Sample:
‘The Dangerous Nature of Dandelions.’
Preface to ‘Book One: Seedling.’

Hazy sun dappled Summers that fell like plump red apples from the limbs of Springtime, a force of environment, a force of being. Nature pervaded our days as we lived them and still now, our memories of those long gone times. Lulled by the rain dripping from the eaves in the dark nights of November, plonking and ticking in the silence of my head wrapped pillow; the mad hatters party of self playing pianos and grinning clocks. There cannot be, I see now, a memory from those days… a feeling or an experience that does not carry with it a deeply ingrained image of nature, a fragrance, birds trilling and insects whispering.

As I got older these forces seems to have dwindled, becoming less and less a structure of memory and the awareness of it saddens me, no, not quite saddens but disappoints. Last years’ clear blue skies become grey and dim, out of focus and last months environment is all but gone leaving only memories of feelings of dread, the struggles of life or a hangnail, maybe an orgasm that took too long to happen, or worse; didn’t happen at all. The older we grew the more self absorbed we ultimately became, and apathetic. The fate of a human race that think, that follow, that believe.

I existed in the valleys of my own folly, for as long as I could; valleys of what I thought were overgrown with nostalgia and the idealisations of the past, but that was because I was told that it was so. Eventually even those distractions took hold. The ultimate truth of those valleys were that they were abundant with the sensations of nature, overflowing with the life of insect, beast and bird. Soft fragrant breezes of pine and smouldering oak carried me on lazy fingers of timeless direction through forests, neighbourhoods and pastures. Seldom in these valleys of folly did I ever come across another human being. It was and still is, safe there. There is no requirement of any kind and I am not expected to believe a single solitary thing, concept, or notion. There is only nature; the tree, the butterfly, a wildfire or a rainbow and me.

Only nature doing what nature does. I tried once to define what exactly it was, that nature does do, and came to the conclusion after many long years of battering my brain and mental intellect into warped coils of confusion, that it only does what it does and that no description that I could come up with was sufficient, that any description presented to me by intellects greater than mine was useless, busy, and pretentious. I did not long to be pretentious so I gave up the entirety of the exercise of trying even though the wanting always stays with me, as does the disappointment and the heavy black sadness one can only acquire as a result of a grand fall from grace. A speed of light fall that isn’t even comprehended until bone splitting contact with the ground is achieved.

Señorita Saguaro and the VOICES!

Early on in my apprenticeship with Señorita Saguaro, within the first twenty days, in fact, she told me a story of a woman she knew who was having troubles with a form of schizophrenia. The troubles were specifically in relation to the ‘voices’ that would continually hound her, prodding her to self-destructive behaviours… life threatening actions. We were sitting around a small fire in Saguaro’s *quetzaltzin hut which resembled a large bee hive, it had a hole at the top – a chimney where the smoke from the fire coiled up and into the night sky.

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She laughed when she told me the story but insisted that it was an ironic laughter. The woman who had the voices, she said, was slowly over time degrading in physical health due to the voices – they wouldn’t let her sleep, she couldn’t eat and was terrified of going out of her house. “You know what I said to her?” Saguaro asked me with a squinty eye. I shook my head, wondering why she was even telling me about the woman – since we had come to the quetzaltzin hut for the sole purpose of discussing the importance of energy retrieval  in regards to ‘DREAMING’.

“I looked her straight in the eye, like I am with you now, and asked: ‘Why do you keep listening to them? For 3 years now you have been telling me all that they say, every word. Why do you listen!?”

The woman said nothing and left in an angry huff. Three years later the woman returned to visit the Señorita, looking healthier… and she was smiling, Saguaro told me that they hugged and then the woman told her that she had spent some time trying to figure out why she was listening to them.. to the point of obsession, when finally she noticed that the voices were quiet.

In all her obsessing over the WHY, she realised that there was no room for the voice so it stopped talking. she also realised that she never actually came to a conclusion as to WHY, but occasionally the voice would pipe up, in those moments she simply did not listen.

‘Guidance by subterfuge’.  A standard teaching method employed in some Pagan and shamanistic healing traditions that still function in pure form, today. As I mentioned, I had no idea why she was telling me the story, it was a non sequitur moment based on what we had been working on… and it was never mentioned again.

I could see though how she prodded the Woman into asking herself ‘WHY was she listening’ to such a degree of obsession that there was no ‘space’ for the voices to operate. Kind of like ignoring someone who is on a whining binge, eventually the whiner loses interest because they are not getting the attention they are vying for. The woman did this for so long that the energy that the voices needed was taken away and they became inert, depleted to such a degree that in the end she had gained enough personal power to realise that the WHY was not the solution. (The energy of her attention she was giving them prior to being obsessed with the WHY – was actually self-care, as she was giving energy and attention to her problem and not to the problem).

She simply didn’t have the strength after being depleted for so long as a result of her battle with the voices, to simply not listen. Saguaro saw that her mind required a distraction; a shift to the self rather than the problem, so you see it was a subtle sleight of hand, so to speak that saved the woman. By the time the Woman realised that WHY was not the solution, she had essentially energised herself to the point where she COULD simply not listen and it would be effective.

The reason this is important is that well on 20 years after the initial story was told to me, is that I’m having to employ the same subterfuge to this Anxiety/PTSD that my body is experiencing.

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When a ‘panic event’ occurs I really have no control over the happening of it… but I am noticing that the level of intensity that is creating a distorted ‘reality’ is super high, so I have to really be on top of the ‘awareness’ game in order to not flip out. It’s uncomfortable in the sense that I have to extricate myself from whatever situation I’m in and be totally alone to let the distorted reality that my brain is producing, to cycle out. Not give any of the thoughts or projections any credence or attention and then just relax out of the warped reality.

It is something that all humans experience; the barrage of thoughts.  With the Anxiety the ‘normal’ experience of the barrage is amplified, in my individual estimation by a hundredfold.  It is like being incredibly psychic since the sensitivity to external factors seems to get ramped up as well, so the result is that the pummeling barrage of fear based thoughts are acting in accordance with the ability to be super sensitive to external factors that can be as subtle as a change in the wind or the curling of a lip.

At the rapidity that this is occurring it is extremely difficult to maintain a clarity of what is REALLY happening in contrast to the thought, fear, reality paradigm that is being created in the mind. Every action, word or event is latched onto by the hyper sensitised mind that is functioning from a basis of terror, and those actions, words or events are used by the mind to support the terror reaction… the fight or flight response.

When I experience my first out-and-out panic attack a few months ago, I felt as though the walls were closing in, and that every person in the space was wanting me dead, or gone, or at best, strung up as an object to be ridiculed.  I left the space quickly and spent the rest of the night in the car.  It was here in the car, after a few hours of deep breathing and forced meditation, and nearly twenty years after the fact that I remembered Señorita Saguaro’s story of the ‘Woman with the Voices’ and I began to wonder if I couldn’t employ the same tactic on my own in order to keep this thing from getting worse. And of course this doesn’t exclude employing my medical doctor and the resources they supply.

At this point in time I am still working to retrieve a medical understanding of what is happening, whether it is physiological, chemical or psychological responses due to childhood traumas.  In the process of working that out I have had the opportunity to employ a few of the methods that I was taught by Señorita Saguaro – shamanistic, healing methods such as DREAMING, the Quetzaltzin (recapitulation), meditation and the method I focus on in the story she told me.  So far the method in her story seems to have given the best results.

That first attack lasted for about four hours and was hellish, think of four hours feeling as though everything was going to make you suffer, to make you feel ridicule and pain… making it worse and ever so much worse as it continued, and there was no escape or relief possible.  Four hours.

Two days ago I had a similar attack.  I told myself this when I felt it coming on:  “Don’t believe anything, just stay calm and observe.” Which I did in order to avoid argument or negative events with my partner, and then quickly went to my office and let the thoughts run their course.  It was DAMNED uncomfortable.  A two-hour barrage of thoughts that told me of all the worst thing that were going to happen to me if I didn’t DO something NOW!   This is how I used Señorita’s story/method:  I asked my self WHAT.  What do I have to DO?   I knew that I wasn’t interested in an answer, not really.  What I hoped was that the question would lock my mind into attempting to answer a question to an irrational fear and terror – even though I couldn’t identify the fear and terror as being irrational in the moment.

After 2 hours the panic subsided as my mind attempted to figure out WHAT to DO, and clarity returned.  I knew that I couldn’t let my mind continue searching for an answer that existed in an illusory loop, so I went outside and looked at the stars. Planted my feet into the grass and stared into the cold night sky.  Within minutes those stars were all I could think of.

Stars.

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*Quetzaltzin is a more pure form of the practice called ‘recapitulation’ by don Juan Matus, it is used to reclaim ‘lost’ personal energy from places, the past, and people.

BLOG POST 1: “Writer, into the dark night go I.” or “Screaming and kicking.”

I have been putting off a serious and focused commitment to an interweb presence for the last ten years, I’ve been playing at it, futzing around with it, yes.  Never really wanting to undertake the process of designing a website as a presentation of life work simply due the paralyzing anxiety of failing at it. The Big Dream, The final push.  This is it, and it’s terrifying.

Anxiety.  Now there’s a trigger word if ever there was one!  Not just the layman’s anxiety, but the full blown, clinical… Let me take a deep breath as the screen warbles and the walls close in!  Ahem, clinical Anxiety.  The kind you have to get a diagnosis for.

I can leave the topic of Anxiety for another time, suffice it to say, that it came to a vital point of self reckoning here, recently, that I really need to make a quantitative move, take an action that would 1. be symbolic of getting on top of my fear of failure, and 2. Time is running out!  Yolo my friends, YOLO!

For those that have no clue as to what YOLO means (I just recently, was clued in myself) I will happily let you in on the secret:  You Only Live Once.

So here it is, a fully functioning, semi-Kevin designed website, really just an amped up WordPress bloggy froggy with a bit of pre-programmed bell and whistle to keep things on the up and up.   The text is a work in progress as I work out the best ways to ‘express my self marketing voice’ in between hours of dialogue bashes and novel squishing.

So  I am officially calling this online ‘ME’ offically active.  Online and into the dark night go I, bell bottoms blazing.  It looks like I am in this for the long haul. Someone once told me: ‘a writers life is, at best… solitary, and at worst, um-solitary.’   I think thats a load of shit.  This action, this movement to get on top of that fear of failure once and for all is meant to prove that statement absolutely incorrect.

Yep It looks like I’m on my own here.

Time to throw it off a cliff and see if it flies.

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