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marginnotesIn the early hours of the morning the cat vomited up a hairball in the corridor next to the bedroom. Its retching didn't wake me up. I was already awake, thinking things were not starting well today.
Tried finishing a novella about a man who had, through enchantment, become the guardian of a forest. Through his own choice, he helped to break the spell that kept him alive, and returned, after centuries, to life as an almost normal man.
The thought of Jung suggesting that the only way out was through seemed fairly hollow in my fretful insomnia. Or to go all the way through might take more than one lifetime.
I try not to listen to the inner voice of despair that gets louder as the waking night hours pass. The voice that says things are not going to improve, and that no matter how one looks at the situation, it is getting worse. The voice does not work with logical argument, though it surely has tried. It works with whispering and repetition. It seeps in as I toss and turn, as my back segues from uncomfortable to painful, as the bed becomes a rack.
Breath and ritual exercises can banish it. Easier to do out of bed and out of the bedroom. First job is to clean the cat's vomit in the hall.
The morning is still half dark when I carry the chair outside, a cup with sand and a stick of incense in the other hand. A star has risen in the east, and the sun will rise soon enough. Start by banishing, central ray, breathing, meditation. Keeping the thoughts focused on the topic for meditation is, once again, like trying to steer the wind. If I could calm the mind, I would have fallen back asleep earlier.
Somewhat recharged, at least physically calmed, I being the long day.
Tried finishing a novella about a man who had, through enchantment, become the guardian of a forest. Through his own choice, he helped to break the spell that kept him alive, and returned, after centuries, to life as an almost normal man.
The thought of Jung suggesting that the only way out was through seemed fairly hollow in my fretful insomnia. Or to go all the way through might take more than one lifetime.
I try not to listen to the inner voice of despair that gets louder as the waking night hours pass. The voice that says things are not going to improve, and that no matter how one looks at the situation, it is getting worse. The voice does not work with logical argument, though it surely has tried. It works with whispering and repetition. It seeps in as I toss and turn, as my back segues from uncomfortable to painful, as the bed becomes a rack.
Breath and ritual exercises can banish it. Easier to do out of bed and out of the bedroom. First job is to clean the cat's vomit in the hall.
The morning is still half dark when I carry the chair outside, a cup with sand and a stick of incense in the other hand. A star has risen in the east, and the sun will rise soon enough. Start by banishing, central ray, breathing, meditation. Keeping the thoughts focused on the topic for meditation is, once again, like trying to steer the wind. If I could calm the mind, I would have fallen back asleep earlier.
Somewhat recharged, at least physically calmed, I being the long day.
