The Messy Business of Death

The Light Shall Overcome The Night

When you find yourself alone in the shadows
Void of peace and tricked by deceit,
Know that light flushes out the dark
And there's a light deep within your heart

If you find yourself in a crowd blind of clear sights,
Remove yourself from their company, and find some light

It will always be darkest before dawn
So prepare yourself a light
Because darkness will surely come

For shadow shrouds over everyone and everything,
Never are you alone when the night comes to cling

We all share the same sun and the same moon
But with life comes fire, let us use it to banish the present gloom

Together, when we all contribute to the fire
We can create warmth and huddle around the campfire
Until this present darkness expires

Some may be lost within the pitch black, and absent day
Some may even run wild in search of prey 

But know this..
Within your heart can start a spark,
The smallest fire can give birth to soaring flames
So bright you might even forget the darkness even came

The light shall overcome the night, breaching through the skies
So hold fast to your light, whatever it may be
A candle, a torch, a lantern, or even the full moon shining across the seas -Justin Worthy

SAVVY SORCERESS SEEKING WISE WIZARD

Sometimes witches just wanna have fun. 

'Savvy sorceress is seeking to expand her quest to find a wise wizard for an enchanting association. To be clear, I am not looking for warlocks with benefits as I have medical, dental, and other pension perks from my own exciting career manufacturing broomsticks. Additionally, I am not into FBs (fortuneteller buddies) due to their limited appeal. However, an astute conjurer of words might be able to whisk me away from my coven if he bewitches me with sagacious spells, charms me with clever hexes, and demonstrates witty sophic soothsaying. 

This sibyl's diversity of interests includes advising Macbeth, brewing potions, cauldron cooking, and hanging out at the lair. My prognostications foresee a likely bond with an available alchemist who rather enjoys the company of a quirky crone with a wicked sense of humor and a penchant for the innovative. Would be thrilled to experience magical magnetism with the right oracle. 

BTW: those already hypnotized by marriage, mesmerized by other enchantresses, or are besieged by misfortune tellers would be better off following the yellow brick road."

Death of a Brewery

A few years ago I knew a competent PhD biochemist, who in a fit of mid-life pique, decided to pursue his dream of owning a brewery after being laid off from his pharmaceutical job. His unfulfilling marriage to a successful physician, the pressure of raising two trophy sons, and a bruising lay off from a prestigious job, seemed to propel his unrealistic dream of making it big as the brewmeister of a scientifically produced exceptionally crafted beer. Defying all logic and business acumen, he proceeded backed primarily by his wife's and other investor's money. Indeed, initially things seemed to be heading in a positive direction-he took top prizes at the State Fair for his micro-brewed beer. That is, until his marriage crashed, the economy tanked, and the competition of over 250 other equally impressive microbreweries in the county overwhelmed his crafted cathexis. His brewery was outgunned by his competitors: under capitalized, poorly marketed, and naively managed, he continued to throw good money after bad attempting to sustain his burgeoning business nightmare.

The problem with most intelligent scientists is they are impeccably trained to persevere in spite of obstacles or until the research funding runs out. Their hubris does not permit them the insight that, because they are successful in one area in life, they might not be successful when they are out of their league in another area. Probably the biggest Achilles heel of any scientist is a reluctance to foresee failure. The Scientist Brewmeister knew he was not all that great when it came to business but continued to raise funds from investors, even when all signs were indicating his brewery was as solvent as the S.S Titanic. As a member of MENSA, he was too smart to fail.

Coming from a more humble background, I listened to the Scientist Brewmeister's stories of endlessly seeking investors and knew his desire for beer-driven success and prestige was a pointless exercise in futility. Not being a businesswoman, I could see he was way over his head. He was a small fish in a big pond of more moneyed, established, and popular craft beer entrepreneurs. The sign on the wall was not big enough for him to walk away before disaster struck. We drifted apart but I wondered how long it would take before his world would come crashing down.

This week I read an article in a local paper how the Scientist Brewmeister put his brewery up for sale last year. He had hoped a larger craft beer company would financially absorb him but continue to allow him keep his craft brands. That did not happen. To prevent foreclosure he sold off 90% of his brewery, kept his brands, and is now trying to keep alive producing beer for his small biergarten in an industrial park way off the beaten path. One does not need to be a psychic to know this a last ditch attempt to stave off the inevitable. Going from scientist to beermaster/bartender in a biergarten has got to be a stinging consequence of his poor business acumen.

The Scientist Brewmeister is now close to sixty. Divorced from his largest most pissed off investor, financing two kids in college, and facing the demise of the last of his dream, his world has collapsed. This is not the happily ever after story he envisioned. He admitted his choices were to go back to the pharm industry or be a beer consultant. Re-entering the traditional marketplace after being away from academia and the pharmaceutical industry for more than a decade he will discover the true cost of his mid-life crisis. Sixty years of age is ancient in a data-driven, publish or perish world. A highly competitive marketplace awaits the advanced degreed in this millennial world. 

Underneath the hard crustiness of most emotionally detached scientists, there lurks a great deal of insecurity covered up by arrogance and delusions of intellectual invincibility. The Scientist Brewmeister is a lesson in how pride goeth before the fall and how a high IQ does not guarantee success. 

Because of my background in vocational consulting, I knew his mid-life fantasy, financed by his ex-wife, would likely end up in ruin. It is well known in vocational counseling that starting a business is the least successful vocational option once someone loses a job because of it having the highest percentage of failure. Frequently people who take this option do not have the entrepreneurial verve to make it work and usually won't listen to reason. It is a sad footnote for me that there was nothing I could have said or done to have prevented his fall. I wrote him to tell him how sorry I was that he lost so much. No reply is expected. 

A Dissertation on Sorrow for the Day of the Dead

sor·row

noun

1. 1.

   a feeling of deep distress caused by loss, disappointment, or other misfortune suffered by oneself or others.

“I want to weep, she thought. I want to be comforted. I’m so tired of being strong. I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while, that’s all …a day … an hour ...

...One day, she promised herself as she lay abed, one day she would allow herself to be less than strong.
But not today. It could not be today.” 
― George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings

Every heart has its secret sorrows which the world knows not, and oftentimes we call a man cold, when he is only sad.

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, Hyperion

“It's so curious: one can resist tears and 'behave' very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer... and everything collapses. ” 

― Colette

“So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love.” 
― E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

IN MEMORY OF ALL THOSE WHO HAVE PASSED AND ESPECIALLY TO THE FAMILY AND FRIENDS COPING WITH LOSS FROM SENSELESS VIOLENCE.

Can people with HIV be 'legally' quarantined?

Unbelievably, this was a question raised this week by Dr. Betty Price, an anesthesiologist representative from Georgia and wife of ousted ex-HHSA Cabinet Secretary Tom Price. "It just seems to me it's almost frightening the number of people who are living that are potentially carriers -- well, they are carriers -- but, potential to spread," Betty Price said. "Whereas, in the past, they died more readily, and then at that point, they are not posing a risk. So, we've got a huge population posing a risk if they're not in treatment."

Too bad we cannot quarantine stupidity, especially in so-called educated physicians. Once again we see the stigma of what is still considered a 'gay' disease being treated as rationale for internment camps. What's next, hiring a Dr. Mengele-like medical director to oversee their care?  Why not just put them in ovens and gas them-wouldn't that be cheaper?

I am surprised Trump didn't nominate her instead of her husband to oversee Health and Human Services. They seem to be on the same wavelength with their Nazi-like solutions for all of the ills the 1% would rather not have to fund. It is ironic that Dr. Price should bring up fears of the spread of HIV/AIDS. Trump is well-known for his long-time association with Roy Cohn, the McCarthy-era attorney who ended up denying he was gay and died of AIDS.

It is estimated that 1.1 million people in the US have HIV. They got it from having sex. You know, the basic human activity we all are biologically wired to engage in. As long as people have sex, they will pass bacteria and viruses to one another through their bodily fluids. Bacteria and viruses are not selective about targeting their vessel-they infect every race, creed, and gender. If you have sex you are at risk for contracting sexually transmitted diseases (STDs) like HPV, chlamydia, gonorrhea, syphilis, etc. It sounds as if Price may have flunked out of her infectious disease rotation to not know the extent of STDs plaguing the US. Why should we just stop at incarcerating HIV patients when gonorrhea is quickly becoming untreatable with antibiotics?

Sexually transmitted diseases do not care if you are white, rich, privileged, heterosexual, or famous, Dr. Price. Thinking these factors will protect you and the rest of your cronies from infection is sincerely deluded. Thinking a concentration camp quarantine will protect the population from HIV defies sound Public Health practices. How do I know? I work in Public Health. What is the best way to protect oneself from the scourge of any infectious disease? Get educated, vaccinated, seek treatment if infected, and follow the treatment plan.

Your homophobic slip is showing, Dr. Price. Best you stay out of this fray and stick to what you know best: wasting our time legislating archaic ideas that have no basis in reality.

The Death of a Beloved Friend

Three weeks ago my dearest friend dropped dead in a grocery store. There was no warning, no expectation that this would happen, and no intuitive foresight of an impending traumatic shock. In an instant I was thunderstruck by ineffable grief. This was no ordinary death nor was my friend an ordinary person. She was an extraordinary, magnificent woman who was more than a sister to me than my own blood sisters. The inexplicable stunning demise of one who was my fiercest supporter and confidante has left me paralyzed with anguish. My world is now filled by sorrowful agony as I mourn the loss of a woman who contributed greatly to making my life a better, more joyful, and loving place.

Our society barely recognizes the loss of close family let alone those who are our spiritual and karmic family. While people may impart their perfunctory expressions of sympathy, few know how to communicate accurate empathy. Only those of us who were closest to my friend know the vacuous chasm her death has created. We know we won't be getting over this in a few weeks, a few months, or even a year. Hard grief requires a long period of reflection, assimilation of memories, resolution of the good and bad times, and knowing we will never get over it but may at some point get used to it. Until that day, I have accepted my life will be shaped one day at a time in bereavement.

Everyone grieves differently. Some are sad, some are mad, some go crazy, and some die of a broken heart. I am reminded that when some animals lose their babies, they will carry their dead babies around for a period of time lovingly stroking them as they mourn. Most of us endure our lamentation silently and in private. The world we live in hardly acknowledges the reality of death let alone wants to discuss how pained we are at our dearly departed's passing. Quickly we encounter the covert and/or overt signals, usually delivered with honed etiquette, to cease the disturbing conversations when mentioning a grievous loss in public. This isolates us further.

Every morning since my friends shocking departure, I wake up crying. What makes this hard is that I am more of a thinking woman; this is not my usual way of coping with loss. I have no control over my sunrise melancholia, it just happens. Grieving does not give one the option when it strikes. Though my day gets less sad as I move forward distracted by my job, underneath my outward competency there lurks a prevailing despondency. These days seem surreal-like I am watching a picture of myself acting normal even though I am shattered.

Because my friend's death was sudden, she was taken by the medical examiner and her tissues donated per her request. I never got to see her again. This takes on an eerie quality that maybe she really isn't gone, though I know intellectually this is untrue. In honor of her memory, I set up a descanso, a shrine to her in my living room. Her picture graces my sideboard with tokens of things she owned: a statue of St. Francis, a crystal ball, a beautiful necklace, and a exotic Mexican beaded snake I had given her. Daily I light a candle for her so she knows what a light she was in this world. Sometimes I talk to her and tell her how much I miss her. Because of her Buddhist bent, I am also reading 'The Tibetan Book of the Dead' for her, as well as daily reciting the Phowa. These rituals comfort me during a time when I feel abandoned by her death.

Farewell my loving friend. You were a great source of happiness and joy in my life. Know I will never forget you.

The Linguist's Guide to Covfefe

Possible definitions of covfefe:

Covfefe:  pejorative presidential slang for intelligent wordsmith fu**#rs.

Covfefe: confused, as in demonstrating the inability to spell properly.

Covfefe: to huddle in amazement at the decline of proper grammar.

Covfefe: a specific form of aphasia indicating cerebral damage to the Broca area of the brain.

Covfefe: a major block in the 5th and 6th chakras.

Covfefe: a neologism expressed in an inexplicable message.

Covfefe: another gaffe Sean Spicer has to explain.

Covfefe: a joke lost on its obtunded subject.

Covfefe: a party celebrating the ability to irritate the snot out of the head of state.

Covfefe: a contrived tweet written by witless, angry, and sleepless egomaniac.

Covfefe: psychobabble for someone losing control.

Covfefe: dysgraphia mainly caused by small hands and an even smaller mind.