Author: antonarchus

Words… there aren’t much…

What do they matter

In the space of emotions,

Where loss is prevalent

And helplessness is overpowering?

In times of giddy green,

We joined you running

And squirrel-watching.

In frozen months.

We followed your tireless mice hunting

And in-snow rolling, smiling widely.

And in the midst of all, at home, –

Toy-playing and fabric-tearing

Licking dish so ferociously,

I thought you’d eat it.

Claws scratching stone floor,

Us knowing you’re coming over.

Shaking while you sleep,

Chasing dream rabbits.

Your presence and all these character traits

Made it even more that –

Home.

Then a year ago,

It all went sad and silent for an ever

Where no phrase sounded right

Unless muffled in tears.

There was some laughter,

Of us sharing memories of your goofiness

And there was more still air

Of our recalling your kindness,

Forever Igorized.

Your little sister in spirit is much like you,

And yet so different.

I cherish memories of how you were,

As I brush her hair and look into her eyes

Seeming so wise,

Perhaps knowing things

I started so slowly learning from you,

And now studying with her.

Thankyou for all your joy,

And patience, and effort

To help me feel air and earth,

And in between.

I’m in debt to your enjoying living

And sharing it with us.

Remembering you,

Igor the Fluffy Torpedo.

Miss you a lot.

How often I heard people say they wish they were birds, and be free, and go away. Nice… I guess, but it would be a constant struggle for survival and being safe.

I look at my life lately and I wish I was a tree. Yeah, roots, and trunk, and bark, and branches, and leaves. Standing in a yard, or garden, with no fingers to show. No paperwork. No standing in line or waiting for anything. No aspirations or dreams, but that’s a nice break from that, too. So, just life and feeling all of it. Not caring for what other species do.

To be a tree. No time-sensitive anything. Enjoy warmth during day, cold at night. Ok, I don’t like cold, and there is a lot of it now, since it’s winter… but maybe as a tree I wouldn’t really have thoughts about not liking cold.

And… I’d prefer to grow in a forest, away from human activity. Constant life cycle and interconnection of species. Feeding young and those in need through my roots system, those by my side, and those half forest away.

Feeling claustrophobic – where  workplaces, even though appearing open, have people talking and/or blasting music on their cell phones. In the city – near constant noise of vehicles, construction, advertised crap, music. I feel like I am limited with choices of where to go to escape all of that, and places I used to go to that provide some serenity are either gone or packed with people. Trapped in the overindulgence of others’ entertainment of all kinds. Trapped in existence, often not knowing why. What to do…? Noise intensifies with time around here, around me. It won’t change. We cannot change others, what they do and how… unless we go against their will .. which would give us all a social conflict of increasingly nasty proportions. Do we need another conflict? Right, so the only thing to change is us, or rather, how we respond to what and who surrounds us.

Rob Halford, musician and singer, known as Metal God to metal music fans, is no stranger to recovery of body, spirit, and mind. In a recent interview, he said: “Reflection, gratitude, being kind. And it’s tough, particularly in the world that we live in. We’re surrounded by a constant screaming clutter. And I’m sure being sober has been a big part of my understanding of this. You’ve gotta try and find your own internal peace and harmony. And that’s tough. It’s hard work. You can’t let it go. You’re working at it all the time.” (May 2024 https://www.darkside.ru/news/163653)

I can agree with that, a lot. Looking for internal peace and harmony… After some consideration, I started doing something different recently, to cope with noise and stress. I’ve got me a stress ball to squeeze. Literally, yes. It’s a small ball from a squash set, so it fits in a pocket. At work, I squeeze it and release it and so on, and I can roll it on my arms when I feel stressed, caught in physical four walls of space, or in the midst of human verbal clamor. I play with a larger stress-ball when at home I watch movies – sometimes movies get too loud, or some scenes are annoying or for some reason I feel anxious. I sometimes don’t notice that I bite my nails. Long time habit, and not a healthy one. A ball is much better alternative, I think.

If I cannot get my ball for whatever reason, I can pray, too. Two days ago, first after after a long time, I found myself reciting Serenity Prayer when dealing with something I couldn’t change or control. I can hum songs. That one helps. Maybe next time I could try counting to ten?

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image is mine. go copy it if you need to.

I may glimmer without too much mystery

In the shallows, I’m better reached by the sun.

And I radiate heat to those

Who need to be reached by it.

I am simple, although I may be not easy.

Still easier to read and get along with

Than those in the depths

That hide happiness and light.

Maybe it happens against their will

Maybe they are cursed and dont know that

Sun doesnt warm them well,

Their minds are too cold and too fast:

They want everything.

In shallow waters, I don’t ask for much,

I know there is no lasting peace in it.

It may seem to others

Only in the depths there is the light,

That only in the depths is real freedom,

That all others’ opportunities are limited.

It may be so.

I am not perfect

Sometimes the depths call me

And I follow to take a look

Keeping a good distance, mind you

And I don’t stay long.

I know may not come back –

They don’t get enough sun,

And their spirits grew cold

In their where-the-sun-don’t-shine circus,

Tirelessly looking for more gold,

Been seen and adored,

More awake time to feel alive,

Endless quest for perpetual fun.

Instead of concurring that,

I glimmer without too much mystery

I’m better reached by the warmth

And i can swim far down along the shore

Making my own ideas about horizon,

Seeing it every day, as sunrise and sunset,

Here, in shallow waters.

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the image was copied from https://www.google.com/imgres?q=standing%20in%20shallow%20water%20meaning&imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Fthumbnails.production.thenounproject.com%2FZ2s_AXthDt0wLexbJoWNl52ftRY%3D%2Ffit-in%2F1000x1000%2Fphotos.production.thenounproject.com%2Fphotos%2Fwoman_in_black_bikini_walking_on_beach-scopio-24210573-b222-4780-8dc2-8f6e3747812b.jpg&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Fthenounproject.com%2Fphoto%2Fman-standing-on-shallow-water-in-the-sea-4M8lk5%2F&docid=ZYvovqj_Z4RDTM&tbnid=ClKiLHO9YlG4kM&vet=12ahUKEwj1zOGD8eWGAxUGIjQIHRohC2gQM3oECBcQAA..i&w=667&h=1000&hcb=2&ved=2ahUKEwj1zOGD8eWGAxUGIjQIHRohC2gQM3oECBcQAA thankyou

I can see how you are the way you are,

Be it dark all-enveloping confusion,

Or storms of thoughts making you restless

Like walking on hooks, piercing your skull

Its dense walls will resist rain and fist blow

Yet it won’t save you from the menace

Of others’ speech and vibes of the world

Invasion of inner sanctum feels constant.

Outside our skin, there’s lots of that crap.

And you deal with it in ways

You’ve acquired for years.

You repeat: phrases, words, gestures.

Compulsive touching is a need,

Even though that relief doesn’t last.

I don’t know what meaning you put into it

But I think it is protection

And acquirement of power over things

You are powerless over.

Even if you have overcame those fears

And got that stress under control,

For a long time now,

The magical thinking

Of being able to push away danger

Doesn’t completely go away.

Or maybe that is not it at all?

Maybe you don’t even know anymore

Why do you do what you do the way you do

Or say some things the way you say them.

I understand both, and more.

I get it when you are being mischevious,

Conniving, often absent-minded,

You are an isolation master.

There may have been bad use and abuse

Or maybe you were born into violence.

I know what’s behind that grin or wicked smile.

I know the freedom of not caring

I feel your want to scream with raging power

Incinerating everyone around you.

I am not that different from you.

I feel t h a t, because I lived there

Inside the mind dark and weird,

Of many thoughts produced in a second,

Continuously building a castle in which I’d hide.

Others’ pointing at my lack of filter is infuriating

There are days that the dark wool fog returns

And envelopes me and eats away

At my ability to want to continue breathing

I know you fight it.

I do too.

It is much less pronounced lately,

But when returned, it’s not less deadly.

I breathed air everyone breathes

But i never knew difference

Until someone looked at me strangely

And asked, why I said that

And did it that way, not like him and them.

It took time to understand

That I tasted water differently,

Even though my body processed it

The same way as theirs.

I don’t dislike The Different,

Things weird was Me more than anything else.

So i think i do know you.

I see how you are, and I can strongly relate.

There are so many aspects of how we are,

And still the majority just calls us “crazy”

Sometimes I read articles on mental health

And it’s so strange to see

How much stuff they find applies to me

There are so many ways

That many people lose their balanced minds.

We must be millions, unhappily unaware

Of how to get the right help.

I know that the way we are

Isolation is the best of worst strategies

And if you’re not talking

I’ll keep saying hi to you

Because one day

You may wake up to the existence

Of a door to a positive reality

Even if only for the shortest of time.

The only difference between me and you

Is somehow I manage to hold it in check

And that keeps me out-side of the hospital.

Yet sometimes I feel like holding it all together

Is too much work and i need a break.

From the rat race and all the vibes

All the noise and all care

For an unlimited while.

Not that different from you, am I?

This is one of the few posts that is inspired by an image, not a story. I found the original image of Facebook (see below) and reminded me of a photo published in summertime Arguments and Facts newspaper issue back home in mid-90s. It was a shot of a large map of Crimea with a laundry bucket placed at the location of the Black Sea, a person’s hands pouring ink and salt (from respectively marked containers) into the water in the bucket, the person’s feet and legs in the bucket too. It struck me as hilarious way a person would be pretending to be on a sea vacation in most mainstream of all luxurious beach-summertime places. It looked like they couldn’t afford, and yet still, in humorous way used their imagination, even if only for a couple of minutes of wonder and laughter, to mask frustration and long time stress.

So this image above reminded me of that and if the longtime absence of my own vacation. I guess I need to come up with my own fantasy. Still, I’d sacrifice a vacation for yet another year just to stop blood being shed Crimea, in billion of buckets.

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image was copied from https://www.facebook.com/stories/210509625364606/?source=profile_highlight and decolored, and severed by me. thankyou.

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There are necessary things that have to be done to get into recovery, and walk through recovery, to live recovered.

David E. just gave interview of his music journey, saying he never used that bad four letter word “work” to his attitude in playing music. It had to be fun and involve people having good time, he said. I think using that bad word for recovery could be seen same way – it has to be a positive time dedicating yourself to sobriety and recovery because otherwise it becomes a chore, and then we come to hating it… which I think is a wrong place to live at, because sobriety and living within the light of recovery from substance use and abuse is a lifestyle that should be enjoyed and cherished.

We do need to make those steps. If people dislike words “steps”, think that you have to make literal steps from bed to washroom to kitchen to front doorway to get out from your place to go shopping, walking your dog, or whatever you do to make money. Think of the “Twelve Steps” as progress for the sake of all the other literal steps to be taken with more purpose, strength, and joy, ongoingly.

Sometimes, we have to tread slower. Some other times, they are not even steps, but a quarter of a step. I recently learned of a true story of a person who suffered a stroke at home. They lived alone and expected no visitors. It took them time to understand what was going on when first symptoms presented themselves: sudden arm weakness and an attempt to exclaim to it out-loud came out weird due to speech slurred. Then they set themselves on a mission to call for help. But because of stroke, complete right or left half of their body, head to toes, was paralyzed. So their movement was compromised, and it took them near half a day (!!) to crawl, inch by inch at a time to make progress to get from one end of the house to the other to reach phone. They survived to tell this story, but I don’t know if they have made full rehabilitation.

Why such grim example? Well, when we don’t yet know anything, we crawl out of mothers wombs, all blood- and phlegm-covered. Is it less grim? Or in the darkness in new place, do we not step slowly and awkwardly to find a light switch? Anyway, why the example: like the stroke hero crawler, when we are new to recovery from alcohol and drug abuse, we go slow, beaten by our actions, crushed and burnt. We are then in the dark as to what happened, even if all signs of our self-abuse glared us in the face for a long time. The journey to make a phone call to get help is long and hard – there are so many obstacles, and it’s all in our minds. I always called it warped mythology. All the myths I have made about intoxication versus sobriety. All my heroes who drank, how gloriously they rode on their paths! And, in comparison, how gloomy was the world to deal with appearing in my head… And then, more grim thoughts coming up – will there be light of any joy in sober life, or just non-drinking grey mornings leading to grey days?

Warped beliefs were not serving me, but on contrary, were pushing me away from hope for the better, from talking to another person, not the one in my head, but someone with facts and with kind reassurance. Along while those myths, illusions, wicked fairytales kept me from reaching that phone to call help, and instead I kept crawling around it, confused, maybe scared, definitely lonely and getting angry from all of that. All of that kept me at least partially paralyzed from accepting better life.

It took courage to grab the phone and admit my powerlessness. But from there on it became easier. And then it got harder – I learned basics of how not to take the first drink, but I knew not or learned not right away how to keep doing it for another day without getting resentful of life. It is what the Steps helped with, I was told. So I had to do them Steps, because I couldn’t think of crawling anymore, fighting myself in my head. Sometimes that journey was slower that what I wanted, but it was solid, and it was in the right direction.

And then I began earning to have fun with it. No longer poisoning myself with alcohol, my mind started clearing and strengthening. I began to like sun light again. I started enjoying company of others. So often recently I enjoy meetings for the serenity and positivity. I don’t with everything people say there, but I appreciate the most of it. It give me assurance in better days coming (or already being here, I just need to pay better attention) and it give me ideas for reflecting on what I am and know and how to go about it without over-thinking and overdoing. Writing these posts is more fun than playing the same squirrel-in-a-wheel-run in my head. The more I let out of my head, the lighter my mind feels. Positivity of the mind is a blessing that cannot be overstated.

the image was copied from https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https%3A%2F%2Ffactzoo.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fimg-fz%2Freptiles%2Fnile-crocodile-running.jpg&tbnid=ohv2J-rtazXU5M&vet=12ahUKEwirzeLA0_6EAxXpLDQIHS_SDTAQMyhAegUIARDzAQ..i&imgrefurl=https%3A%2F%2Ffactzoo.com%2Fbook%2Fnile-crocodile-smile-top-predator%2F&docid=OYWzmCCXoJQLHM&w=510&h=383&q=crocodile%20crawl%20smile&ved=2ahUKEwirzeLA0_6EAxXpLDQIHS_SDTAQMyhAegUIARDzAQ . thankyou.

Enjoy the good times

And cherish small things that come through,

For they keep most lights for short times.

Enjoy them –

Fluffy, sparkling, tasty,

Maybe slightly salty, yet sweet too

A bit tingling with a feel of an amazing thought

That unravels into a beautiful idea

You want to keep writing about –

Keep them close and pay them mind

While they last<br

And keep memories of them,

Until after waves of persevering gloomy times,

Good ones come back.

Enjoy and cherish those,

Especially small ones…

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image (c) Antonarchus

I went to read my horoscope for today, and the website I usually check it for only had an entry for yesterday. Weird… So, weirded for the first couple moments, and then giving into frustration for another couple moments, I’ve then reminded myself of what I’ve learned from the rune reading – today breaches frontiers of yesterday and it can encroach upon tomorrow. Thus, I figured it would be interesting what yesterday horoscope was like, since I didn’t remember, or maybe didn’t even check 🙂 Having read that and then thinking of the events of first hours of today, I realized it would fit just fine for today, especially the advice of how to adjust.

I also thought that the whole experience was a good lesson for an everyday understanding of the futility of taking time seriously. Gabor Mate in his book Scattered Minds that I’ve been reading these days said time blindness accurately characterizes people diagnosed with ADD (which he recognizes, but not advocates, includes ADHD). Well, as a person diagnosed with that disorder, I think (besides that this book is friggin’ amazing so far) understanding time, and yet consciously choosing time blindness (or time rejection) is a blessing in this world that seems to possess us and simultaneously eat us alive. Run, rabbit, run, you know. That’s where recognition of time has got us. I try to just care about light part of day versus dark, and winter vs summer. It doesn’t work so easily, because I live in the busy Western world and have obligations of all kinds that are rooted in time-keeping. But on my tim… eh… in my space and reality, I try to be without constraints. Otherwise, it’s gonna be another rabbit time. Screw that.

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the image was copied from https://m.media-amazon.com/images/I/71vJWeSHCtL._SY425_.jpg

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There are no boundaries where river flows. No time count. No hour or day exists in river’s reality. Except maybe for a levee, river flows and stops at nothing. Humans try to do so too, all in the name of change and progress, but we need rest. We need a post, a land mark to halt our movement. New year, new national day, new valentines day… Nietzsche said something along the lines that without music, human life would be a mistake. Same way, void of celebrations, without stopping and decorating for a couple days, life would seem an endless progression of time with light bursts of joyful events popping up without clear memories attached.

So, as much as I’d love to break through crowd of celebrants singing yet another, by then mind-bending “wewishyouamery-krismasanhapynewyear!” I’d be the first to agree that celebrations, especially of time-related milestones are good for all-health. I even wrote a short story about it ten years back. River doesn’t care, as Clifford Simak wrote in “Way Station” novel (which I just re-read which inspired writing these thoughts), it was here for million years, and maybe it wont be here in another million years, but maybe people will be. And we have to care, or consider us and others, because without that we are dispersed and lost.

Celebrating new year is our proudly yet humbly marking still being here and trying to get along with ourselves and others while moving on.