I had let recede into the past. From this hibernation emerged four sand sculptures channelled through an adult Super Nerd Boy. I hope they each stir something within your soul.

The mane and tail fluff are made of seaweed. Everything used in the sculpture was found on the beach in the near vicinity.

lion1Lion3Lion4Lion5Lion6Lion7Lion8lion9