HALF EMPTY, HALF FULL
The Psalmist said:
My cup overfloweth.
But I ask:
Flows over with what?
Does some God pour out
Health, pregnancy, and promise?
Or do demons dispense
Disease, bereavement, and decay?
Does this grail toast a festival or a festering?
Or perhaps
My too-small glass contains a nectar
Fermented
From the birth, rise, decline, and death of this entire planet:
A liquor in equal parts
Laughter and sorrow.
I look at the swirling
In this well-worn mug:
Black then white,
Then what?
Strains of bitterness intermingle
With currents of sweet cream.
My cup overfloweth, yes.
And it maketh a mess on the carpet.
Sometimes I pray:
O stain of truth, please!
Mar not the perfection of fantasy.
And other times:
O what the hell,
Rain on me as thou wilt!
I shall read life’s spillage like Rorschach.
I worship thee, O flask of fright,
For thou tempers me.
I bow to thee, O jug of joy,
Thou who sustains me.
Mix and mingle!
Your alchemy will uphold
Sun and moon,
Glitter and shadow,
All that is bittersweet and awakens.
CREATION MYTH
She might have imagined
She might have imagined a void
A void that dreamt of emptiness but wasn’t
Wasn’t what? Empty of spark? Full of refuge?
Neither empty nor full, within it awoke the Small
The Small awoke within the void and blossomed
Blossomed? It EXPLODED!
The Small exploded blood into the world
It rained out plasma, out quarks, out protons
The blood kinda poured out of nothing, as bright as God
God? She must have been born showering blood
Menstrual droplets that burst into angels
Or were they galaxies? The angels were never clear on that point
Yet they danced on the point of creation, billions of them
The galaxies, the angels, the whole damned cosmos dancing
And blessed, yes, I am sure something was blessed
Along with the angels and, let’s face it, demons
Galaxies whirled forth, at once damned and blessed
Upturned loam. A handful of seed. God’s magnificent orchids.
She touches one to her lips, and then another, can you imagine?
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Hi, Will. It’s good to read your words, as always.
You know me as Elaina, author of PTSD-is-normal. I’ve stopped writing on that blog, having grown tired of the alleged normality of the abnormal.
Lady Q~
Elaina–
Nice to hear from you. Sorry to hear you’ve taken a break from blogging. You were righting valuable material. But there’s no doubt that writing online makes one vulnerable to being misconstrued, or even abused. Sounds like you made a choice to take care of yourself. Good for you!
Blessings,
–Will
Thank you for your kind encouragement, Will. That means a lot, especially coming from you. I will probably go back to blogging in the not-too-distant future, although with a greater depth than I allowed myself to go into before… which will make me even more vulnerable, I know, but it’s what I believe I need to do.
You may remember back several months ago when the topic of regrets came up on your blog, you mentioned the regret of having had no children, and I told you of my painful regret as I’ve come to realize, much too late, how ill-suited I was to be a mother. Well, the beat goes on. I learned several weeks ago that my first great-grandchild will be born in February. I also learned why my teen granddaughter was so afraid to tell her dad, my son, about her pregnancy. I won’t go into the details, but suffice it to say that it is sadly apparent from what my granddaughter told me that the insanity, trauma, and abuses I experienced in my family of origin, did not end with me.
After a couple of weeks of not being able to move, I got up, shook myself off, and I have been on a Madness Marathon ever since. What I mean is that I am searching, and reading, everything I can find that seems worth reading on the topic of Madness. Specifically, Schizophrenia. I was diagnosed schizophrenic when I was 14. That was in 1967, long before Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was known. Numerous medical professionals have told me over the years that I must have actually had PTSD, because one doesn’t get well from schizophrenia.
Of course I wanted to believe that my schizophrenic label was a misdiagnosis. Who likes thinking they were ever a psychotic lunatic? But the truth is, as I’m finally facing this long-buried part of my life for the first time in over 40 years…. the truth is that I was very definitely psychotic for almost 2 years.
I do, now, have PTSD, and periodic severe depressions, but I have not been psychotic since 1969. And yet this sickness, whatever it was, is still being passed down in various forms through my family like an evil curse. I’m trying to find some answers, before I dive back into telling my story. Which may be on a blog, or as a book, something I can pass down to my children and grandchildren and great grandchildren.
I haven’t quite decided whether to call my blog/book “Healing From Broken,” or “A Monster Called Madness.” I’ve been trying out both titles. But I think in any case that my former title, “PTSD is Normal,” is out. Yes, I still do believe that PTSD is in fact normal – normal, not healthy – just as it is normal (but not healthy) to bleed if one is stabbed. However, I want the focus of what I write to be on healing from the trauma, not staying complacently stuck in PTSD because “it’s normal.” The goal after being stabbed is to stop the bleeding, repair the damage, and heal… not go on bleeding indefinitely. So my book/blog will probably end up being called “Healing From Broken,” even though the Monster title is catchier.
My Madness Marathon has been painful at times, but wonderfully enlightening. I’ve read the most fascinating books, written from every point of view imaginable. The number one thing I am learning so far is COMPASSION. To some degree, we are all broken and deluded, and most of the time we are too deluded to know it. Realizing this is both humbling and freeing.
I have yet to come up with a definitive answer to the question that first sent me on my marathon, and that question is: What causes mental illness? Is it nature, or nurture? Truama, or genes? Environment, or brain chemistry? I think the answer is far more complex than these simplistic either/or scenarios would suggest. To my mind, it’s a lot like asking, What causes traffic accidents? Impaired drivers, or distracted drivers? Bad weather, or bad roads? Mechanical failure, or driver error? Speed limits too fast, or too slow? Ill-timed traffic lights, or poor highway design? In my opinion, just as there is no single cause of traffic accidents, and neither are all traffic accidents the same, I’m coming to believe that there is no single cause of psychosis.
Also, just because a mental illness such as schizophrenia often runs in a family, this in and of itself does not prove that the cause is genetic. I’ve known whole families that are predominantly Catholic Democrats, and other families that are largely Republican Baptists. But I don’t think there’s a gene that causes one to worship and vote a certain way, do you?
Lady Quixote/Elaina