Happy Anniversary, Voldemort

      Today is the twentieth wedding anniversary of my ill-fated marriage to my second ex-husband, the man I fondly refer to as Voldemort (from the Harry Potter books).Technically, though, he was more like a dementor. 

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them... Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling; every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself...soulless and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life."—Remus Lupin, character, from the Harry Potter series

    Actually, my husband could not help being a dementor because he was born of Norwegian descent and somehow mistook me for his mother. (Aren’t all mothers generally responsible for the antisocial quirks of their family?) Not that all Norwegian descended men are dementors but their stoicism, combined with their naturally flat affect, makes one feel that more cheer can be found in a graveyard. Voldemort used to say to me in a blunted expression statements like, “I am happy, so happy. Can’t you tell how happy I am?” Additionally, he would sometimes say things like, “I am angry, so angry, can’t you tell how angry I am?” Truthfully, judging from his facial features and tone of voice, I could not tell the difference in affect. Being from Minnesota, I thought I fluently spoke and understood men of Norwegian descent, but Voldemort was from Seattle.This slight genetic derivation made a huge difference by lulling me into a false sense of security. I was oblivious to the fact that I was not dealing with an affectless Scandinavian but a soul-stealing, merciless phantom.

      Dementors are not easily recognizable when in the guise of a work-hardened welder who was seeking a second chance as a social worker wannabe. Their sincerity obscures the sucking sound of one’s spirit being drained from happily dancing to the tune of their unemployed perennial student artifice. The gradual fatigue which initially sets in from consorting with them is not easily connected to their malevolent torpidity. Like Dracula, the hypnotic allure that one day my dementor might be gainfully employed made me offer my carotid arteries gladly. 

     Ultimately, the hemorrhaging of my emotions became evident when my friends pointed out I looked and acted pallidly impassive. Several of them would call me and just say, "Run!" Voldemort, sensing his loss of power struck back at my rising resistance by seizing photographic evidence of our wedding, vacations taken, and other life events involving our family and friends. Nonplussed by his feeble attempts to strangle the sentiment out of me, he notched it up by absconding with all of the paper products in our home. Now that was truly horrifying. (I will say that abruptly being forced into a paperless household made me rethink being a tree hugger and ponder the detriment of this to society.) Undeterred by his wood pulp reprisal, I formulated another strategic plan of escape.

     Unbeknownst to him, I had intuited he had been having an affair with a fellow social work student at Hogwart’s School of Dementors. It’s hard even for a dementor to pull the wool over a behavioral psychic’s perceptive eyes. I knew Voldemort’s next devotee would gladly sacrifice her carotid, femoral, aortic, or any other arteries to get her hands on my house which was close to the very schools she desired for her fatherless children. My only hope was to get him to feed on her instead of me. Soon I began to refer to her as Mrs. Voldemort #2, visualizing, that with her continued pressure for connubial bliss, my freedom from a prolonged divorce would soon materialize. It worked: within six months we were divorced. Mr. and Mrs. Voldemort #2 were married within a month following the end of what would be a bloody divorce coup. The cost of being drained from his insatiable punishing sucking nearly did leave me “with nothing but the worst experiences” of my life. For years, Voldemort did “drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around" me, but at least I walked away alive with the ability to recognize a dementor when I next see one.

     So, Happy Anniversary Voldemort. Good luck with your latest wife-I believe this one is Mrs.Voldemort #4.

The Annular Solar Eclipse of April, 2014

     “The moon will blot out the sun in the first solar eclipse of the year on Tuesday (April 28, 11:14pm PDT). While partial views of the celestial shadow play will be visible across Australia, only penguins a bit farther south are in the right spot to see the most dramatic phase of the event: a "ring of fire" effect of the moon silohuetted by the sun.  

      Tuesday's sun show is known as an annular solar eclipse, an event in which - at its best - the moon is outlined by a dazzling ring of sunlight when it blocks most, but not all, of the sun. But during Tuesday's eclipse, that so-called "ring of fire" is only visible from an uninhabited stretch of Antarctica. So partial views from other locales are the best eclipse chasers can see.” –Yahoo News

    

     “This is the bookend to the first eclipse on the Full Moon this month that opened the portal to the intense time of transformation and opportunity. The new moon is a great time to evaluate where you are, what you have learned, what you have committed to, whom you are with, and where you are going. Hopefully the shake-up of the last few weeks will have set you on a track that supports you and is aligned with spirit.” –Power Path School of Shamanism

      We are still in the wake of the grand cardinal square which occurred from April 20^th to April 23^rd.  Especially the cardinal signs of Libra, Cancer, Aries, and Capricorn were affected by this unusually precise harbinger of transformation. A similar eclipse happened 19 years ago on April 29, 1995. Think back on your life back then; this will give you some clues about where you’ll need to go next.

     “The earth does not belong to man, man belongs to the Earth. All things are connected like the blood that unites us all. Man did not weave the web of life, he is merely a strand in it. Whatever he does to the web, he does to himself.” –Chief Seattle

Living With Testosterone

        The last time I had a straight man stay with me was four years ago when my longtime friend, Joel, spent three weeks with me in my cramped one bedroom cottage. Joel is an INFP and former boyfriend I dated when he was in medical school some forty years ago. Energetically and romantically, we were ill-suited for one another. We parted company as friends when he did his family practice residency in North Dakota. For years I lost track of him but, through an unbelievable serendipitous series of events, we reconnected when we both lived in Idaho. Our friendship resumed, though it was mainly based upon our history versus our amity. When he came to visit me four years ago in California, he was retired and his stay with me was disastrous. Since both of us are Virgos, we argued over things like our styles of cleanliness, my cottage plumbing, and how to properly wash dishes. We are still very close friends, but it is apparent we will never be anything other than competitive Virgos. His introverted opinionated feeling and resistance to making plans are in sharp contrast with my introverted strategic thinking wanting concrete boundaries. Because of our long history together, we have learned to set aside our peculiarities and work around the schism of our differences.  

      Enter the young twenty-six year old, Christian, who is staying temporarily with me. His male energy is quite different, as he is a Pisces and an ENFJ. Though initially I had some reservations about this arrangement, it is working better than expected. We have frank discussions on all sorts of subjects with ease, laugh at everything, have similar spiritual interests, and enjoy eccentric tastes in music. He is disarmingly sweet, kind, and washes the dishes without me asking. Sometimes we will sit for hours on my couch not talking-he will be reading and I will be writing. There is a level of ease with him which makes me feel I can be exactly who I am with him sans pretense. For years I doubted I could ever have a man live with me again without them driving me nuts. Now I see this is again possible. Last Sunday I took him to meet my gay harem for brunch. Christian’s mixed Guatemalan/White handsomeness gives him the look of a Calvin Klein model. He is eclectic, adaptable, and gay friendly. Thus, the gays adored him. His comfort level with my gay friends is not unusual for his generation. I am certain if I tried bringing an age appropriate straight suitor to a gay brunch, it would be my last date.  

    This month Christian took me to and from my eye surgery. His devotion and commitment to me during this procedure was genuinely touching. When he dropped my off at the surgery outpatient office, he spontaneously hugged me, looking a bit worried. It is the first time in years any straight man has exhibited any concern for my welfare. Being alone has never made me feel vulnerable, however, going through my surgery has made me realize how much I have learned to suck up taking care of myself because I have no one else to depend upon. This epiphany enabled me to see how male companionship has its advantages. Living with Christian has made me realize how much I have missed the intimacy of being in a serious relationship. Soon he will be moving on to his own place. Until then, I will enjoy his companionship. Maybe this will inspire me to work harder on allowing men to get closer to me.

Men Versus Women

Men are commanding

Women are controlling

Men are persistent

Women are stubborn

Men are sexually experienced

Women are promiscuous

Men are decisive

Women are manipulative

Men are ambitious

Women are scheming

Men can be emotionally sentient

Women are always emotional

Men are driven

Women are pushy

Men are altruistic

Women are victims

Men take chances

Women make foolish choices

Men are confident

Women are ballsy

Men can be President of the United States

Women are usually Senators

Men can be Popes, Rabbis, Imams

Women can be nuns and devotees

Men say there is no glass ceiling

Women hit their head on it everyday

In memory of the loss of our affirmative action rights as handed down today by the United States Supreme Court.

"It bars publicly funded colleges from granting "preferential treatment to any individual or group on the basis of race, sex, color, ethnicity or national origin."

Rage and the Stages of Forgiveness

     Yesterday I was explaining to someone the dilemma I face with dating. Because of past negative experiences with men, coupled with the expectations placed upon me as a woman, I remain vigilant of being trapped by in relationships. Probably the most damaging period of my life, reinforcing my current weariness, was during my second marriage to a man who became a clingy, depressing, paralyzing tie. His mucilaginous behavior became so abhorrent to me, it forced me to divorce him for my own sanity. He retaliated with a vigor. My divorce bankrupted me financially, emotionally, physically, and spiritually; he remarried within a month and prospered. Experiencing such life altering devastation, I made a vow to never to marry again. Though my position can be justified, seventeen years later I am confronted with how my inability to forgive myself, let alone my ex-husband, has only hurt me.

        Forgiveness is a loaded word bogged down by actions most of us deem unacceptable. We equate forgiveness with letting someone off the hook, releasing the perpetrator from culpability, forgetting the pain they inflicted, feeling the offender has not been punished as much as we have, and so on. If I forgive my ex-husband for the years of hell he put me through by financially bankrupting me, he gets off scot free. That does not seem fair. But this is not about forgiveness, it is about being stuck in rage.

       “Untransformed rage can become a constant mantra about how oppressed, hurt, and tortured we were.  …Rage corrodes our trust that anything good can occur. Something has happened to hope. And behind the loss of hope is usually anger; behind anger, pain; behind pain, usually torture of one sort or another, sometimes recent, but more often from long ago.” –Clarissa Pinkola Estes

         My rage at my second ex-husband, not only comes from the injurious conduct he inflicted upon me, but from my hasty decision to marry him because he appeared stable. This occurred during the terminal decline of my first ex-husband who was dying from alcoholism. In my desire to seek shelter from the emotional storm of my first husband’s self-destructive spiral, I chose my second husband, a man I thought could offer me a reliable, calm life. This backfired big time. After my first husband died, my second husband always felt he was in competition with my first dead ex-husband for my undying love. Weird, huh? It got even weirder. Before it was over, my social worker husband removed all the paper products in the house to make me suffer. Yes, he took out all the toilet paper, paper towels, envelopes, Q-tips, napkins, stationery, etc. This prompted my note to him on an old piece of mail, “Please have mercy upon me and do not abscond with my tampons.” My lesson in all of this was that I have never forgiven myself for making a bad rebound decision to marry this man. Additionally, I now keep all of my paper products under lock and key.   

        For the past seventeen years I have made countless decisions based on my inability to let go of all of this and forgive myself. These decisions include: to never marry again, to never really trust men, to be wary of any man’s intent with me, to distance myself from men, to be celibate, to fear losing control to men, and never allow myself to be vulnerable around men. It goes on and on. Now that I am facing approaching relationships with men, this is painfully coming to the surface. What was the cost of me not forgiving? Bitterness, resentment, grief, anger, a hardened heart, a cold shoulder, alienation, and an implicit set of entrenched and beliefs that has kept me stuck.

       What does Jungian therapist, Clarissa Pinkola Estes, recommend for handling rage:

·         Patience; recognize it; transform the fire into right action

·         Use anger as a creative force; bless it

·         Seek calm and the inner healer; contain it

·         Make a connection with a higher power

·         Forgiveness; release it

    

     How does one forgive? By the stages of forgiveness.

·         To forego-to leave it alone

·         To forebear-to abstain from punishing

·         To forget-to aver from memory, to refuse to dwell

·         To forgive-to abandon the debt.

    

      Easier said than done. The biggest impediment to letting go: “If I lose my rage, I will be changed; I will be weaker. (The first premise is correct, but the conclusion is inaccurate.)” -Clarissa Pinkola Estes

Resurrection

          Today we celebrate the highest holy day of the year: Easter. As a child, I was more interested in the candy I would be getting in my Easter basket than the celebrating a concept like resurrection. Besides, Easter heralded spring, new Easter dresses, and a chance to spend more time outdoors in warmer temps. All I knew is that I would no longer have to suffer abstaining from my Lenten pledge, wear dark heavy winter clothes, and could anticipate the return of verdant greens and spring bulbs bursting with color.

      This year the word resurrection has a different meaning. Though I tend to view Catholicism cynically, I am still deeply moved and influenced by my parochial upbringing. Having failed to fully live up to my Lenten practice does not necessarily negate the significance of the meaning of resurrection in my life. In Jungian terms, I view resurrection symbolically and spiritually. Resurrection is defined as, “rising from the dead or rising from decay: revival”. What has been revived? Here is this season’s resurrection list and a little about the people who have made my revival possible:

·        First on my list is the resurrection of my eyesight. Thank you, Dr. R. When I saw him last week I told him no person had a greater impact on my health this year. Having 20/20 vision has been nothing short of a miracle. To see the fullness of color, subtle visual detail, and have such sharp clarity has altered everything. When he told me I would be seeing perfectly again within hours after surgery, I thought it was a surgeon’s boast. Now I realize how exceptional this man’s skills are. I credit him with giving me a whole new outlook-literally.

·        Second on my list is the resurrection of intimacy. Thank you, James. It took ten years, a man of persistence, and a number of incredibly funny texts and emails for me to finally give in. His disarming ways and tenderness with me made me an amnesiac to my obstacles. The result transformed my life in ways I cannot begin to number. Part of me has come back from the dead, awakening the physical. But the impacts were not just bodily-it opened me up to the delights of intimacy and the fun a male presence brings to my life. The awakening of the second chakra is also associated with emotion, creativity, and clairsentience. The result: my body, mind, and spirit are experiencing a Renaissance.   

·         Third on my list is the resurrection of my friend Helen’s life by a medical team in LA. Thank you West Hills Hospital. Helen, a woman in her eighties, has been a significant part of my life for about twenty-five years. Last week she nearly died from a respiratory arrest. She is the only person I call on a daily basis. Even though we are totally different women, we have formed a tight bond. I appreciate how she compliments my life. She is a unique crone of unparalleled depth and intelligence. Having more time to argue with her, get exasperated by her stubbornness, and laugh at our contentious relationship, is precious.

·         Fourth on my list is Christian, the twenty-six year old puer aeternus vagabond. Thank you, Christian. Christian came into my life when James exited. I cannot think of a better diversion for a heartbreak than mothering a lost soul. It is astounding after years of being a recluse, I would agree to allow a male live with me even temporarily. This has been an incredible concession to my privacy but a good one. There is something about magical about how we interact. He softens me up and I seem to give him needed structure. He has restored my faith in men. How? By deftly knowing how to handle my eccentricities-something the older males of his gender do not grasp. Christian has renewed my hope of meeting an age appropriate male with whom I may also share a similar bond. His playfulness, ability to verbalize feelings, and adaptability inspire me.

·        The final person on my resurrection list is my internist, Dr. M. Thank you, Dr. M. When he became my physician over thirteen years ago right out of his residency, I groaned. The thought of training this young pup to adapt to my medical philosophy seemed daunting. Surprisingly, he acclimated to my steadfast refusal for pharmaceutical interventions for a number of my medical issues. He knows I will relent if necessary, but I am a firm believer in the less meds the better. He has also been remarkably accepting of my use of supplements. Two and a half years ago he diagnosed me with insulin resistance. Unlike most physicians who would put me on Metformin, he trusted my level of medical knowledge and motivation to get my blood sugars under control. This Lenten season my blood glucose readings consistently hit the 70s, I have lost twenty pounds, and there are no other health repercussions from my now controlled hyperglycemia.

     “If you live in the dark a long time and the sun comes out, you do not cross into it whistling. There's an initial uprush of relief at first, then-for me, anyway- a profound dislocation. My old assumptions about how the world works are buried, yet my new ones aren't yet operational. There's been a death of sorts, but without a few days in hell, no resurrection is possible.” ― Mary Karr, Lit 

The Sound of One Heart Breaking

    Stunned is the only word that can describe my recent interaction with him. He began by insisting he felt something visceral between us. I thought I had heard it all but I had not. His manner with me was masterful, his confidence genuine not egotistic, and the language he used with me was disarming. This is not what I expected from a former university professor of business. Without hesitation, he astonished me with his proposal: he said he knew enough about me that he was enchanted. So much so, he wanted to discuss having a serious long-term relationship with me. I laughed. I told him I was the kind of woman that men flee from not to. He said he understood. Then he asked me about my former marriages, my dates, and why I kept myself so isolated all of these years. The bottom line he said is, “Are you are capable of being in a loving relationship?” I told him I did not know if that was possible given all that I had been through. “Then, you have not been with men who have understood you”, was his comeback. Following his reply he extolled on his philosophy of love, intimacy, and partnership. He described his late marriage, his wife’s death, and his desire to not waste any more time when he had what he wanted was right in front of him. “I am very clear that you are what I am searching for and I am willing to work to overcome whatever obstacles you feel are in the path to achieve happiness with you. You are an incredibly intelligent and communicative woman. I would not feel this way unless I was certain I would make you happier than you’ve ever been in your life.” I was speechless. Never have I had a man be so forthright declaring unequivocally I was the woman he’d been waiting for. I protested with a series of considerations which were dismantled by his eloquent counterpoints. Every excuse, fear, reason I could think of defending my position was effectively extinguished by a calm, steady, and resolute assuredness. I finally had to give up. There was nothing more in my bag of tricks to dissuade this man whose perseverance surpassed my apprehensions.

     During the next few days we communicated frequently. He would send some of the most poignant and romantic emails I have ever had the pleasure to read. His sincerity was hypnotic. Speaking with him made me feel like I was a child with a comforting father. He knew not only how to allay my anxieties but how to beguile me. Whether it was his élan or willingness to accept me unconditionally, I began to feel myself becoming entranced.

     In his email he wrote: “It happened…and I’m shocked almost to the point of disbelief. I awakened this morning and felt something missing. I asked myself why we weren’t awakening together. I had, and have, no answer. Perhaps you do, I hope so…some satisfying answer to why this man suddenly feels an absence of a woman who he inherently knows is his life mate. I think that I’m still shocked, but I like the emotions.” The more he wrote and spoke to me the more he reached me, but I could let go. I did not know what to do or say. The response I formulated was woefully inadequate to correspond to this man’s tenderhearted missive. I scrapped it. Later in the evening I called him to thank him for his beautiful words. In my heart, I knew I could not continue to encourage something I knew could not be at this time. I cannot be something I am not: ready to jump off the precipice into the sea of love. Amazing, isn’t it? To have a man with such a rare combination of intellectual acumen, emotional sentience, and spiritual depth knock on my door and refuse to open it. I must be out of my mind-or maybe too stuck in it. As a fisherwoman, I know sometimes when one casts for a prized fish, sometimes you catch something bigger than your rod, reel, and line can handle. 

Feeling Taxed?

Blood Moon

    

     On Tuesday, April 15^th (at 12:07 a.m. lasting until 1:25 a.m. PDT), there will be a total lunar eclipse that will turn the moon a coppery red, NASA says. It's called a blood moon, and it's one of four total eclipses that will take place in North America within the next year and a half.

The moon will turn to blood as it aligns with Earth and sun
Then do so thrice more ere a year and a half is done,
'Tis not the herald of the apocalypses
Just the first of four total lunar eclipses

    What is a Blood Moon?  “The amount of refracted light depends on the amount of dust or clouds in the atmosphere; this also controls how much light is scattered. In general, the dustier the atmosphere, the more that other wavelengths of light will be removed (compared to red light), leaving the resulting light a deeper red color. This causes the resulting coppery-red hue of the Moon to vary from one eclipse to the next.”

 –Wikipedia

 
     Two good songs to listen to tonight on youtube are, "Pink Moon" by Nick Drake and " Bad Moon Rising", by Creedence Clearwater.

Pluto Retrograde: The Day of Reckoning

      Mondays are always a bummer but this Monday, Holy Monday, is the beginning of the six month phase of Pluto retrograde in serious Capricorn. When Pluto goes retrograde, expect an information overload. Secrets are blurted out unintentionally, truths are revealed unexpectedly, and shocking information unfolds, casting serious doubt on the credibility of reality. The tables are turned upsetting the apple cart. Can you believe what you hear or hear what you believe?

       Not all is bad. One can use the bizarre manifestations of this transit to reformulate plans. Just don’t expect immediate results. Illusions exposed will change deeply held perceptions making it necessary to separate the wheat from the chaff. You may not like what you’ll see but you will become clearer on what is to be done.

       Think of Pluto retrograde as an introduction to your shadow side. Everything you’ve repressed, denied, or avoided will be knocking at your door. You will have little choice but to let them in and serve them tea. Be a good host or hostess, as it is kinder to be gracious to your rejected or suppressed characters than to have them gang up on you. Purging (and I don’t mean self-imposed vomiting here) in a gentle way will help you through this day of reckoning.  Though you may not want to revisit old hurts and haunts, healing is highlighted for those brave enough to shed light in dark corners. By the way, good luck. 

Happy Birthday, Dr. Janie

    Who is this phenomenal Aries birthday woman? A woman of many virtues and competences.

    First let me tell you about her on an emotional level from my experience of her for the last twenty-five years. What most impresses me most about Janie is her ability to attune to how people are feeling and offer compassionate feedback in a non-judgmental manner. She is a quick study on the power of emotion, effortless translating the complexity of  behavior into how to make more loving choices. Her insight-backed revelations, coupled with an extraordinary sense of dignity, enable anyone seeking her wise counsel to walk away feeling more motivated, empowered, and infused with positivity. Even when she is struggling with her own challenges, I never leave a conversation from her without gaining something. Energetically, she always deposits into my bank of friendship leaving me feeling like a millionaire.

     On a personal level she is one of the most accomplished artisans I have ever met. Whether she is spinning wool, weaving, beading, or knitting, she produces exquisite works of art. As a crafting artist she embodies the best of expression, communication, design and the sublime in her creations. I marvel at her talents. One of the pieces she gave to me is an iridescent purple bracelet. Whenever I wear it I feel the energy she put into it, reminding me how lucky I am to call her my friend.

     Ironically, I have never seen Janie speak in a professional capacity. As a doctorate in education, she is known worldwide as educational expert, author of nineteen books and countless articles, and an exceptional speaker on a variety of issues in education. Though I have never heard her speak, I have manned (or more appropriately womanned) her table at conferences for her when she spoke at conferences in my city.  I have watched numerous educators come up to her at her table requesting her autograph, gushing how the they were reinvigorated by her inspirational lectures. Janie’s heart and soul goes out to supporting teachers in an era when they are besieged by negative opinions, testing standards, and high burnout rates. From teachers to policy makers, she touches everyone with her extraordinary commitment to education.

     What I know about Janie professionally, besides from our discussions about her philosophy, is from her books. Just recently I gave her book, “High School is Not Forever” to a friend’s fourteen year old grandson who has been having a tough time in his school. Both he and his father were impressed how practical, timely, and insightful Janie’s book was. Another of Janie’s books I give out as a gift to my stressed parents (of teenagers) friends is, “Parent’s, Teens, and Boundaries”.  My friends who have received this book have sworn by its sage advice on how to manage the teenage years. To me, this is who Janie is: a woman who hears the needs of parents, children, and educators and responds by writing classic books on getting to the solutions that revolutionize and humanize.

     Happy Birthday, Janie. Thank you for being such a powerful presence in making our world a better place. I love you.

Palm Sunday

     For an ex-Catholic who decided to observe Lent for the first time in decades, Palm Sunday is a welcome sign. Only one week left of abstinence, repentance, penance, and atonement. (We will get to how I fared on my Lenten season when I blog on Good Friday.) Just writing these four cardinal words makes me feel I have not experienced my full measure of guilt and shame this Lent. However, there are still six days left to go.

     Okay, let’s get to the symbolism of Palm Sunday from Wiki: “According to the Gospels, Jesus rode a donkey into Jerusalem, and the celebrating people there laid down their cloaks in front of him, and also laid down small branches of trees. The people sang part of Psalm 118: 25–26 –“Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord. We bless you from the house of the Lord.”

The symbolism of the donkey may refer to the Eastern tradition that it is an animal of peace, versus the horse, which is the animal of war. A king came riding upon a horse when he was bent on war and rode upon a donkey when he wanted to point out he was coming in peace. Jesus' entry to Jerusalem would thus symbolize his entry as the Prince of Peace, not as a war-waging king.

In Luke 19:41 as Jesus approaches Jerusalem, he looks at the city and weeps over it (an event known as Flevit super illam in Latin), foretelling the suffering that awaits the city.”

     I love the Church Latin I learned as a child going to mandatory mass six times a week for years. Flevit super illam caught my eye in this passage, as I don’t remember this from my catechism classes. Here we have a humble sentient being at the height of his popularity weeping. Most of what I was taught about Palm Sunday focused on Christ’s triumphant Hosanna procession into Jerusalem just one week before his death. The weeping passage caught me off guard. To me, it is a significant aspect of this story. A man weeping at the apex of his career while jubilant minions await him, speaks to a humanity the Catholics did not emphasize to me in its teachings.

    The symbolism of weeping is more interesting to me than the why. Anyone can make up a reason or story about the why; we’ll never really know why Christ was weeping. I do like this symbolic interpretation of weeping from Jungian analyst, Jutta Von Buchholtz: “We approach weeping with apprehension, as if it were the trumpet call to a dangerous loss of control, as if an outbreak of watery emotions could bring about a passionate loss of our comfortable business-as-usual state of mind. We only apprehend tears as evidence coming from mysterious, unclear depth, and warily treat them as if they were signs of impending or already accomplished disasters.”

    Revisiting Palm Sunday has given me a better perspective on the symbolic versus literal interpretation of the rise and fall of religious figurehead with whom I feel no personal connection. Years of forced orthodox parochial instruction robbed me of the richer allegorical context in the details of these New Testament vignettes. I cannot understand to the literal translation Palm Sunday but I can comprehend the allegorical connotation. This allows me to relate better to Christ as an iconoclast than a martyr who died for my sins. I never could figure out what sins I committed at such a young age that condemned him to such a grisly death anyway.

    Holy Week coincides with this week’s astrological Armageddon, beginning with Monday’s retrograde motion of Pluto and the full lunar eclipse in Libra on Tuesday. Sorry, it may be heretical to couple these two disparate events, but this is too symbolic for me to pass up. Pluto retrograde heralds deep psychological transformation being thrust upon us by circumstances beyond our control. The message of the lunar eclipse is change or be changed. Get ready, one way or another we all will be experiencing crucifixion and resurrection this week.

The Stigma of Being a Survivor of an Addict's Death

    Like family members of people who commit suicide, there is an unspoken stigma attached being a survivor of an addict’s death. Death by addiction is slow suicide. There may be a question of intent and control, but it is self-destructive behavior nonetheless. Whether it is acknowledged or not, in both there are unrelenting internalized feelings of blame, shame, guilt, and impotence. We could not change the course of the action our loved one took but we are still on the hook for it. These deaths never make rational sense, therefore, we are left pondering why. But it is the responses created by our peripheral network that condemn us more. Even if we work through the horror of it, our judgmental society obsessed with grisly details will not let us forget the tragedy. Every time the nightmare is shared with someone new, we relive the hellish story, gearing up for another round of sharing the morbid details. We are indicted by association of somehow being complicit in their death. It may not be directly implied, but every family member who has lost a loved one to either of these causes is vigilant to the nonverbal cues indicating our moral failing as the survivor. It's as if we could have done something, anything to stop the course of their decision making. 

     My friend Kathleen is a retired chemical dependency counselor. I have known her affluent family for years-I have always thought of them as a ‘Leave It to Beaver’ clan. Several years ago her drug addicted gay grandson deliberately took an overdose of narcotics rather than face another stint in rehab. He was only twenty-three years old. This young man was very bonded to her and left her a parting message in his final letter. To this day, she has been unable to read his departed note. Given her previous occupation, she lives with the grief that all of her knowledge and training could not have prevented his death. Over the years I have seen how her grandson’s suicide left her bereft with unresolved mourning. Though she puts on a brave face, I know she will go to her grave feeling a sense of failure for his death. Kathleen does not share her abject grief with many. She knows how painful it is to watch the reaction in others, let alone discuss her raw feelings about it. We have something in common. 

    Twenty years ago my ex-husband John died of the consequences of an addiction to alcohol at forty-seven years of age. To this day, even though we were divorced at the time of his death, I bear the same scrutiny when someone asks how my first husband died. Somehow his addiction is an indictment of my moral character. People have bizarre ideas of what he was like as an alcoholic and my role as his wife. Stupid questions I have had to withstand are, ‘Did he beat you?’, ‘Was he violent?’, ‘Didn’t they have rehab back then?’. What’s worse is when there are no questions but dead silence. I can see the wheels spinning nonverbal judgments which I cannot combat. The gory story of my ex-husband’s death by addiction and the conjecture about it is far more compelling than the reality. I no longer discuss it or offer any details. People frequently will assume I had been some doormat codependent wife who bailed my alcoholic husband out of every predicament, enabling him to continue his downward spiral. The truth is irrelevant. I have learned an honest discussion about this is futile unless the person to whom I am speaking has an addict in their life. It doesn’t matter, I am on the hook for it. My only saving grace is that John was not famous when he died.

     Whenever a celebrity dies from an addiction, I wonder how their family is coping. Recently, in Phillip Seymour Hoffman’s death, I was struck by the barrage of speculation by the media delightfully unflinching in its quest for the gruesome details. All I could think about was the loss of this brilliant actor and how his loved ones did not deserve the punishing glare into their private loss. He has young children who will wrestle with this sorrow for the rest of their lives. To see it spilled across the media so callously had to have been brutal for them. And we call ourselves an enlightened society.

     Currently the National Institute of Drug Abuse estimates the annual cost of addiction to be over $400 billion dollars a year. Last month 9.2% of our population has used an illegal substance. Sounds epidemic to me and I’m not even taking into consideration other addictive behaviors like porn, gambling, shopping, etc. Addiction is classified as medical condition not a disorder of will power. Then, where does that leave us as the survivors of addicts who die from their addiction? With stigmata.

I Was Blind (almost) But Now I See

“The only thing worse than being blind is having sight but no vision.”-Helen Keller

 “Vision is the art of seeing what is invisible to others.” -Jonathan Swift

     Yesterday was my cataract surgery. Within a half an hour, the skill of my exceptional ophthalmologist (Dr. R) changed my vision to 20/20. Medicine is truly miraculous. Waking up this morning, I could not help but feel awed by seeing clearly, experiencing more vivid color, and having my eyesight fully restored. Today I saw Dr. R for the last time-he said the surgery looked perfect. He looked even more gorgeous now that I could see him with perfect eyesight. Before our visit ended I told him how profoundly grateful I was for his surgical skill and gave him a big hug. Being a quiet and reserved sort of man, this took him off guard. I am sure not many patients hug him. The other parting comment I left him with was, whenever he has a bad day to remember patients like me who will always be indebted to him for the restoration of their eyesight. 

     It is appropriate for me to share today’s Daily Word’s affirmation about vision:

Consciousness

I see the dawn of a new day.

My life is a reflection of my consciousness. If I am feeling unhappy with my circumstances, I don’t linger in disappointment or discouragement, but rather I rejoice in the discovery that I can change my life by shifting my consciousness. If I don’t like the film that is playing, I can change the reel!

To shift my consciousness, I examine my beliefs. Do I believe I am deserving and loved? Do I believe I am one with God? I discard any unsupportive self-talk and affirm: I deserve all the good God has for me. I am whole, confident, and strong through the power of God within me. I repeat this practice until my consciousness shifts and I see the dawn of a new day.

Obsessively Yours

             
 ob·ses·sion  [uhb-sesh-uhn] noun

1. the domination of one's thoughts or feelings by a persistent idea, image, desire, etc.

2. the idea, image, desire, feeling, etc., itself.

3. the state of being obsessed.

4. the act of obsessing.

Immunizations and the High Cost of the Anti-Vaccine Movement

    I am from the generation who were exposed to childhood infectious diseases in the early sixties such as polio, measles, mumps, rubella, whooping cough, and chickenpox, because of lack of vaccines. Polio, in particular, was the most frightening disease parents of my generation were terrified their children would become infected with. I remember being in the first grade and being given sugar cubes with the oral polio vaccine, much to the relief of my parents. To my knowledge, no child at my school did not receive the polio vaccine because their parents objected to it for philosophical reasons. Every parent’s worst nightmare was to have their child come down with this disabling disease and be impacted by it for life.

    My generation lived through the consequences of having limited vaccines. Anecdotal stories from my life include a cousin who contracted meningitis at the age of four years becoming permanently deaf and a brother-in-law who contracted polio at six years whose treatment was placement in an iron lung machine for more than a year. I have personally seen the consequences of infectious disease and how profoundly it changed the lives of these two people. I, too, am also a survivor of an infectious disease: cervical cancer caused by the HPV virus. Fortunately, my disease was caught soon enough to be effectively vanquished by treatment. However, the three years I spent in treatment not knowing if I was going to have a hysterectomy or complications due to metastasis was nerve racking. This is why I work in and am an advocate for immunization.

     In the eight and a half years I have worked in immunization, I have heard countless stories from people who chose not be immunized and bore the consequences of their actions. One woman with whom I was training at a school, told me her daughter contracted measles as a child which developed into encephalopathy causing permanent brain damage. A good friend of mine did not heed my advice to get a PCV13 pneumonia shot (she has an immunocompromised condition); she nearly died from pneumonia last year. To this day, she is suffering from respiratory problems directly related to that bout of pneumonia. During the last pertussis outbreak, eight babies died in California after being exposed to whooping cough. Sadly, these stories do not make the headline news. No one wants to believe preventable infectious disease could happen to them causing, not just disruption, but disability and/or death.

     What does make the news and is spread via the internet is the infamous faulty study by Andrew Wakefield, a physician who lost his license and credibility, for falsifying data linking the MMR vaccine to autism. The damage this man did and continues to do is reprehensible. There are no scientific studies linking the MMR vaccine to autism and there have been many done all over the world. However, there is mounting evidence that autism has its roots in genetic, epigenetic, and in utero causes. For more excellent information about what is scientifically known about autism, one can visit the University of California, San Diego’s Autism Center for Excellence website at:  www.autism-center.ucsd.edu.

     Currently we have a measles outbreak in my city. Anti-vaccine advocates do not seem to understand the serious complications that may develop as a result of exposure, mainly pneumonia and encephalitis. What is even more heartbreaking is the infectious exposure to babies and the immunocompromised that end up hospitalized because of a parent’s erroneous beliefs about vaccines. Additionally, most people do not know the human and financial cost of having to quarantine people, by order of our Public Health Officer, to prevent further contagion of this highly infectious disease. People exposed to measles with undocumented immunity or vaccinations are placed in home quarantine for three weeks or more depending on the extent of the outbreak. In the 2008 Measles outbreak, we had 13 patients who came down with measles and 72 of their contacts in home quarantine for three weeks. This meant no school for children and no work for adults. Add the costs of this economic loss to the monitoring of this quarantine daily (which involves a team from both immunization and epidemiology) the price tag easily goes into the hundreds of thousands of dollars quickly. During the 2008 outbreak, many parents who waived vaccines for their children were outraged that the Public Health Officer had the authority to prevent them and their children from work and school. This is the price one pays for ignorance.

    When one looks at how medicine revolutionized the health of the world, the first thing that usually comes up is antibiotics, not vaccination. The reality is that without immunization, countless lives would be lost to disability and/or death. 

Overcoming Insulin Resistance

    Two and half years ago, my internist diagnosed as having insulin resistance. What is insulin resistance? “Insulin resistance (IR) is a condition in which the body's cells become resistant to the effects of insulin. That is, the normal response to a given amount of insulin is reduced. As a result, higher levels of insulin are needed in order for insulin to have its proper effects. So, the pancreas compensates by trying to produce more insulin. This resistance occurs in response to the body's own insulin (endogenous) or when insulin is administered by injection (exogenous).”(From medicinenet.com). Essentially, I was slowly but surely on the road to becoming diabetic. Having both a brother and sister with diabetes dramatically increased the percentage that if I did not make radical changes in my lifestyle, I too, would end up like them.

     So I got busy. Since blood sugars were right on the border for diabetes, I could be managed without pharmaceutical intervention. My doctor did three important things for me: 1) He ordered a glucometer for me to check my blood sugars daily, 2) He sent me to a dietitian, and 3) He told me to start losing weight and exercising. All I knew when I began this journey was I was not willing to become another type 2 diabetic patient.

    After two and a half years I have had an amazing turn around in management of my insulin resistance. First, I stopped eating almost everything with sugar in it and 90% of processed carbohydrates (bread, pasta, rice, etc.). I am now a fanatic about reading food labels to ensure I am not unwittingly eating or drinking anything high in sugar. Changing my diet was not that difficult since I have never been dialed into sweets. However, giving up bread was another story. I was raised in the grain belt where bread was served in copious quantities with every meal. That has been hard. Every so often I will eat bread but only a small piece. Secondly, I became compulsive about doing daily blood sugars. It is hard to lie to yourself about your relationship with food when your glucometer is an effective lie detector. I cannot understand the denial which drives people who are insulin resistant and diabetic, to stubbornly refuse to do glucometer testing. Thirdly, I began walking on a regular basis. One cannot simply hope one’s blood sugar will decrease with diet alone. Exercise will make a major difference in effectively controlling excess blood sugar. The final step was losing weight. Since my journey with insulin resistance began, I have lost over 55lbs. I have 30lbs more to go. After two and a half years, my blood sugars have gone from 125 dcl and above to consistently being in the 70s. It is about progress not perfection: there are days I have given in to yummy French fries only to have it bite me back in my morning glucose readings. One cannot afford complacency when dealing with a chronic condition.

    Another major contributor to my success, not necessarily advocated by my internist, was taken certain supplements. The National Institute of Health has a great website on glucose lowering supplements that have been shown promise in reducing blood sugar. I started regularly taking a number of these substances which had proven to be very effective at lowering my post prandial and morning blood sugars. However, my doctor has a list of everything I take which is especially critical if you are on pharmaceutical glucose lowering meds.

    Probably the biggest enemies of controlling blood sugar are your loved ones, friends, coworkers, grocery stores, and food industry. For as much as loved ones and friends say they want to support your management of blood sugar, they are quick to offer that piece of birthday cake and tell you a little piece of this or that won’t hurt you. I work in Public Health where, if anyone should be proactive in prevention of the epidemic of type 2 diabetes, they should. Still, every week my coworkers are bringing in donuts, pastries, and cakes insisting one bite will do me no wrong. I am amazed how many of my diagnosed diabetic colleagues cave in to this enticement. Even worse are the iniquitous purveyors of sugar: grocery stores and the food industry. Just walking into a grocery store one gets hit by a wall of carbohydrates-chips, bread, sodas, desserts, etc. They design grocery stores to cater to the hypnotic allure of sugar by ensuring immediate access to your cravings front and center. My final comment is for the pernicious food industry who is ground zero for hyperglycemia. One only has to read a label to see how much sugar is added to almost everything. FYI: 4 grams of sugar is equal to one teaspoon of sugar. Do the math the next time you read a label detailing how much sugar is in something you buy. We all should be horrified by this.

April's Astrological Armageddon

   Get set for a bumpy ride. April’s astrological events will be the most significant of the year, if not
consequential for a number of years. There will be two eclipses and a grand square forcing all of us to look at how we have been avoiding change, coasting with complacency, and have been unwilling to contemplate our discontent. For all of you that are cardinal signs (Libra, Cancer, Aries, and Capricorn), this   unusual configuration of planets will be your personal atomic explosion.

     Let’s start when the fireworks begin on the full moon lunar eclipse in Libra on April 15^th. The one two punch of the astrological square developing on this day promises to either amplify transformative processes or make one feel like a dominatrix has unleashed her wrath (and not in a fun way). If you are not waking up from your deepest darkest fears, you will be hit over the head with the mallet of reality. Time to change or be changed. There are no more what ifs, if only, I should of, this can wait, excuses left in your bag of denial tricks. There is no one left to blame or shame. The good news is you will be jolted awake whether you wish to be or not. The bad news is this is just the beginning. “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.” –Max Plank

  
  Following this lovely panic attack will be a revolutionary grand square from April 20^th – April 23^rd which heralds breakthroughs or breakdowns. Think volatility, total disruption, and shockingly overwhelming. However, if courage, collaboration, ingenuity, and integrity can be maintained, one may pass through the weirdness of this period by waxing philosophically. Even without this grand square, this week is crazy by history. During this black period we commemorate the tragic events at Columbine, Oklahoma City, Waco, and Bonner’s Ferry (the ATF Randy Weaver debacle). This week also coincides with Adolf Hitler’s birthday. More suicides are committed this month than at any other time of year. Multiply this by unrelenting pressure and uncontrollable events and you have a recipe for instability squared. However, surfers may be able to ride this transformational wave with confidence. The choice is up to you. 

    The coup de gras will be the annular solar eclipse in the New Moon of Taurus on April 28^th. We will be in the wake of the cardinal grand cross requesting not just a leap of faith but a quantum leap. It is suggested this eclipse may instigate a financial review. Taurus the bull could be stubborn enough to resist the supernumerary effect of a major ending culminating in a new beginning. We will get what we resist, fear, or try to dominate. There is still room to get with the program and adopt a new attitude that what does not kill us will make us stronger

The Year of the Straight Male

     Because of the unexpected shift in my consciousness about men, I am pronouncing this is my “Year of the Straight Male”. No one could have ever told me that after ten years of virtual hermitage, I would be almost drowning in straight male testosterone. It has come as a surprise, not only to me, but all of my close friends. Most of them feel I have become bi-polar, unhinged, or am going through some sort of weird adult onset puberty. Whatever pixie dust was sprinkled on me by the universe, it is showing no signs of letting up.

    I have always felt conflicted about men for most of my life. Starting with my family of origin, which was clearly matriarchal, I saw that men ruled the world. I was raised in a household with my mother’s parents, her sister and son, and my family of eight. The women of my household, governed by my grandmother, were strong and independent in their own way. They always deferred to the men as the head of the household but it was the women who really called the shots. From my female figureheads I learned that women may not have the authority but they always had the power.

   The older men in my family were duty-oriented, responsible, and tyrannical but not as intelligent as the women. This imbalance of intellect brought great frustration for the women in my family who had to endure living in circumstances which provided them with no stimulation or outlet for their intelligence. It is no wonder all of them suffered clinically from anxiety and/or depression. My father, the son of Polish immigrants, was an especially tough and hardened man. He married my WASP mother in defiance of his parent’s disapproval, paying the emotional price for this until my grandparents died. My mother was unyielding: she never converted to Catholicism to appease my Polish grandparents, causing her a life’s worthy of misery from them and the Catholic Church. From her I learned I might be forced to acquiesce to patriarchal demands from time to time but I can still hold my ground.

   I was my father’s favorite child. As a child, I was always smiling, happy, and funny. These charms, along with my long blonde braided hair and sweet face, made me virtually irresistible to almost all the men in my family. But my father was particularly protective and attentive to me, much to the chagrin of my mother. I can never remember a time when I didn’t have him wrapped around my finger. When my other siblings wanted to do something my father refused, they knew I could ask him and get a begrudging ‘yes’. All it took were several variations of ‘daddy, please’ before he relented. From my father I learned the persistence of never accepting ‘no’ the first, second, or third time. He also taught me about the power of charm and humor in disarming even the toughest of people.

  The combination of traits from my mother and father contributed to my view of women being superior to men but not as fortunate. It also reinforced marriage and children as psychological strait jackets for women. My male gynecologist once told me that if were not for hormones, men and women might never get together. It is these hormones that overrode my judgment, strategic thinking, intuition, and good sense when it comes to men. By the time I got into middle age, I thought it was all over are far as relationships with men. Then came Craigslist.

   When my friend Karen asked me to move to Colorado to be near her, I thought it would be advantageous to put an ad in Craigslist to see what kind of people live in Grand Junction. I had not expected the reaction I received. For the first time in years I had men sending me replies offering to take me fishing, hike with me, and, of course, more salacious activities. When the plan to move to Colorado fell through, I wondered what it would be like to put an ad in my current city. Again, the response was incredible. However being in a larger city, I received more sophisticated replies. 

    Dating and just being with men is a chore for me. Besides having baggage from previous relationships with men which ended badly, I found it anxiety producing to expose myself both physically and psychologically to them. Being a feminist, I am vigilant as to the subtle nuances of how most men try to intimidate, dominate, or control women. Those first few encounters with those men were lessons in humility and courage. Slowly but surely, I became acclimated, not confident, but able to be around straight men. I found myself actually liking male companionship. It was not totally copacetic but I was willing to entertain being in a serious relationship in the future.

    Enter Christian, my girlfriend’s twenty-six year old son needing a place to stay. Had it not been for my previous dates, I am not certain I could have allowed a young male to live with me. He is not your ordinary male. Christian was raised by a strong woman and is a female identified man with intuitive feelings. There is no doubt in my mind he is more emotionally sentient than me. We have formed a nice bond in the short time we have been known each other. I appreciate his male energy and youthful enthusiasm. He is a welcome male presence who brings a balance to my life.

        In this my declared “Year of the Straight Male”, I will be more receptive and grateful for the good graces associated by mingling with the opposite sex.