IMPORTANT PSA

Covid-19 Silver Lining & Self-Work

My friend posted the following opinion piece to social media. I'm copying and pasting it here and also will provide a link:

What Psychedelics Told Me About The Coronavirus

Azrya Cohen Bequer

 

An Empowering Message to Humanity from Ayahuasca

 

 

No matter how complex a question I may have, when I take it to psychedelics I always receive an answer. So when the Coronavirus pandemic kicked into high gear, I brought the subject to my trusted mentor Ayahuasca to be illuminated.

Ayahuasca is an ancient shamanic plant medicine technology, consisting of 3 simple ingredients: a vine, a leaf and water. The ensuing brew is consumed in a ceremonial context, and commonly referred to as “the medicine.”

In the visionary state, downloads around COVID-19 began pouring in and it all began with the humble teachings of a tiny little insect known as the caterpillar.

Did you know that a caterpillar will consume up to 300 times its body weight per day before entering the cocoon?

I share this fun fact because, as the medicine showed me, we have reached a moment in our human evolution where the clumsy, dense, survival obsessed caterpillar stage of our collective human consciousness must finally stop mindlessly consuming and surrender to the chrysalis, in which everything it has known itself to be dissolves into mush.

Welcome to the “Corona Cocoon.”

Yup. We are in the disintegration stage now where all the magic happens and the next chapter of our human experience can transition into the era of the butterfly; a being that is light, free, empirically exquisite and in service to others (pollinators).

Let me illuminate how this is far more than a nifty metaphor.

Times of crisis bring a tremendous opportunity because there is a “pattern interrupt” to our collective, habitual ways of operating, most of which are heavily anchored in excessive consumerism, distraction and a relationship to productivity so unsustainable it has become violent, both to our own minds, bodies and spirits, as well as to the mind, body and spirit of our Earth. Which is — surprise surprise — a sentient being as well and has its own consciousness.

 

The Coronavirus is the great equalizer.

As the pause button on the rat race is pressed and so many things we take for granted suddenly withheld, the opportunity in the apocalypse reveals itself to those who are willing to detach from the panic enough to actually listen to a deeper truth that is emerging from the wreckage.

Before I dive into what that truth is for me (and of course, this is all my perception and by no means empirical fact), I must first share the fundamental framework of my lens on reality, so the following statements have context.

In the arena of personal development — an industry which I am very much a part of — there is a term called “shadow work” that is very important to understand.

SHADOW WORK

The baseline world view here is that everything in our reality exists because of a complex interplay between light and shadow, thus creating a vast field of polarity in which consciousness can manifest itself. Through an esoteric lens this interplay is captured by the Ying Yang symbol, which exemplifies that each polarity contains within it a speck of its opposite. From a quantum physics perspective we can explain the same phenomenon through the language of vibration, of frequency. We can measure the amount of light particles contained within each frequency. The “lighter” or “higher” the frequency, the faster the oscillation, the more information or light is contained within it. The “darker” or “denser” the frequency, the slower the oscillation, the less light is contained within it.

While we in our culture have generally deemed the light to be “good” and the shadow “evil” (just watch any Hollywood movie ever, it’s always about “good vs evil”), neither are actually superior or inferior, they are simply expressions of duality itself and give birth to the very nature of our human existence. Yet our judgment of these forces — which exist on the macro-level of the Universe as well the micro-level within each individual human being — has condemned the shadow to such a degree that it has become repressed, and therefore dangerous — for any force that is repressed long enough will eventually erupt — like a geyser under pressure — with equal intensity to restore balance.

“Shadow work” is the voluntary examination of one’s own internal darkness, or — to put it in more psychological terms — the excavation of our subconscious — which lacks the light of our conscious awareness and is therefore hidden from view.

Most human beings on the planet have no concept of “shadow work,” and even those who do may not have the courage to voluntarily look into the dark crevices of their own psyche. Repressed traumas, inherited fear programs, undigested pain and all sorts of other disturbing and uncomfortable revelations lie buried there, represented by the metaphorical “boogie man” of our collective human unconsciousness.

And yet — no matter how much we ignore, reject and deny the shadow — it never disappears. In fact, quite the opposite is true. The very fear that keeps us from looking at it, is the same fear that feeds it.

I believe, times like these are a collective wake up call to actively participate in our shadow work or be swept away by the darkness once and for all.

The Coronavirus is simply the trigger to force us into being with what has been there all along. As a wave of fear permeates the collective, the shadow we’ve repressed for generations can no longer be ignored. Until right now, we didn’t have external circumstances dire enough to bring it to the surface. And now that it’s here, we stand at a crossroads.

THIS IS A CHOICE POINT MOMENT OF EPIC PROPORTION.

Every time I participate in a psychedelic experience — and especially when working with Ayahuasca — I am confronted with the same question:

Do I succumb to the current operating system of “victim consciousness”? Or do I claim my “creator consciousness”?

VICTIM CONSCIOUSNESS says, “I have no or very little personal power. I am at the whim of my external reality and things are happening to me beyond my control. My fear based Ego must cling to any semblance of control it can find in order to ensure its survival, and fight for that control at all costs. I project blame externally, refusing to take responsibility for my reality.”

CREATOR CONSCIOUSNESS says, “I am infinitely powerful, precisely because I am ready to relinquish my false sense of control and trust in the greater intelligence of life (and death) itself. Everything I experience — pleasant or not — is a result of some form of conscious or subconscious co-creation. It is through taking full responsibility for my experience that I liberate myself from victimhood.”

Truly, at this stage of the game each individual human being is confronted with the decision of which operating system to run. One is based in fear, the other in love.

Whatever narrative we choose to focus on moving forward will significantly impact the quality of our human life moving forward. What a ripe opportunity for massive transformation! The stakes have never been this high.

Congratulations everyone. We are officially in the cocoon.

Before I illuminate both the gifts of LIGHT and the gifts of SHADOW available within the “Corona Cocoon,” I want to say to anyone who has had a loved one transition due to the Coronavirus, my heart goes out to you. I sincerely hope that my perspectives on the situation don’t in any way demean the pain of your loss. I also recognize that it may feel almost impossible for many reading this to understand how this devastating event could have a major silver lining, and that’s okay. I’m not trying to convince anyone of anything.

My intention is solely to share my perspective in order to support you in making an internal choice that can have a lasting impact far beyond this pandemic — which could end up being the most profoundly valuable thing that has ever happened to you in your life. Again, it’s all up to you to decide what you do with the information.

THE REALITY OF DEATH

Currently, Earth is activating her defense mechanisms and — like a stern mother — putting our insolent asses in time out, so we may come face to face with the very thing we have been avoiding for so long: Our mortality. This is also known as “being grounded.”

I’m not just talking about being forced to confront the inevitable death of our physical bodies, but also the death of our comfort zones, the death of our false sense of security in regards to finances, food supply, health care, government and international affairs.

Death is really — at its core — the fear of the unknown. This is why those who are doing authentic spiritual work are going to be less affected by a crisis like the Coronavirus. If you’ve experienced yourself beyond the physical dimension and connected to the infinite aspect of your consciousness that will continue to exist long after your body has deceased, there is no reason to fear death.

The Coronavirus — an “invisible” threat — confronts us with our relationship to the spiritual realms, which we cannot navigate with our five senses.

Every time we open our Amazon boxes to pull out the next bulk order of toilet paper while wondering if the cardboard is contaminated, we are quietly confronted with the mystery of the invisible, unknown nature of reality.

Examining our mortality is also an access point into more deeply understanding the biologically ingrained survival mechanisms that run so much of our day to day lives. Truth is, the vast majority of humans — regardless of income bracket — do not feel safe and secure in the world, and are plagued by anxiety and stress because of it.

Isn’t it amazing that death — an initiation every single human being must face eventually — is so taboo in our culture? No wonder we ignore and suppress this fact, when nothing in our modern education systems addresses the subject even in the slightest to prepare us for it. Indigenous cultures create elaborate rites of passage for their youth to confront and even embrace the reality of death, so they may be free from the fear of it. Rituals around death were and are commonplace, necessary initiations in ancient cultures. We have lost these ways. Today, our fear of death has tampon commercials showing period blood as blue instead of red, so we don’t have to face the truth. We can’t even connect to the death of the animals we consume in such copious quantities. Meat products are neatly shrink wrapped and disguised with names like “hot dogs” and “burgers” so we don’t have to think about the reality of the sacrifices we so casually pull off the grocery shelf while scrolling through our instagram feed. There is no more tangible connection to the cycles of life and death that occur in the natural world, and that connection is now ready to re-awaken, bringing with it the hard yet sweet realization that:

Nothing is guaranteed.

When we truly embrace the truth that we are all going to die, that life is a profound gift and each breath is a privilege — every moment becomes infinitely precious.

THE PURGE

In the ancient, shamanic healing tradition of Ayahuasca the purge is a very sacred and crucial component to “getting well.” Fighting the purge is hell. Relaxing into the purge, truly surrendering to it, that is the medicine.

It’s easy to forget, but we have some pretty serious traumas in our very recent history. Just in the last 100 years we had two world wars, the cold war, the Vietnam war and 9/11 (plus all the other violence, environmental distress and genocide going on in the world today). Until very recently when science began the study of epigenetics, we have had very little understanding of how trauma can be passed down from generation to generation and how it manifests itself as disease in the body if left unaddressed for too long. Epidemics like the Coronavirus are a very serious invitation for us to look at the emotional material that is surfacing as more and more “war like” conditions surround us (borders closing, mandatory quarantines, the potential of martial law, etc.). My German grandmother — a WWII survivor — never had the opportunity to consciously process the trauma of her experience which means that if we believe energy is neither created nor destroyed, only transformed — either my mother, myself or my children will eventually have to consciously transform that energy and break the chain.

I see trauma as a zip file of information, which contains valuable lessons within it. Unpacking it might feel like trying to diffuse a very dangerous bomb, but if I can truly trust that the trauma is here to serve a greater purpose and my only job is to be brave enough to really feel it fully once and for all, the suffering disappears and only gifts remain. I believe the remnants of the collective trauma that we’ve acquired in our human history is now ready to be purged and transmuted, and so it makes sense that we would subconsciously evoke conditions similar to those that created the trauma in the first place. Only this time, instead of having to go to the front lines and fight in battle, we get to do the inner work in the comfort of our own homes.

SCARCITY & MONEY

Now is the time to look at our fears and especially our scarcity programs. The “not enough” conversations that are happening externally in the form of “not enough toilet paper,” “not enough supplies,” “not enough income,” “not enough hospital beds,” “not enough flights” are an amplified reflection of our incessant, internal scarcity conversation that keep so many of us locked into the rat race of our modern lifestyles.

“The world is caught up with the non‐essential, and yet it yearns for the essential.” — Richard Rudd

There’s a massive reset button being pushed on the financial system right now and it is a huge opportunity to come into greater integrity with how we generate revenue. Yes, the Coronavirus will have a devastating impact on small and large businesses, as millions of people are laid off due to the government ordered shut down, AND — using the example given in a recent Wall Street Journal article of “…the entrepreneur who invested his life in his Memphis ribs joint only to see his customers vanish in a week…” — there was a hidden, denied truth in that business that can no longer be ignored, which is the quality of life of the animals whose ribs are being consumed for profit in the first place.

I am not vegan, nor do I believe humans should never eat animals, but I do believe that the lack of awareness, consideration and empathy for the quality of life (and death) of the animals we consume requires serious and immediate attention, and anyone who is not actively participating in the conversation of humane treatment and sustainability while making money off of meat or any other natural resources, will eventually be forced to do so. Obviously not all businesses require the death of living things, but most businesses exist to sell “inessentials,” aka “shit we don’t need” — and so in this purge, I see a tremendous extinction of the nonessential sweeping across our economy. How many shipping containers full of products to stock malls and Amazon warehouse shelves are truly enriching our human experience? This may be a very unpopular opinion, but if a business dies because of the Coronavirus, there is a very real possibility that:

A) It wasn’t truly providing essential value in the first place.

B) The value it was providing had an unacceptable cost to it (which was being paid for by the Earth itself), and / or…

C) The time for a new, potentially more omni-considerate creative idea is ready to express itself through those involved in that business, and it’s time to innovate and move on.

This topic of sustainability also ties back into the scarcity conversation, because if whatever job or venture we are accustomed to making a living from suddenly disappears, perhaps it’s because a deeper purpose for our unique skills, gifts and talents wants to emerge and only a scarcity mindset would insist on seeing the disappearance of one opportunity as a dead end, when in truth there are infinite ways in which each individual can reinvent themselves. So many people work just for a paycheck without ever stopping and asking “what value can I contribute to the world that nourishes my soul in exchange? What is actually my Full Fuck Yes?” This is the time to ask those questions, for finally the distractions are removed enough for us to begin receiving an answer.

Will it be easy? Likely not, although anything is possible.

Will it happen overnight? No. True change takes time, repetition and dedication. But a very real quantum leap can happen in the next few weeks and months, and with the internet, there is no shortage of guidance, education and tools available to anchor in a permanent, internal shift.

This is also a time where we might see unprecedented acts of generosity and kindness amongst humans. Unlike all the other pandemics we’ve seen so far, we are all in this one together. The opportunity for the global human family to show up for each other right now is huge, and the joy of both asking for as well as receiving support is available everywhere we turn.

MAKE D.O.P.E ART

My mother and I were talking about how the Coronavirus might affect arts and culture, which many would argue are “inessential” to human survival and were wiped out in Germany during WWII. The big difference today is technology. All you need to plug into a vibrant, abundant buffet of creativity is an internet connection and a smartphone, and within seconds you can share your voice and tune into the hearts and minds of the 3.5 billion human beings who are online in 2020.

Human survival isn’t just the physical component, we must nourish our emotional, mental and spiritual bodies as well, and right now technology is our ally in that because it doesn’t adhere to borders, boundaries and “shelter in place” laws. I see the Coronavirus unleashing a creative supernova of new ideas, visions and voices as we start claiming our capacity to Make D.O.P.E (Daring, Original, Personal, Expression) Art, which can manifest itself as anything from writing an epic love song to incubating a sustainable business to rearranging your pantry to reflect back to you a healthier mindset.

Our contributions to the collective narrative can either be saturated with fear, or drenched in compassion and optimism.

Coming full circle back to the beginning of this article, now is the time to choose which operating system you will run.

If you do decide to opt out of the victim consciousness and claim your creator consciousness, know that you are signing up for a deep, spiritual journey into the depths of yourself. The process begins with intention. The intention to truly know yourself. To be with all aspects of yourself, no matter how unpleasant some of them might feel. We will require community and guidance on this journey, even though at the end of the day, no one can do the work for us. I have compiled a list of free resources that have been incredibly supportive on my journey for you to tangibly begin this process, you can find them here: www.The-FFY.com/resources

The profound gift in all of this? You have been given the opportunity to see how powerful your lens on reality truly is. How much it impacts your experience. How deeply it affects the quality of your life, and the well being of the planet itself.

In times like these, new innovations emerge and you can contribute — right now, from the comfort of your couch — to a brighter future for generations to come, simply by consciously choosing to look within.

Stop looking for the answer. BE the answer.

Love,

Azrya

Find me on instagram @thefullfuckyes and @iazrya

I read this above work aloud to my husband, who I felt, like me, needed to receive these important, truthful messages. Moments after I finished reading, a text arrived from my energist. She moved to Manhattan last summer, and her synchronistic outreach was for the purpose of encouraging her tribe to "use this time as an opportunity for self-work." She continued to state: "So many people I know are successfully clearing their past for a new future and are coming out ahead. To help you, here is a free 10 minute meditation:"

https://youtu.be/JbwabrfEyto

Kundalini Kriya Yoga

This morning marks my first-ever Kriya Yoga practice. I was initiated into this practice yesterday morning.

Around 7:00 a.m. I sat cross-legged on the floor facing east, taking in some of the only sunlight I would take in on a day of seemingly endless downpours. As I began my practice, eyes closed, I was treated to the most magical bird singing just outside my sliding glass door. It lasted through the most important phases of the practice. My heart delighted in the sound, to me an auspicious signal of being on a good path. When I finally concluded my practice, I opened my eyes surprisingly to full overcast daylight. Not sure why it took me by surprise, I was aware I began my practice at sunrise. I am excited to further explore this practice!

On my way home after a late night with clients, I had a chance run-in with my teacher who initiated me yesterday in the Trader Joe's check out. Talk about synchronistic ...

Original Quote

"The more disconnected we are from nature, the less we understand about ourselves." -B.W. Davis

Sobering Thoughts

The map pin marks the Kelliwood Greens home my mom, dad and I built in the early 1990s.

The red X marks the same Kelliwood Greens home as viewed from satellite via NOAA's flood map on Aug. 31 after the Barker reservoir failed due to Harvey's record precipitation event.

Last Sunday night we had my mom and her partner over for burgers on the grill. A long time writing project along with good old fashioned reminiscing lead me to ask my mom questions about our life in one of my childhood homes. I could almost anticipate verbatim what she was going to initially say about it: "I hated that house." A house is just a human organization of materials. The real value, the meaning is what transpires as a result of those who dwell inside this structure.

I wanted to know specifically about our morning routine. My memory has faded and even though my mom has three decades on me, people tend to recall different things. Admittedly, I'm not generally one for the details, and I find importance in them now.

As it turns out, my mom could only recall what time she had to be at work along with my brother being a pain in the ass to get out of bed during high school. The latter I well recall, unfortunately.

My mom will be 73 come October, and has been living with a stage four cancer diagnosis since the summer of 2014. She is under the care of the head of oncology at SCCA and has been off chemo since May 2016.

The conversation at some point shifted to the recent solar eclipse. My mom's partner speculating about when the next one would be. My husband guessed and I interjected it would pass through Austin in seven years, and that we should go. Suddenly I realized that future time may be one absent my mom. An agonizing feeling gripped my heart along with the realization of how few others, who were part of my collective consciousness growing up, remain in my life now. Aside from my husband, my mom is really the only immediate family I have left.

Harvey hit last weekend as well. My mom and I reminisced a little about our time living in Houston. All week I've been obsessed with news coverage of the storm and subsequent, unprecedented floods.

The strange thing is, I don't really have anyone left in Houston either, not directly that I'm still connected with. Even so, I still feel for all the tens of thousands of people whose lives were disrupted and certainly even more so for those who perished as well as those left behind.

When I look a quarter century back, I am filled with feelings of joy as well as regret. My dad moved my mom and I to Houston at the start of my junior year in high school. My brother went off to California for his first year in college. I almost wrote that he was the more fortunate of us, and now I'm not so sure.

One of my nearest and dearest from my time in Houston, she and I have been distant for years and years. She had reached out to me ages ago on Facebook. I've since tried adding her as a friend. My request has yet to be accepted. Yesterday I wrote her a note just to acknowledge she's still in my heart and how delighted I would be if she wished to connect.

Yesterday I also discovered the home we built in West Houston, which my mom loves to remind me how I redesigned the front elevation so it would look more stately and unlike any other similar floor plan home in the area, was flooded. Our old neighborhood of Kelliwood Greens was under mandatory evacuation orders.

My past feels like it's being washed away and eroded. I take full responsibility for my part in that, for allowing connections I failed to hold dearer to wane and fade to nothing. Maybe this is what a mid-life crisis is? An existential quandary of soul to remain connected, healthy and relevant. These types of psychological upheavals tend to affect the male of our species much more than the female. Males tend to go a little bonkers, buy a nice car, have an affair or pretty much do anything to help anchor them to their youth or slow their prospect of aging. I would like to embrace where I'm at. Being able to revisit my past may be key to this. I don't know, this is uncharted territory. I've never been middle aged before and in this mindset.

Last night my husband and I had yet another quarrel about my illness, and the adverse impact it's having on my work/production. To say it feels so disenfranchising to be nearly five years ill with Lyme disease and co-infections and be expected to function at the level of a person with reasonable health is a gross understatement.

Most heavy this week was extraordinarily tragic news from my mom. Her great granddaughter of 15 months (on her partner's family's side) was rushed to the ER a couple days ago. She had been vomiting and had a history of seizures. At one point the baby's heart stopped and she was revived. The family slept at the ER Tuesday night in hopes that when the baby awoke all would be OK. At 4:30 a.m. Wednesday morning the doctors pronounced her brain dead after receiving her MRI results. They took her off of life support at 6:30 p.m. Wednesday evening. All family members who were present held this sweet, innocent baby girl in their arms one final time to say goodbye.

In all my blubbering around my challenges, nay, annoyances in my life, I cannot fathom the immense gravity of suddenly loosing such a young, innocent life. Her parents did all they could for her. The baby received good, regular medical care. They took her to the right place immediately. And yet ... These are the stories that put life into perspective for us. A soul perishing who had but a sliver of a history to wash away and has left dozens of people reeling in grief.

People suffer grief and loss from their parted connections. The deeper the connection, the greater the loss. The connections this child formed with those she touched were incredibly profound. I never met or knew this child, and yet my heart breaks for her, for her parents, her family and her community.

Talking with my mom about this on the phone today, I started to break down, imagining how beside themselves the child's parents must be during this time. It would be natural to second guess what else could have been done. There was nothing else. It was a seemingly senseless, callous act of life. Maybe her soul was just too good and too pure for this world.

Do we travel in dreams?

Have you ever had a dream that was so vivid, so seemingly real, when you awoke you carried with you the feelings you experienced well into the day as though, possibly, what you dreamed actually happened?

Today my friend reminded me of such experiences when he shared with me about his night paralysis episodes. Some of them are too graphic for me to describe here. Several of them involved visitations from other worldly beings, demons per se. To give more insight into what my friend described, it's important to know his early world view was founded upon Christian beliefs. He mentioned the term succubus and talked about being between consciousness, having the sensation of someone sitting on his chest. He reported having actually seen shadowy figures, being unable to move his body as it lay in slumber. He reported hearing voices and sounds so real he swore it was not just his imagination.

While I'm not someone who suffers night paralysis, generally speaking, I think I may have had some brushes with it. Occasionally I find myself in dreams being haunted by someone or something. In trying to wake myself to end whatever suffering is heading my way, my physical being materializes moans, sometimes whimpers. This has awoken my husband on occasion, who then wakes me to make sure I'm alright. The fear seems real. Sometimes I am able to recount the dream, or horror, and other times I suffer short term memory loss.

Once I saw a shadowy figure. I was in college, rooming with my brother in a two bedroom townhome. My bedroom was pretty basic, consisting of a bed, desk and drawers. My bed was positioned against the far wall and window with my desk directly adjacent. On this particular night I was awaken by the sudden, startling realization I wasn't alone in my room. Yet the room was dark and still. Without opening my eyes, which I was first fearful of doing, it felt as if someone were sitting next to me, just watching me sleep. I'm getting a chill now as I type this.

When I did crack an eyelid, I saw someone or rather something. It was like a silhouette figure, sitting in my desk chair, which I usually kept pushed all the way in when not in use. Yet here the chair was, pulled out from the desk a little ways and turned facing directly toward the bed.

In the instant I perceived the shadowy figure, the figure began to dissipate, becoming a fuzz of black dots or small black spheres which whirled around, growing smaller and moving faster until it vanished in moments.

I shared this with my friend who had first reported to me about his night paralysis, and he got the chills.

I've practiced meditation over the years as well as participated in several conscious breathing workshops. Both have a very strong connection to pure consciousness, and at times I have experienced being elsewhere. I'm certain my experiences, while unique, are widely shared.

DMT, also known as the spirit molecule, is a powerful psychedelic, said to literally transport human consciousness to other realms, times, space and dimensions. It works on our pineal gland, which is located deep in the core of the human brain. This gland is responsible for secreting a substance near death that gives a person an out of body experience. Near death experiences also are attributed to the actions of the pineal gland. Meditation is said to be a natural way to stimulate it.

As I type this, scientists and engineers are working to create singularity. Singularity is a way of downloading a person's consciousness into a computer, giving someone the ability to perhaps live forever, or at least until the hard drive fails. Digital immortality. This begs the question, if consciousness can be moved from one place to another, could our consciousness possibly be powerful enough to transport us places, too?

Matt Damon on the Ruling Elite

Truth.

Nature's Music

What do tree rings sound like when played like a record? 

 

What do birds on wires sound like when played by instruments?

BedFest 2017

It's not too late for an art submission to BedFest: http://www.meaction.net/bedfest/

As someone who has struggled with chronic illness for 4.5 years, I was moved to tears by this short music video. How does one not mourn the vibrant parts of one's self that have been lost to disease? I hope this inspires you as much as it has inspired me ...

LOVE

No Win Situation

When I think of writing about myself, I have often been inclined to cast my husband as the antagonist. In fact, I am pretty sure the reader would most dislike his real life character based on how his behavior and actions are reported in objective reality. That in and of itself should say something, shouldn't it?

I've been sick with Lyme and a couple co-infections for about four and a half years now. My husband has known me since long before illness, during a time when I felt unstoppable. My life was so full then of fun, friends, going out on the town, being active; brimming over with vitality. Most days now all I have the bandwidth for is work and rest.

I used to be angry about being chronically ill. My disease has taken so much from me. Enjoyment in simple things I once took for granted; like eating complex foods at some glam restaurant. The most painful things ripped from me; friends. While loss is often painful, it can also be cleansing. I make an effort to find gratitude in the things and once important people who have fallen by the wayside. If something is meant to be, it will be. In fact I often tell my clients the right deal always materializes.

My in-laws are in town for my husband's cousin's memorial, which was Friday. Everything "extracurricular" I do I often have to map out in advance, if even to mentally prepare for additional human interaction. Sounds crazy, right? It does to me anyway. At the same time, it's my present reality.

The thing is, I wake up everyday feeling like I'm hung over. Only there was no night before bender to induce this sorry state. Even if I get a solid eight, uninterrupted hours of sleep (insomnia is common with this illness) I still wake up feeling unrested, like shit. So it takes me quite a bit to get going in the mornings, including time to medicate, eat and medicate again, etc. With limited bandwidth, it's important for me to be able to plan, as much as possible, how I allocate my energy day-to-day.

I've been working some crazy long hours the past couple weeks, which is super hard on me. One week, everyday I was up and immediately launched into work on my laptop in bed not to put down my day (dressing, meals and bathroom breaks aside) until bedtime; for days consecutive. Wake up, work, go to bed and do it all over again. That's no way to live, for anyone. Last year I did the majority of my production, which was equivalent to the previous year, in six months. By early October I hit a wall. Nearly six months later I feel like I still haven't fully recovered from overworking myself.

Within the past few weeks, in a fit of frustration, I told my husband I wanted to quit my job. He said if I did we'd end up getting divorced, because we would run out of money. I asked if that's all I was to him; just a paycheck. I don't exactly recall how he tried to talk his way out of that one, feebly no doubt.

Yesterday I was on the road by 8:30 a.m., which really takes something for me. It means planning, extra effort. Had a brief break from 12:20 p.m. to around 1:00 p.m. between driving the hour or so back from my morning appointment to lunch, medicate and write up an offer contract for the client I was going back out to meet at 1:00 p.m. During my rushed, multi-tasking lunch time my husband walked in the house with my mother-in-law. I received them cordially. At the same time I was focused on the tasks at hand. My mother-in-law asked if I was going to dinner at my brother-in-law's that night. I said it was the first I was hearing of it. Just then my husband brashly began berating me about how I have so many message notifications on my phone I didn't see his text message.

I asked when he sent the message. He said about 15 or 20 minutes prior. So I reminded him of my activities to that point, asking him when I would have been focused on anything other than the task at hand. I then asked if dinner would be in an environment where I wasn't constantly being made wrong, because then I would consider it.

Honestly, I would rather be able to spend leisure time with family than feel like I need to recharge. My biological batteries have been feeling consistently quite depleted. It's during these times having additional interpersonal interaction feels like a pull.

11/9 President Elect Trump

Trump's victory stunned a nation and the world this week. At first a somber, sobering mood gripped half the country; the other half erupted in boisterous celebration. America, actually the two Americas, we are at odds.

Being an ethnic and sexual minority, the voice of bigotry that ascended to our highest elected office is extremely disheartening. So many who are insulated from discrimination seem to have little if any understanding why this may be an issue. The following quoted text from an acquaintance's Facebook post is case in point:

"The amount of hate and saltiness today from people that preach inclusivity is astounding to me. If you are surprised that this happened then you truly are out of touch with the pain that real Americans have faced over the past 30 odd years. The rust belt has been devastated by horrible policies over that time and they went to the ballot box to do what they thought was best for their families. People didn't vote for racism. They voted for jobs and a stable life for their families.
Now we have to come together as a country and pray he does a good job. It will all be ok. The world will not end."

Here's how I responded:

"I read this post yesterday. Wasn't going to respond. It stuck with me though into today, and I'm compelled to attempt bridging some understanding ...

Tons of shit has been and is being flung from all sides. While waiting to watch Clinton's concession speech stream, I had to right swipe away the deluge of hateful comments from people mocking her supporters. Horribly heinous comments. And those types of comments weren't limited to that stream, they were all over social media and still are. I've mostly tuned out today.

Now, about the more unbridled election reactions from Clinton supporters ...

This has been a gruesome election. The country has been anxiously on edge for months and dragged through the mud. Emotions have been running high across America. That doesn't excuse the behavior of any voter/supporter/person when they lash out.

Billy, what millions of people in our country are coming to grips with now is not Trump supporters who voted for him, seeing beyond his bigotry (before he announced, after he announced, during the primaries and during the general ...), rather those who voted for him because of his bigotry.

When one is in the majority, and directly unaffected by discrimination, that piece to this story is unlikely to hit home. It's not something that person is ever likely to have experienced nor will experience. No one should have to.

People are coming to grips with who we really are as a country vs. who we thought ourselves to be. Still a large swath of our fellow Americans are bigots. That's not something we can legislate, we can only educate. It's one other aspect, a really big one, that divides our nation.

Policy aside, Trump's harsh rhetoric has given bigots a voice. His win of our highest elected office has emboldened those voices, and they're getting increasingly louder. People are genuinely afraid of what's to come. These emotions are real and they cannot be rationalized.

Most every human wants to feel they belong in some way, that they are part of something much greater, especially in their own country. Everyone wants to know they have a seat at the proverbial table; inclusivity. Many Americans, myself included, are experiencing a profound sense of alienation as a result of the bigotry narrative and the powerful voices it's unleashing.

What's also become clear is we're all feeling pain. That isn't unique or limited to an out-of-work coal miner or factory hand. We all have our struggles and we all suffer for many numbers of causes. It's part of life, part of being human.

Can we all stand together, say to one another "I care about your suffering and I'm here." and mean it? If so, we could very easily be one nation.

Food for thought ..."

The part I left out is this: When a person fails to condemn ill behavior, they essentially condone it. So many of Trump's supporters claim to not be racist or what have you, yet make no stand in opposition to this narrative.

So many other variables at play. Will Trump stick to his campaign promises? Will he offer too much information to Putin, his Russian ally? Will loose lips sink this ship?

We are already seeing signs Trump may waver on big things he promised to undo, like the ACA. What impact will this have on his heartiest supporters? Will Trump condemn the bullying and hate speech?

So many questions only time will tell. The markets dislike unpredictability, it's unstable. Our country suddenly feels like reality TV, and everyone is waiting with baited breath (still) to see what happens next ...

More food for thought on the State of our "Union"

Yes, we have a complex, multi-faceted problem on our hands. It's exasperating to see such tragedies like Orlando exploited in the name of forwarding a political agenda or ideology. That helps no one; it solves nothing.

From my vantage point, and despite these incidents not being centrally coordinated, they have so many common elements. Of the most disturbing are vulnerable, unsuspecting people victimized at venues which can be considered a place of refuge; be it a school or a dance club. The randomness of it all further erodes our collective sense of peace and security. Not just as LGBT people, rather as people of this nation.

It's tragedy upon tragedy we have such an epidemic of polarization and violence. Not to oversimplify, I cannot imagine these two societal ills are unrelated.

First step in solving a problem is to admit there is one. These egregious problems pulling apart the delicate fabric of our society, threatening our very existence, they must be thoroughly examined from many angles. Many thoughtful solutions will be required before we realize positive, lasting results. First thing's first, we have to find way to shelf our differences and come together.

So much work lies ahead it seems overwhelmingly insurmountable. Each of us individually can make a difference having meaningful conversations around this, seeking to understand and to be understood.

May we all find common ground soon and a way forward to a peaceful, sustainable society ...

Thoughts on Orlando & America's mass shooting epidemic

Seattleites gather for a candlelight vigil at Cal Anderson Park Sunday, June 12 after the most fatal mass shooting in American history.

A year ago at this time our community (LGBT & allied) came together to rejoice and celebrate the SCOTUS ruling on marriage equality. What a devastating turn of events to come together around this June.

What happened in Orlando was a senseless, diabolical act of violence. We can take a political stance and point fingers, assign blame. Where does that really get us? No where, just fighting among ourselves like children. That's exactly what our two, mainstream political parties seem designed to have us do. A system influenced by antiquated, feudal society to have the common class fighting among itself while the ruling class screw us.

If we take a step back from each of these horrific mass shooting tragedies we can learn something from them. Then we can apply it. That's what we have the opportunity and ability to do if we so choose.

The greatest problem to solve for is us, as a society. We are quick to want an answer, a simple truth and a rapid solution. We have a complex, multi-layered problem on our hands. This isn't someone else's problem, it's ours to figure out, together. What are we as citizens doing to make our U.S. a respectable place where we can all feel secure and liberated?
 

I have in past years volunteered to select recipients for an LGBT scholarship program. One of the brightest minds I had the privilege to meet and interview was an 18 year old who had spent his summer retrofitting a VW bus to use biodiesel, learned how to make biodiesel and then traveled throughout Central and South America showing poor communities how to create and benefit from this more eco-friendly energy source.

As part of the selection process interview, we asked this hopeful what the greatest problem is facing our world and the solution to it. He took quite a bit of time pondering before uttering a word. When he finally spoke his answer, it surprised us. It was simple, amazing and simply amazing: Thoughtlessness.

The student further explained, especially in our Information Age society, we expect to have everything on demand, in the blink of an eye. We are therefore pressured to come up with quick answers to complex problems, and we often fail to come up with the most sound, effective solutions for this reason.

When the immediate emotional aftermath of such horrific events settles, perhaps we, too, as a people, as neighbors, Americans, human beings, etc. Maybe we can brush aside our differences, conduct a deep review of the facts, which for today's incident will be investigated for quite some time to come, and then we can begin being thoughtful about solutions that will make a positive, lasting difference.

That's not up to God, or POTUS or Congress, it's up to us how we choose to move forward in the face of adversity and senseless, hate-fueled tragedy.

May love win, always ...

What World Do We Live In?

Went to a client's housewarming party this afternoon. He has a lovely, eclectic group of friends. I met people from China, Israel, Mexico and Nigeria. My client is from India.

In high school I found myself gravitating toward the foreign exchange students. To look at our world through someone else's eyes, from a completely different perspective, I find that fascinating. I still do.

So getting beyond the initial "where are you from" icebreaker, this gal from Nigeria (wish I had gotten her name) and I had quite the exchange. She made quite the declarative statement about the U.S. not being a first world country. I couldn't agree more.

In 2009 I took Amtrak down the Northeast corridor from New York to D.C. Between each gleaming capitalist mecca of skyscrapers were the most bombed-out-looking, decaying townships of urban blight you've ever seen. These scenes looked very reminiscent of the most run down, down-and-out parts of Detroit. In 2014 I took Amtrak up the Northeast corridor from D.C. to New York. The picture gliding by out the window didn't look any better. Buildings boarded up or half open in ruin, piles of bricks, weeds growing out of streets. It looked completely post-apocalyptic. This is America?!

This beautiful young woman I spoke with at the party from Nigeria thinks at least forty percent of America lives in a substandard state of poverty. In her home country, she said even the poorest of the poor can still get by. Her people take pride in helping others. She said her people routinely ask each other if they've eaten. She said if she were starving here in Seattle, perhaps she would only call on her closest friends for help. Back home it would just be granted by whomever.

My new acquaintance from Nigeria also spoke of some time she spent in Chicago. She was shocked by the urban blight she saw there, ruins of neighborhoods, horribly impoverished ghettos, which she drove through for about forty five minutes before the scenery improved. She has traveled all over the world, and thinks America by far is the most racist country on the planet.

From her perspective, the saddest thing about this other America, the decaying third world part of our wealthiest country in the history of mankind, is many who live in these squalored conditions are unaware of their situation. They still think they live in the greatest country on Earth, and most are compliant to believe what they're told by the media (which is corporate controlled).

We're only as strong as our weakest link, and we have some terribly weak links. Wealth inequality is one thing. The extreme disenfranchisement of millions is another.

Speaking of, my new acquaintance is being mentored by King County councilmember Larry Gossett, who is working to reform Washington's prison system. She mentioned about seventy percent of our prison system inmates are black. That's when I piped up, "But isn't our total black population here around three percent?!" Yes, she agreed I had it right. OK, that's insane. One of the smallest segments of our general population comprise nearly three quarters of our prison population.

And we also covered the topic of government surveillance. She said it's nearly as bad as what occurred in the former Soviet Union. On the contrary I would say far worse. We have so much more technology at our disposal, thus you need far less man power to more comprehensively know what the population is up to every moment of everyday.

She remarked sometimes she's thinking about something only to a short while later be Googling something and see an ad representing the topic she had just be thinking about. She said it may sound crazy but she thinks they've found ways into our minds.

I don't think it sounds crazy at all. I don't think it's happening quite the way she alluded to. There's a stream of consciousness, and some of that stream may be forced, such as through broadcast frequencies, etc.

It amazes me how much America condemned Soviet surveillance of its citizens during the Cold War, and yet what America is doing to its own citizens here and now goes far beyond. Was pre-1989 America different?

Oddly enough one of the first online topics that caught my eye after the party was my friend Richard's posting, a WIRED article about surveillance: http://www.wired.com/2013/06/why-i-have-nothing-to-hide-is-the-wrong-way-to-think-about-surveillance/

It's important to be aware, to know the truth and to help others. For this reason I believe it is essential to do some form of inward looking/meditation on a daily basis. Some way to calm the mind and tune out.

During my drive home from the party I listened to NPR, which featured an intriguing On Being segment. Today's guest was writer Rebecca Solnit. She searches for the hidden, transformative histories inside events we chronicle merely as disasters, in places like post-Hurricane Katrina New Orleans. She writes that, so often, "when all the ordinary divides and patterns are shattered, people step up to become their brothers' keepers. And that purposefulness and connectedness bring joy even amidst death, chaos, fear, and loss."

I was just talking with my mom about this very thing the other day, the hidden beauty shrouded in our darkest struggles.

On a final note, because so many more days are physical struggles for me than not, my perspective around problems has shifted. A long time friend of mine sent me a text this evening about how his ex lied to him about where they were and who they were with. This friend along with many of my other friends usually avoid asking me how I'm doing. Not that its a prerequisite, it would be nice. Sometimes I think that I've been sick so long people have forgotten. Then again, I don't see friends very often. I pointed out to this friend what a luxury it is to be concerned about what other silly humans are doing. That the trivial weight of such burdens is in some ways enviable. They insisted this was bad because they were lied to. I reminded my friend he and his ex have had many lies between them over the years. I asked whether they were surprised.

I don't intend to lack compassion around such things. I just really couldn't care less.

Dealing With End of This Life

First I want to insert how much I subscribe to native and ancient spiritual beliefs about "death." To these cultures, there is no death rather a change of worlds.

My bestie and I lost a former co-worker and mutual friend to cancer within the past few weeks. Well, she was more an acquaintance to me. Even so, she was young, vibrant and a good human whose life in this world abruptly ended. I recently discovered another acquaintance perished a couple years ago. That's even stranger, to much later realize someone my age just suddenly left us some time ago and I was completely unaware. Then there's legendary celebrities such as David Bowie and Prince suddenly passing on. Or seeing icons of my youth having progressively aged. Then there's what really hits close to home.

Being middle age, living with a serious, life threatening (at the very least life altering) disease and my mom having stage four lung cancer. That's a lot to cope with, and I'm unsure whether I've been doing so as well as I possibly can. Of course my initial urge is to in some way make myself wrong for this; feel guilty. The better internal dialogue is I am coping and I have a yearning to learn how to cope more effectively. I'm grateful for being able to allow my grace and imperfections to shine through during this process.

I recently read a couple great articles about holding space for someone as well as yourself. Actually, it's most important first to hold space for yourself before you're able to do this for someone else.

Simply put, holding space is about how we help support one another without judgment. Or as the blog Spiritual Awakening Process lists:

1. Letting go of judgment
2. Opening your heart
3. Allowing another to have whatever experience they're having
4. Giving your complete undivided attention to the situation/other person

I have a really tough time with this. Well, I think many of us do. After all to err is to be human.

Problem solving is in my nature. So stepping back from doing that, trying to fix or influence a better outcome is really challenging.

When I think of this topic and how it shows up in my life, I think of how hard a time my husband has been having holding space for me as someone living with and trying to heal from a debilitating disease. I also think of how difficult it is to hold space for myself when I am also so focused on living my life, which essentially boils down to earning my keep as that's primarily all I have energy for.

As I explained to my bestie this morning, I'm really perplexed with how best to hold space for my mom. She reminded me I am a problem solver and advisor so it is very inauthentic of me to backburner traits so core to my being. While I understand what she means, holding space for others is not about being true to ourselves. It's about being true to the other person. It's a selfless, willing act of love. Thus why it's so important to be able to do this first and foremost for ourselves.

When my mom called me yesterday, and asked if I was busy, I knew she wanted to talk with me. The last time she needed to talk with me, my mom requested ten percent of her pittance of what remains of her total life savings. And she broached that conversation on the eve of my forty second birthday, after I had clearly indicated what a horrible week I had had and how exhausted I was. Thankfully I caught myself becoming infuriated and quickly brought that conversation to a halt until I had the wherewithal to revisit it.

Yesterday's conversation was a little different. This was more around her health. She goes into Seattle Cancer Care Alliance about every three weeks. They check her vitals, run blood tests, do scans, etc. This time she was shown to once more be anemic, which means she needs to have another blood transfusion today. They also found blood in her stool, so they are sending her to a GI specialist.

Her partner Al was taking a nap, so she thought it was a good time to have a private conversation. He has a hard time holding space for her from what I also gathered. Admittedly so do I. When these other, more minor complications arise, my mom immediately goes to a place of worst possible scenario. Yet she has convinced herself the cancer may just go away. In either case I am almost certain my mom does not accept the reality around her health. To me it seems backward to dismiss the stage four lung cancer and become alarmist about anemia, especially when one is actually feeling pretty well. When we fail to accept something, we are powerless to change it. So my concern here is I see my mom worsening her suffering.

So of course I pointed these things out to her, that the doctors have all been very upfront about her cancer type being incurable. That these other complications may be related but are not a result of the cancer spreading.

No matter what I say, my mom is in the same place; she's scared. She said she just wanted to talk to her little boy. I realize in many ways, even when I was much younger, I always provided strength to my mom. Of course in many more ways, especially when I was much younger, she provided strength to me. Now she is falling short of being able to be strong for herself.

Sometimes I can sense the child inside her crying out for help, and this breaks my heart. My mom is doing quite well, all things considered. She told me she wanted to be like her mother, to live to be very old, to eventually not know what was going on around her and then to pass peacefully.

We must always be mindful what we wish for and desire. My grandma was a very strong woman, who lived the last few decades of her life with a herniated disc in her back. She worked until she was about 85 and died nearly 10 years later. It was only in the last six to nine months of her life she was less aware to unaware of what was going on around her; a mere shell of the wonderful, amazing person loved by so many.

I told my mom I really believe we are not given anything in life we cannot handle. That even the darkest of things we experience contain some light. I told her I can look at my life now and say I've lost a lot of friends. Or I can choose the view that the people in my life who really matter and I'm blessed to have are clearly in full view. I choose the latter.

When we are confronted by our life's imminent conclusion, we naturally grasp for what our life has meant to others. For a time a couple winter holidays ago my mom was really pleasantly surprised by how many people's lives she's touched; how many people expressed their love and support. To me that is getting one's life, realizing purpose. It's beautiful and something I would love to experience.

Through all of my imparting of words to my mom, all she really wants is for someone to just listen. I realized this, and so I did. I was also empathetic, expressing how these past couple years have been so challenging for her. These are supposed to be her golden years. She has friends who are retired and playing golf everyday. It must seem so unfair.

Also unfair is her partner Al is mentally on a downward slope. They were at the cable office the other day paying their bill. Mid conversation he froze and completely lost track of what he'd been saying, was going to say, etc. He became so frustrated and started to cry. My mom was there to help. In fact she had to write the check for him. He was still able to sign it. As a whole he can hardly do for himself. While she could really use someone to care for her, he's let himself go downhill and she's still caring for him. I'm at least grateful to know he is taking care of the majority of their financial obligations and feels good he is able to do that for her.

It's the holding back to hold space I find challenging. I want so badly to make it right, influence, diminish the suffering in some way. I want to find more strength and self discipline to do this.

No one knows for sure whether they will draw their next breath after this one. All our time is limited and a precious gift for us to do with as we choose. Even so, my mom's physical being has a compromised and greatly shorter life expectancy. Like birth, death is a messy, painful business. I'm sure she's incredibly apprehensive of what lies ahead as are we all. When the time comes, I want as much strength, grace, empathy and humility possible. Now is the time to train for the marathon ...

Sidebar: Eerily synchronistic, my "This Day in History" widget has this story today: The Last Supper back on display after two-decade restoration http://encyclopedia.tfd.com/The+Last+Supper+%28Leonardo%29

All Roads Lead Full Circle ...

Today is the only Friday the thirteenth in 2016. Since the high was forecast to be at least 80 degrees Fahrenheit, I thought it would be fun to wear my new sparrow shirt. It's a white, short-sleeve button down with a navy print of small sparrows all over it. From afar they may look like big stars.

According to whats-your-sign.com, life is symbolic and we're to start interpreting. The site lists out a summary of symbolic meanings for this small bird:

• Joy
• Inclusion
• Creativity
• Simplicity
• Protection
• Community
• Productivity
• Friendliness

As of late, the greatest feeling I've had is one of nostalgia. Since early last weekend I've been thinking about people from my life around mid to late high school in Texas and Washington.

Had a regular follow up with my Lyme literate natural doctor (LLND), and I mentioned my feelings and deep sense of nostalgia as of late. She said this may likely be on account of me being in a healing crisis. Her concerns today related to my struggle with balance, or rather the area of my brain that controls balance, as well as my heart. She referred me to a Lyme literate cardiologist, who I may have to wait at least four to five months to get into see.

On my way into my LLND's office today, I bumped into a couple folks I met at my Lyme group a few months ago. The wife is the patient, and she's been severely struggling. My LLND mentioned she's very sick in an indicative way as though I am much less sick than she is. I suppose I take some comfort in that, sort of. The other part of me holds much compassion for my comrade of complex infectious diseases. The struggle is real; deeply injuring body, mind and spirit.

After my follow up visit I needed to have blood drawn, which  I had forgotten to do earlier in the week (Lyme brain), which meant having to go to First Hill on my way home from Sand Point. The most expeditious route to avoid a traffic-choked Interstate 5 is to take Roosevelt to Roanoke to Boylston. This route would take me along the edge of the Eastlake neighborhood.

As I recalled from earlier this week, my office mate just listed a very special condominium unit in Eastlake. Special not because it's the latest and greatest carbon-neutral architectural marvel of modern design. On the contrary, the building is actually pretty dated, constructed in '66. It's called the Maison D'Or, a very ornate sounding name for a fashionless, mid-century condo building.

To me this isn't just another concrete honeycomb of dwellings amid a hodgepodge of non-conforming architectural styles that make up the peculiar patchwork neighborhood assortments comprising Seattle. This was a place where I first ventured into my adulthood and savored my first sips of careless freedom.

My high school friend Anna's dad Paulo owned this condo back in '92. It's a top floor 2 bed/2 bath corner unit with vaulted ceilings and an actual wood-burning fireplace (a rare carbon-abundant feature for today). I mean, what are the chances out of 16,000+ residential brokers in the Puget Sound area that my office mate would be the one to list this place. That's at the very least just a little synchronistic.

I met Anna through our mutual friend Megan, who I met through our mutual friend Sam, who I met through my friend Mitch, who I met through his sister Michelle, who I met in fifth grade. And so our degrees of separation go. Anna was fun, a lot of fun, trouble kind of fun. Earlier today I gave the following description of her to my BFF via text:

"Shit talkin', softball playin', Amazonian princess."

To which she replied:

"You love explosive powerful woman. It's because you are one."

Hmmm ...

Anna's dad Paulo was slightly enigmatic. He's Brazilian, so he has a foreign mystique, which is further punctuated by his Latin flair. You know, he has a certain jeux ne se qua. At the same time he was somewhat soft spoken and reserved, always the calmest person in the room. Then again, he was also at times a little touchy-feely. Perhaps it was a cultural thing? Even so, and even though I was quite closeted during the time we were acquainted, I thought perhaps he may also be attracted to the male of our species. As they say, it takes one to know one.

As I recall Paulo worked for a bank and his work required frequent travel. So when the cat was away, Anna, Megan and I had his condo all to ourselves to play. We mostly just hung out, made food, drank, smoked, made each other laugh, played games; typical teen stuff.

It was strange going there today. I mean, I've passed by the building on a number of occasions between then and now. Actually having the intention to visit someone's old home really brought some things to the surface for me. Just remembering how we'd parallel park on East Lynn Street, the antequated front door call box, the cranky old lady who loved to complain about how noisy we were and I one day scared the living shit out of.

In my defense (not really sure there is one) that incident was totally by mistake. I'm not evil; just at times (especially as a teen), you know, dumb. Anna, Megan and I, like most silly adolescents, would occasionally prank each other. It's a show of affection among friends. Anyway, I don't quite remember all the circumstances other than I was hiding around a dark corner outside the basement parking garage, thinking Megan and Anna were unexpectedly coming my way. I patiently held out for the perfect moment to leap out from the shadows with a loud roar! Oh I got the reaction I wanted alright, and then some, just not from the right people.

"You could have given me a heart attack!" the cranky old lady shouted. "I should call the police and file charges for harassment."

In the background I heard Anna and Megan laughing their fool heads off. After I stumbled all over myself with apologies and the cranky old lady shuffled away, I found the two of them convulsing with laughter, Anna in tears.

"Oh. My. God. Bradley!!" she exclaimed. "That was some mutherfuckin' funny ass shit, but we are SO dead! She's going to tell my father and who knows what else she'll do. But whatever, that bitch totally had it comin'."

Anna had a point. Even so, I felt really bad about that particular incident. The rest of the cranky old lady's previous complaints about us though were pretty lame. Yeah, we drank under age. Who doesn't? Yeah, we were a little rowdy late at night. Our rowdy wasn't fighting or screaming; it was joyful banter and laughter. We were kids, and we certainly weren't all that bad. Naughty sometimes, like when we aided and abetted a friend swiping a half-rack of beer from an East Lake Sammamish Parkway mini mart. That wasn't cool, except being the get-away driver was kind of a thrill. Still, we were no ruthless criminals. We just liked being young, carefree and, of course, to party.

Pulling the keys from the keybox, two appeared to be originals, one of them stamped "Do Not Duplicate."

Suddenly I'm thinking about these keys having been in Paulo's and Anna's hands countless times without them giving a thought to possessing them. I think quite fondly on these objects now, rather artifacts that are a sacred link to another life I once held so dear. It was a similar, sentimental feeling as though you're holding a cherished memento of someone who has passed onto the next world. Yet they're still alive, at least I think they are. Maybe not?

The stark, minimal lobby looked exactly the same except for the brand-new-looking, modern traffic control carpet. The elevator is also a time capsule of dark, faux-wood-paneled walls framed by metal. The elevator controls are far from minimal, small circular buttons that protrude and depress in quite dramatically, like antique light switches. When the elevator reached the top/fourth floor much sooner than expected I remembered the lobby entrance is actually on floor two.

The elevator door slid open and there it was, the door to unit 401, right where I had left it some 23 years ago.

The door still had its original mid-century hardware. The brass knob sporting a simple ribbed design, which had at one point been painted white except the paint had over time been worn off the tops of the ridges. I remember as a late teen thinking of the design both as retro and international. Today it just looks a little dated. Yet I like it if only for the familiarity it now represents. 

Standing at the front door to an empty tomb is much different than returning to visit a long, lost friend at their home. Sure there's some degree of anticipation, albeit quite faint and nothing that stirs the soul like wondering how you'll be received by an actual human being, one you once had much in common with and haven't seen for years vs. being confronted by a random blur of memories aroused by sights and smells.

I slid the key into the hole and turned the knob. Ah, yes, I vaguely remember the feeling of this old hardware turning in my hand. As I walked in, one of the first things I noticed were the ceilings being taller than I remembered, perhaps appearing loftier on account of my ever so humble return.

You would think I were an old man, and with all the meds I'm taking I often do feel like one. I mentioned to my counselor the other day how awful it must feel, physically, to be really old and worn down. She told me a real life anecdote. I guess a younger man asked a 90 year old man how he was feeling. The 90 year old man said, "Well, if I were your age I'd be calling an ambulance." Though the elder man responded with humor, he also meant what he said. He physically suffers and yet it's his normal and the best he can expect to feel at his age.

Today when I mentioned to my LLND I feel like an old man taking all these various meds, she set me straight. "That's an internal conversation you'll want to stop as soon as possible," she said. "Instead, the conversation is 'I'm so grateful there are things I can take to feel better and to heal.'" She admitted she can say such things to me because I'll understand where she's coming from.

I definitely get what my LLND is saying, and I used to naturally live from a place of gratitude. I once enjoyed life, fully, squeezing out each precious drop. I think I see why this healing crisis has me so nostalgic. It may be my body, mind and spirit's way of reminding me who I've always known myself to be, that happy-go-lucky person with a light heart and quick wit, he still exists inside me somewhere, even if just in my fond boyish memories.

One thing I loved most about Paulo's place, other than the company kept there; the magnificent view.

Top floor corner with a panorama of a growing skyline to one side; water and hills and mountains all round, oh my! All this in one of the city's quietest, close-in enclaves.

As I walked in I was immediately drawn to the balcony. What a spectacular, sunny day it was to take in the view. I can't tell you how many late nights Anna, Megan and I spent sitting out there, drinking and smoking. Many a night we watched the renown Space Needle turn out its lights (around 2:00 to 3:00 a.m. if memory serves). I took a couple shots with my phone to capture what's been buried deep in my mind's eye since all those years ago.

Looking north to Gas Works Park and the Wallingford neighborhood, I'm reminded of when you could actually climb up onto the colossal defunct industrial machinery which landmarked the park. Sunbathing at the water's edge with Anna and her then boyfriend Andy, who looked like a hunkier Morrissey (and I'm pretty sure he was super into The Smiths, too). Never did we feel more bourgeois than when we were invited to Sunday brunch at Paulo's girlfriend Mary's Wallingford home. Mary, incidentally, is Andy's godmother and the person who introduced him to Anna. There was quite a bit of drama around that, namely because Anna was at times a naughty, and fun, influence.

Mary lived in the second floor unit of her charming Craftsman-turned-duplex. Her brunches were amazing. She'd have about 15 to 20 gathered on her south-facing deck, which offered jaw-dropping panoramic views of Lake Union, backdropped by the Seattle skyline. She was a whiz at homemade hollandaise sauce, and would fly in fresh-caught lobster from Maine. Of course she'd have bottles of chilled champagne, and I'm pretty sure that's where I enjoyed my first-ever mimosa.

As I walked back inside from the balcony, the sixties-modern stone fireplace, which has since been painted, confronted me.

In most cases I prefer raw stone, even and especially if it has a nice patina. Suddenly in my mind's eye I'm sitting back on the concrete fireplace ledge again with a lit cigarette in hand.

The living room is no longer this plain, safe yellow-beige walled sanitarium with minimal, neutral staged furnishings. Instead it looks warm, worn and well lived in with exotic hand-woven area rugs, shelves of old books and a plethora of unusual indigenous art pieces.

Despite the new hardwood floors and interior paint, the place smells eerily the same. It's a sweet, faintly-musty fragrance somewhat like old leather and tobacco. I feel like a ghost who has come back to haunt. Only I know how much wine (in many cases cheap bottles of Boone's) was poured and drags blown up the fireplace flume in this space.

I made my way into the kitchen, and suddenly I'm once more a silly youth, taste-testing the amateur combination of spices I added to our sizzling breakfast potatoes. Turns out I had luck in my choices, they taste divine. Anna and Megan are amazed as am I. We all wear smiles. We sit to breakfast at the table that morning, entering into our usual brand of banter; light and jovial.

The flashback vanishes and once again I'm middle age, worn down by disease. My lips draw in toward one another, my eyes begin to well up and I take a full breath. In this moment I'm overcome equally by a profound sense of joy and sadness.

Way back when, I lived for fun in all things; it's all I ever did without a care in the world. All those many happy days sailed on by like clouds gathering before a rain storm. And, yes, there's beauty in the rain, too; often a more somber, heavier kind of beauty.

I hastily completed my tour shortly thereafter and hurried off like a guest who overstayed their welcome. I am, after all, part legal intruder. Then I had another text exchange with my bestie to let her know of my discoveries.

She agreed what a small world it is for this residence to be so blatantly called out to me. "I wonder if the place asked you back?" she wrote. "Maybe it's time to reconnect?"

Maybe. I saw Megan's mom Debbie a couple Dia de los Muertoses ago. She still worked at Countryside Floral in my hometown of Issaquah. I stopped in impromptu for a pair of arrangements for my grandparents' graves.

Debbie was surprised, pleasantly it seemed, to see me. She told me Megan is a mom, and has a special needs child. Her younger brother Matt is a team leader for one of my parent company's brokerage offices on the Eastside in Bellevue. Anna is a recent divorcee "on the loose" in Arizona. She was one tough cookie.

I recall things not ending well between us and leaving those relationships in an unresolved fog when I moved to California in the summer of '93.

Something else trivial and silly dawned on me. I remember this really naughty, misogynistic song I sang a Christmas ago to my bestie's nanny in Portugese. She is Brazilian, and I learned this song from Anna's boyfriend (before Andy) Dun Dun and his bestie Penna, who also were Brazilian. I loved those guys! Super fun and spirited. I'll skip past the song for now, it's pretty dirty.

One day all five of us went up skiing. We were drinking whisky in the parking lot before the lifts opened. I'm not sure if those guys had even seen snow before. They were both pretty athletic. We all rented gear, and after about a half hour of giving them all a lesson, we were all skiing intermediate runs. The guys were doing exceptionally well. Sure they'd fall and crash here and there. They'd also get right back up and after a couple hours the falling became less and less. The weather was perfectly sunny, and we all had such a marvelous time. As I take this intermediate run at my health crisis, I wish to be as resilient as my long lost Brazilian pals.

Ah, to be young, wild and carefree. Those were indeed the good old days ...