A moment of Peace

    The first post of 2012 has come later than I would have liked - a combination of having a lot of different things I’ve been wanting to post about and an inability to work on that writing has made it so that, until tonight, I’ve had to put it to the side. There’s just been so much to do lately: between school, finding work, taking care of my temporarily disabled father, unfortunate events and even just regular day-to-day chores, there hasn’t been much time for me to work on personal projects, including (much to my chagrin) this blog.
   
    Even more distressing to me, the inability to schedule down-time means that Warden and I haven’t been able to indulge in much romance, a fact that rang particularly true just a few nights ago on the date marking our second year together.

    “This isn’t how I wanted to spend our anniversary,” he told me towards the end of a long day, sitting in the car at parking lot to our school. His tone communicated annoyance with himself and life in general. We weren’t able to celebrate that night: the beginning of the day before had been a lot of running around and driving back and forth to take care of errands that couldn’t wait, ending with both of us too tired to stay up together for very long. The morning-of had started early to attend the funeral of one of the most influential teachers (and people in general) of my life, and ended with hanging out with friends - time that seems precious given the looming dissolution of our close-knit group as everyone makes plans for the future, for work, for moving and for transferring schools. Even so, we would have gone out to dinner on our own - but Warden was feeling nauseous, which only lent to his frustration. Both of us were in much better moods by the time we went to bed that night, but the whole day was a bitter-sweet reminder of the importance of just having time for the things you want to do.

The Importance of Hope

I don’t feel like I’ve been depressed lately - and certainly, you’d think I’d be able to tell whether I am or am not feeling down. I dealt with depression a lot as a teenager, enough at least that a certain cycle become very recognizable to me, and I would know a few days ahead of time if I was falling into a serious funk.

The world would lose it’s shine, first off. Just small things, like food - even food I really like - not tasting right, mostly sort of ’blah’ or just not good. I’d retreat without realizing it from activities that I love, like listening to music, reading, creating art. My body would ache, I’d maybe feel like I had the flu, and then for several days - maybe weeks or months - I’d feel terrible. As though there was no point in going on.

Obviously, I made it through those years - I’m here now, after all. 

With that in mind, I’d like to believe I’d be able to tell the difference between what’s just kind of a ‘blah’ feeling and genuine depression: but here I am, questioning just what it is that’s making me view the world so cynically these days.

In some ways, I feel sort of like maybe I’ve fallen unexpectedly into a fugue, the likes of which I haven’t seen since the days when I still kept half my most used things in a backpack that weighed more than most small children, and a metal locker in a hallway with hundreds of others just like it. Though the past year has been one of mostly peace and self-exploration, I’m become so nervous about the whole world, politics, and people in general. The more I learn about the world around me, the less certain I am that it’s a world worth living in overall. Still, something won’t let me give up on it.

Excuse the analogy, but I guess it’s because I’m sort of like a domestic rat.

Sour Dreams

Anyone who’s been following along so far would know that, based on my past posts regarding Symbolism, Dream Guides and spiritual direction, that I hold dreams in pretty high regard. Even if dreams are just the result of the mind spitting out random images and ideas, I believe very strongly that they provide a window into the subconscious and the things that worry - or delight us - the most.

A month or two back, I was plagued by stressful dreams about my father, and life in general. I chased them off by hanging up a dream catcher near my bed, and putting a special gris-gris near my sleeping area, with carefully selected items inside to - if the intent was correct - redirect any bad dreams so that if they didn’t hit the dream catcher, they still wouldn’t get to me.

For a while, this seemed to work. If one were to believe the idea that Dreams come from outside the body or mind, and were the result of spiritual or magical influence, these measures made sense. And as I’ve said before, if they can affect my subconscious and give me calm, then I don’t care whether or not they’re magic.

But what if the cause of the dreams is completely internal? Magic or not, if I’m setting up things to keep out bad influences and ignoring the cause of stress carried in my own subconscious, then I’m not going to be very effective.

I’m bringing this all up because, much to my annoyance and loss of rest, the stressful dreams have returned with a vengeance.