“Show the fuck up!”

I’m screaming at myself in the shower at 7 a.m.

“Show them what’s really going on!  Get fucking raw, would you!  It’s your gift! It’s what got you here!  Don’t start picking and choosing now!”

Every morning, no matter how early or late I get up, I am back in “the world of pain”.  The contracted pain that I have always called “depression” – and which used to alternate with the expanded state that I have been taught to call “mania” – now no longer alternates with anything, but sits on my chest every morning.

I have learned that I can distract myself from it – and over the course of the day it goes way into background (it doesn’t “go away”, because if I slow down too much, it rushes back in).

Sleep makes it worse.

Here, on the love seat in the living room, the pain continues to rage. I thought that my beginning to write in the shower – and then my little explosion at the forces of suppression in me – was pulling me out, but apparently not yet.  It is a huge struggle this morning to get these words out.  They flow for a couple of minutes, but then I realized that I have started to slide into one of the other four posts that are also wanting to push through me – and which I listed on my “Posts to write” spreadsheet I am keeping.

So I quickly cut what really belongs on a separate post into a new document, then come back here and try to find the thread again.  I’m dizzy from trying to sort it all out.  And all the time am in so much pain I can hardly see straight.

And, at the same time, I constantly hear my friend Jo Anne’s voice yelling at me “Stop being dualistic!” (with her little mime of slapping me.)

“How can I express all this without it sounding dualistic?” “I’m sorry Jo Anne, but I am going to say and write what needs to be written.  Sometimes, like yesterday, that is going to apparently be a direct download from Spirit.  Other times what is real to say is a description of my real, raw struggle to stay afloat.  If that makes me dualistic – then fuck you, I’m dualistic.”2019 birthday

My explosion in the shower was a reaction to the struggle that was developing in my head about whether to write on my blog about all these morning struggles: with sleep, with pain, with the nagging fear that the old “depression” might be coming back – really the struggle with the part of me that believes in “depression”, that has been conned for over 30 years to pin that label on myself…and the sorrow and rage about what was “lost” in those 30 years.

So some of my blog posts will definitely be very, very, very human.  Being “gritty” is part of my brand :).  It’s what I do – it’s what people have come to expect me.

If the fact that I still struggle, that I still feel pain, that every morning I spend either a little bit of time – or maybe much longer if, like today, I have had too much sleep for my own good – if, for you, all this disqualifies me as someone who has genuinely “woken up”…then maybe you will find value in just regarding this blog as the story of one human being’s journey.  But you will be missing part of the point.

This is the journey of one human being who has definitely woken up – and who still swears and chooses to yell at people to scare them and stop them in their tracks and picks fights on the street and spends time every morning lost and struggling with his new mission and does not yet know any way to tell the truth about this journey without sounding dualistic and pretty much doesn’t give a shit about any of that.

If that story sounds exciting and like fun to you, go to the bottom of this page and “subscribe” so that new posts will come directly to you.  And, preferably, engage with me – phone, text, email.  And, please, engage with us: join the little and growing community of people who are reading this blog.  Leave Comments by clicking on the little Comments bar at the end of each post.

There it is.  So be it.  Call it a blog post.  Call it a self-disclosure.  Call it a rant.  Fuck it.

Published by Majo

These days all of my identities are converging: whether I am offering a blessing in the grocery store checkout line, offering a prayer in a poem or experiencing the kinship with all life while walking my or a client's dog - it's all the same. It's all Life.

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