Saved By Zero

I wrapped up the last task of the fiscal year end crazies on Friday. While it’s still high anxiety for the real finance folks at the office, at last it’s over for me.

Thank the gods.

The first three months of the calendar year are the worst three months of the government fiscal. I return to work after Christmas holidays and am thrust headlong into hell. It’s fast, it’s furious, and this year it nearly killed me.

Maybe it’s the non-stop number-crunching. Left Brain is in full control and she is a tyrant. Creativity takes a beating. I can’t write more than a terse email, let alone a philosophical blog post. And laughing is not an option unless it rings with hysteria.

Granted, the past twelve months as a whole were out to destroy me. Not only was my personal life in turmoil, my work life was equally volatile. When I am stressed, I lose myself. I become inflexible. I am resentful and impatient with others. I have spontaneous crying jags. I develop seasonal alcoholic disorder. I crash at nine p.m. though sleep eludes me well into the wee hours, and when I do sleep, my dreams are nightmarish.

I stop being me. I don’t know who I become, but I don’t like her very much. I’m just relieved when she goes away. She started packing at the end of last week, once the last invoices were paid and the quarter reconciled. After the forecast and the final tally zeroed out, I felt Ru come out of hiding.

There’s yet a ton of cleanup in the aftermath, and I don’t just mean at the office. I must also sift through the wreckage and pull out what worked for me when all else worked against me. Amidst the storming were moments worth preserving: gold stars for remembering to breathe, to recalibrate, to take care of myself wherever possible. I also acknowledge the support I had during the worst of it, from Ter, from my wee sister, my friends, and my brilliant colleagues at work. Work, work, work. Yup, Q4 is the absolute worst time of the annual cycle—

—and now that it’s over, I look back and wonder why I was so fraught. Nobody died. Nobody was at risk. Everything got done, and if it didn’t, oh, well.

Will it happen again in 2020? Probably … but I have nine months to sharpen my coping skills!

What’s in a Brain?

Not only is my chiropractor enthralled by my crooked spine, he’s a great audience. I’m guaranteed to get a laugh every time I see him. He’s also a sports therapist, so I like to ask him random questions when I’ve been pondering the unique oddities of my compostable container. I’m so strangely wired, in fact, that sometimes we both learn something.

Lately I’ve had problems with my teeth aching, but rather than going to the dentist like a normal person, I decided it was a nerve issue better addressed by chiro—and I was right. A couple of visits and some postural instruction later, and my teeth are quiet again. It also got me thinking about my nervous system. So I asked him:

“All our nerves are contained in the spinal cord, right?”

“Yes,” he said, “except for seventeen facial nerves. (He knew this because my teeth quandary had sent him back to the manual; boy, we had a laugh about that!) Everything else runs through the third and fourth cervical vertebrae via the spinal cord.”

Now was the time to spring my logic on him, but not before I got his expert take on the subject. “So, where does it start?”

“In the brain.”

So much for logic. “Oh!” I exclaimed. “I thought it started at the base of the spine and spread upward, like a tulip bulb!”

He thought this was hilarious. “No, no. The nervous system starts at the brain and continues from the base of the spine into your legs and feet. I’m surprised at you, Ruth. I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Yeah, well, I guess it shows how much I value my brain!”

I’m really more of a heart person.

Fast forward to the ancient Egypt exhibit at the Royal BC Museum.  It’s a fabulous meander through life on the Nile in the time of the pharaohs, spanning everything from geography to society to the afterlife. I’ve read a bit about the ancient culture and the rituals around mummification, but the exhibit taught me a few things I hadn’t previously known about the process of prepping the body. I knew the internal organs were removed and given their own individual jars—lungs, liver, stomach and intestines—but I didn’t know (or remember) the heart was replaced in the chest cavity and (get this) the brain was discarded. Turns out you don’t need it in the afterlife!

It’s not that important in this life, either, no matter how hard it tries to convince you otherwise. It doesn’t house your soul. It’s the mortal version of Windows: it keeps the compostable container alive, but it doesn’t know a darned thing about life.

Well, maybe it knows enough to fear dying. It runs the machine and houses the self-preservation software. It’s also got an impressive array of tricks to keep us believing it’s smarter than it really is. As the comic Emo Phillips once said, “I thought the brain was the most important organ in my body. Then I realized who was telling me that.”

Sure, when faced with imminent danger, the fight/flight response kicks in, but the brain is part of the standard mortality package that includes motor skills and bladder control. I suppose the intellect resides in the brain as well, as intellect lacks compassion for anything and anyone save itself. Intellect ridicules compassion and empathy. It sneers at getting by on what you need rather than raking in the lion’s share. It’s all about survival of the fittest—but not necessarily the smartest. It believes what it’s told (sort of) and makes up what it doesn’t hear the first time. To its credit, the brain is a good storyteller—the writer in me likes that point—but it does tend to focus on horror rather than hope, keeping itself relevant in the guise of keeping us safe.

I could go on, but I’m not a neuroscientist. I don’t even play one on TV. I do know, however, that my heart is far smarter than my brain will ever be. I suspect this is because my heart houses the innate wisdom of spirit, that which connects me to each of you and to the greater source of All There Is. What resides in my heart is truly eternal, limitless, immortal and divine. What resides in my brain is temporary, transient, subjective and useful only until I reach my carbon-based expiry date. It is utterly fallible, and utterly human. It provides the contrast our spirits need to help us experience this phase of existence. It’s not as smart as it is shifty, but if I’m going to be a true creature of spirit, I will be glad of my brain for as long as I am here. It serves a significant purpose, after all, but let’s get real.

I won’t need it in the afterlife.

My Human

Ter coined a dandy the other day. She passed an unkind judgment on someone—hardly a criminal offense, but definitely out of sync with the higher level vibe we’re striving to maintain—and promptly smacked her own hand. “I’m sorry,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. “My human.”

Bwahahahahahaha!

To be human is to be influenced by the five sense reality, the egocentric identity, the left brain, the intellect, the bane of pure source energy. The human experience is why we’re here, but it’s terribly restrictive when learning lessons of love, acceptance and forgiveness within that experience. It also provides a physical contrast to things of the spirit. We need it, but we also need to be aware of it. Only then can we move past it.

It’s okay to be human. It’s okay to be small, occasionally, especially in defense of someone we love (thank you, Ter). It is oddly gratifying to think savage thoughts toward someone who has caused us or our own some form of angst, but we must not let those thoughts consume us. Have the thought, get your jollies from it, then forgive everyone involved and let it go.

Easier said than done? Yup. Being human makes it so. Forgiveness, however, does not mean to say that an injury/insult is justified or acceptable. It simply means that we as individuals can control our response to the slight. Yes, the comment was unfair. Yes, the insult may have been unintended, but it also reveals something about the person who made it, and that is not ours to own unless we choose to own it. (And, really, do you have room in your life to wear someone else’s issues?)

Ultimately, you can only live your life. You can only control your feelings and your actions. You put out the intention based on where you are in your journey. How I perceive it is determined by where I am in mine. Sometimes we’ll meet in the middle and sometimes we won’t. That is when opportunities for forgiveness occur.

If, however, an intention is initially misread, then … “Oops. My human.”

Fear Less

Life is about contrast: light/dark; yes/no; happy/sad; naughty/nice. We have no choice in that, it’s a physical law. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Nothing is constant but change. This too shall pass. Bad/good things happen to good/bad people.

Yaddayaddayadda.

The empowering thing about contrast is that we can choose which way we’re facing. When it’s all good, we can enjoy the moment, or waste it by dreading its inevitable end. When it goes pear-shaped, we can wallow in piteous despair, or seek the contrast and overcome.

We choose how we respond.

I’m saying this out loud because a) it’s true and b) I need the reminder. I have a lot of fear—or I could, if I chose. Fear is like a water leak; it starts small, so small that you may not know it’s happening until the ceiling crashes into your living room. Then, as is completely natural, you’re immobilized.

Fear is housed in the biological unit’s disk operating system. It’s not the same as the little voice that warns against getting on that particular bus; the little voice is your wiser self, and often dismissed by an intellect so insecure that it will endanger itself by refusing to accept the help. Fear is part of the survival package that comes with this mortality gig. Fear is a good thing—until the filtering mechanism malfunctions. That’s when all manner of mental anguish results. We start spooking at shadows and suspecting infamy at every turn. We begin to believe when we are told we should be afraid, and of what. We then actively seek things to frighten us. The law of attraction gets very weighty in such cases—the more you fear, the more you have to fear.

Nicole sent me the pendant in the picture at Christmas last year. I wear it when I need the boost. Courage is not defined as being unafraid. The bravest souls are still afraid; they simply refuse to be ruled by it. “Courage” has pinged on my radar of late, showing me that I am working through some of my issues. It’s also confirmation that I’m on the right track, because I’d already identified the problem but wasn’t sure how to resolve it. How does one conquer fear, especially an irrational one?

With courage, that’s how. Look the monster in the eye and say, “You’re not the boss of me!”

It’s a start, and there might even be a fight, but persevere. Fear is a bully and bullies are cowards at the core. Be brave. Stand your ground. Trust that all will be well … and it will be.

With love,

Carpe Diem

There is a brief space between sleeping and waking when you are neither your dreams nor your thoughts. You are yourself. The space is neutral, utterly devoid of memory or anticipation, and if you recognize that space, you can use it to set the tone for your day.

In that neutral space, before you remember the fight you had with your spouse or the stupid staff meeting you must attend at 2:00 p.m., you can gain a foothold in the mood of your choice:

“I will fill my day with (insert here).”

Think it. Say it. The sentiment is energy, and energy attracts like energy. If you can sustain a thought for 17 seconds, it will attract a similar, more detailed thought. Sustain that thought for another 17 seconds, and a third, even more powerful step is taken toward managing the day. Positive breeds positive, negative breeds negative. Pick one and watch the blooming result. You don’t wake up in a mood; you wake up and remember something that ignites your mood.

It doesn’t have to be that way.

When I first heard of this “neutral space”, I decided to look for it myself. My first attempt was pretty successful: I opened my eyes, saw the space and promptly filled it with, “I will fill my day with joy and love.” Then I fell back asleep and dreamed of puppies.

Okay, starting while on vacation made it easier to choose joy and creativity over resentment and dissatisfaction, and I admit that I went down in flames on returning to work, but I scored some momentum during my time off. Granted, being awakened by the alarm sends me straight to the swear jar; however, I have learned to catch myself before the downslide gets perpendicular. I tell myself, “Whoa, stop!” That kills the momentum so I can regain control of my thoughts. I’m teaching myself to start each day with “I will fill my day with …” It’s still easier on weekends, but I’m gaining some momentum for the workweek.

So you had a fight with your spouse. That stupid staff meeting will go ahead. How you decide to resolve the inevitable is up to you, but truly, why would anyone knowingly choose to be in a bad mood? It only makes life harder, and life happens anyway.

Full Moon Follies

Moonrise September 19, 2013

Every time things go pear-shaped, I check the calendar to discover that the moon is invariably full. This week was no exception. It culminated on Wednesday, when my world seemed so dark and distorted that I almost closed my office door to isolate myself from potential murder victims.

I got through the day by telling myself that the day was neither longer nor shorter than any other day and it too would pass. That said, I retired to bed at 8:00 with a massive headache and hope for a better tomorrow.

It worked. I woke feeling more stable, had a pretty good day yesterday, and when the sun went down, an opportunity to try some night shots with the Canon appeared in the swollen form of September’s full moon:

Playing with the camera settings to get these shots was fun, but truly, the best pictures were seen with the naked eye.

 

Today is my day off – gee, wonder if that had anything to do with my mood improving?? – and the moon is on the wane. The sunrise this morning was glorious, blue sky streaked with cotton candy ribbons and melting gold light pouring through the Ocean Room windows. No photos; I was still in my jammies while Ter got ready for work.

I plan to work with Shade some more, but I’m a little intimidated by an unforeseen twist in his story. It revealed itself this week and while it appears plausible, my job is to make it so. The trouble is that I know about it, but he doesn’t. Keeping the character ignorant for the duration is tricky because I can’t let it leak into the narration. It’s like discovering a shattering secret, dying to tell everyone, but being unable to tell anyone. My left brain has seized on the secrecy factor and is screwing with my creative function as a result: You can’t write that or That won’t work or What’s on HBO this morning?

Well, the best defence is a good offense, so I’d better go get offensive.

Happy Friday!

No Left Turn

I must have succeeded in switching sides over the weekend. When I got to work this morning, I couldn’t remember what I do for a living. Honest. It took me most of the morning to settle into harness and even then, I had no interest in any of it. I caught up with co-workers and answered emails, which can be fun because it’s a form of writing. It was after ten o’clock and hardly anything had been accomplished before I finally realized that something mental was up.

Apparently, Right Brain is as aggressive and territorial as Left Brain once she’s in control. Regrettably, she’s not as sneaky else I’d have whittled the entire day away instead of getting wise an hour before lunchtime. Can’t say how the rest of the day will proceed, but I can sense logical, analytical Lefty creeping up in the passing lane. Righty is such a tourist, so easily intrigued by dreams and pretty things. I don’t have a problem with that on my own time, but I do have a work ethic (the source of which I am unsure) which demands I put in a decent day’s work for my salary ... but, really, does anyone really get as much done on a Monday as they do on any other day?

Research

Even when I’m not writing, I’m writing. My imagination is always floating around behind my mind, picturing scenes, overhearing dialogue, sussing out a character’s style in clothes or cars. Yeah, it looks like I know where I’m walking or I’m totally engrossed in that pile of invoices, but it’s all an illusion. A ruse to keep Left Brain occupied while Right Brain ponders truly important things like what kind of gun is sitting on Jake’s kitchen table, or what flavour of ice cream is Kim’s favourite. Jake is guessing that she’s a strawberry cheesecake girl, (she’s not); but wait. Does Haagen-Dazs still make strawberry cheesecake ice cream?

I’ve had to do some research for this story. Expert advice was called upon for the arms question, but I know where to go for ice cream. Or I think I know. Turns out there are two Haagen-Dazs websites: one for Canada and one for the US. Though the story takes place on Canada’s west coast, I had to check out both sites because no matter where they roam, my characters all share my belief that H-D is the best ice cream.

Neither site features strawberry cheesecake as a flavour, so I’ve had to amend the story accordingly. Boo hoo, eh? If only my visit to the Glock website had been so easy.

Bluesy Tuesday

If ever a day was meant to be Monday, it’s Tuesday.

Far enough in that Sunday is a memory and far enough out to put Saturday beyond reach, it sits like Saskatchewan in the middle of the week, linking east and west and doing little else.

Creatively, it’s the worst day of my week. By evening, everything I wrote is stupid and nothing I write will be worth it. My spirit is sapped and imagining anything but dinner is an effort. Actually, so is imagining dinner. Soup and saltines will do fine, thanks ... unless Ter can imagine something more interesting. Fortunately, she usually does.

That’s just how Tuesday rolls with me.

I know what’s going on here. Righty and Lefty are more evenly matched in their ongoing struggle for dominance on a Tuesday. Neither side has the edge, so my brain is fully stuck in neutral. I’ve known this for ages, yet the solution still eludes me. Rather, an effortless solution eludes me. I know if I put some energy into it, the excitement will come. I’ve got lots of characters and story ideas stashed in my noggin. They just get buried under the workaday humdrumming. Writing about it here may actually be helping.

Or not.

*sigh*

Fruit Loops

 

 

Since my last post, I’ve been observing Right Brain’s effort to reclaim supremacy over Left Brain, and it’s been interesting. At home on Thursday night, my mind was wired and tired and racing madly on the hamster wheel until I decided to go to bed uber-early and reboot in the morning. As I tend to wake up in right brain, it seemed the practical thing to do. But, like a vengeful toddler banished too early to her room, Lefty lay in wait yesterday morning while I watched the sun rise and had tea with Ter. I was still buzzy from year end, but starting to loosen up. A walk through the ’hood was next – watch the water, ponder blog entries etc. … then it happened. Whitney Houston began crooning in the back of my mind:

 

“and i-I-i will al-ways love yoooOOOuu … ”

Oh, no.

Three blocks later, the croon had swollen to a full-blown bellow:

“AND I-I-I-I-I WILL AL-WAYS LOVE YOOOOOOOOOOWAAAAAHHHH-I-I-I WILL ALWAYS LOOOVE YOU …”

No more idle meandering, no more contemplation of beauty or potential storytelling, just a frantic need to escape the torment of a 1000 decibel loop inexorably stuck in my head. I wanted to yank my brain out through my ears. I was only halfway home when Whitney dissolved into the hypnotic yet furiously annoying beat of the iPhone commercial that got more airtime in 30 minutes than the TV show I was watching the night before. Augh! Kill me now! Please!

Then I realized something. Music is a creativity enhancer. Music opens up your mind to an outside source, to art and emotion and love and joy and the all-encompassing sense of fulfillment that Left Brain simply cannot abide. Music is Right Brain domain. Lefty, however, is a survivor, and survival often means playing dirty. Lefty has figured out that music can be twisted to block the road to creativity. Oh, Lefty is clever. Lefty is slick enough and conniving enough to be in politics.

Lefty is no match for Ru.

Soon as I got home, I put on the stereo. Sarah Brightman, to be precise. Sarah is an artiste in every sense of the word. She’s dramatic, she’s theatrical, she’s artistic, she sings like an angel and best of all, Left Brain can’t keep up with her, let alone override her. The loop snapped within seconds of music being played in the here and now. So bear it in mind. Right Brain will never torture you with neverending French nursery songs or fast food jingles. As soon as the theme for My Three Sons takes root in your mind, break the cycle. Throw on a disc or plug in the iPod. Play music in the moment and your sanity is saved.

Assuming, of course, that you’re not already loopy.