Maybe that compartmentalization drove me to drugs in the first place.
I was
needing to stretch too far. Not being able to hold it together, I
found this escape.
How did others deal with it? It seems most survivors find refuge in
specialization.
Many don't survive. This society produces an inordinate number of
derelicts. No,
what drove me to drugs was my feeling of exclusion. The pain of
feeling excluded.
Even now that pain is the greatest block to any healing. Most others
conform to some
status quo of their own choosing. They blend in as best they can. The
race to the
center that one finds in herd animals. I chose to become an outsider.
But that hasn't
removed pain. Maybe that's the one good thing about my life. I never
accommodated
to the great lie of the majority to the degree that others do. There
is something evasive
about all my to-ing and fro-ing this morning. I keep missing the
target. What is that
core pain? I never found that bond with another that alleviates all
pain. I'm not sure
how others fare in this. They seem to be doing better than me. And
yet all the arts
seem to about singing the blues of that same failure. From k I learned
to look at this
failure from the other end of the telescope. Instead of looking for
love from another,
ask about the absence of love in myself. But I've never stuck that
question to myself
resolutely enough. My yearning is a false yearning, as is everyone
else's. I can't get
past that point. It all dissolves into theory here. So don't move
from that spot. The
question will slowly gather the energy required for the answer. But
I'm not staying
with it long enough.
On 16-Oct-05, at 6:47 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
There is a little pressure this morning. The country walk is coming
up and
I will be distracted by that. My writing will suffer. Again I didn't
sleep too well.
But there is no reason why I shouldn't be able to return to a tougher
line of
self-questioning. It seems in some way as if my theme of
self-criticism Is
running into some problems. As if my concerns about cleaning up my
life
were making the honest depiction of problems more difficult. As if
trying to
do something about such issues were interfering with the simple
looking.
Perhaps there is also some discomfort about looking for new issues
rather
that to keep hammering away at the same old items. A sense of
dullness.
Even the improvements in my life become a problem because I'm losing
topics. If there is less pain, there is less alertness. I don't
really know. All
I can say for sure is I feel less alert. The positive side to this
could be that
the rest of my day may benefit from greater alertness. That I will
bring the
alertness that's lacking here into my relationships throughout the day.
It may be that I have been reserving my best attentiveness to my time
at
this keyboard and that now my life will become less compartmentalized.
I think that makes sense. So the real problem of taking drugs or
coffee
isn't any harm done to the brain but the effect of
compartmentalization.
I need to return to a more holistic way of living.
Compartmentalization of
life used to be a major topic in the fifties. Perhaps the vice has
made a big
comeback and no-one is recognizing it or aware of it. Now I must get
ready. Suddenly a big storm seems to be brewing.
On 15-Oct-05, at 8:52 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
A slight craving for coffee, but no headache as yet. If the headache
comes, I'll
I'll treat it with fresh coffee. What is this craving? My sleep has
been very irregular.
So there is fatigue and there is also a lack of focus. Perhaps
coffee would improve
that situation. But it's probably more the disorientation that comes
with change.
And I should not bend with every craving. There is a certain fear, a
certain
uncomfortable sensitivity. My language this morning seems to move
very
awkwardly. That's unusual. Usually I maintain a high level of
glibness and find
comfort in typing away here. Not this morning. I feel like giving
up, but am afraid
that I might fall into a depressive state. I've got a lot of reading
to catch up on. But
I fear my brain may be too fuzzy to engage that way. Just take a
break for god's
sake. This isn't a test. - An hour or so later, nothing has
changed. Everything is
strangely unresolved. No taste for reading, No appetite to make
decisions. So
I'm idling along. Perhaps I do need some drug to get moving. Or I
have been
relying on drugs for so long that without it nothing happens. There
is no urgency
of any kind. That should be a great state, a state of leisure. But
it's more like a
mindless dolt who doesn't know how to act or what to do without his
accustomed
orders. Perhaps it is the lack of sleep that leaves me so frazzled.
Just post this
bilge and move on. So flat I feel, almost paralyzed.
On 14-Oct-05, at 5:54 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
Yes there is that headache and there is that sense of insecurity,
even fear. But
my first cup of coffee is ready and waiting for me. No heroics
here. Fear of people.
Thinking of the Academy outing tomorrow, the fear rises. What is
that fear? What
people may think of me? Why is that feeling so strong?
Insufficient social exposure
to strangers in childhood. But there is also the feeling of
pointlessness. But it's part
of the same syndrome. Fear of not measuring up. The headache is
relatively mild.
It seems that my brain is struggling against something. Lack of
endorphin, lack of
serotonin. Like it's sweeping up the dregs of the missing
chemicals. Withdrawal?
It doesn't really accept the situation. Do I accept the situation?
Do I want to quit? I
want a healthy brain. Quitting is part of that. So I must embrace
the unpleasant
symptoms. The unpleasant symptoms is ME. My feelings are ME.
That's the start.
I need to wrestle to accept that reality. If I do, changes will
occur. Not changes of
my designing. Changes of healing. The first step towards healing
is the ego's. Is
mine. Am I ready to take that step? Throw myself into the turmoil
of me? Even with
a game plan. The gradual phasing out of coffee. The energy behind
that gradual
phasing out to be derived from setting free the energy of habit.
The gatekeeper in
that transition: honesty. Honesty is well within the reach of the
ego. It's logic, part of
logic.
On 13-Oct-05, at 5:47 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
Am I ready to go without coffee? There is a considerable fear.
Coffee has been
my shield for a very long time. What does it do? Calm the nerves?
As the brain
becomes stimulated by the caffeine, it loses some of its natural
sensitivity, some
of its anxiety. If that is all that happens, I should try. There
will be a transitional
phase of headaches. Just make the transition slowly. There is a
feeling that this
going to be very difficult. New feelings will arise, uncomfortable
feelings, naked
feelings, helpless feelings. I'm unprepared. On the positive
side: walls will begin
to fall. I'll be able to see farther into the impenetrable, deeper
into my past.
Memories may pop up again of things long forgotten and that have
become
inaccessible. The whole of my world may expand, become accessible,
inviting
of enquiry. What about my resistance? Perhaps there, too, I will
see changes.
Perhaps I will invite my fears to play with me, like animals in the
forest. First fear-
engendering. But soon familiar playmates. My buried childhood may
open up
again. No, that's too much to expect. There will be serious
obstacles. But it's not
impossible. No need to speculate further. It will soon become
obvious. Or will it?
Much depends on how I handle my new sensibilities. How delicate my
treatment.
My life at present doesn't have a lot of pressures. So this may be
an opportune
time to take that step.
On 12-Oct-05, at 8:31 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
I may have escaped from the pit of marijuana, but this morning's
state of mind
points to the bigger problem in my life that I have barely touched
on. I need a
drug to get off the ground. I inundate my brain with caffeine
first thing every
morning in order to enliven my imagination so that I can sit here
and churn out
text. Now, as it happens, so far I have abstained, if only to
test if I can extrude
this stuff while staying sober. Just now I took my first gulp.
So perhaps it's not
the coffee that supplies the energy. I'm putting the wrong
question. But I need
the coffee to awaken to the sense of tugging at the wrong
question. What needs
to be addressed is why I wake up in this sluggish state. The
brief answer is that
nothing has changed. But that, too, is the wrong answer. Lots of
things have
changed even since I said good-bye to pot. I must be wary of
strident judgments.
Not compare my actuality to some abstract expectations. I must
learn to be
content with what is. Even if that is a state of irritation. The
irritation is all the
energy I need to correct my course. But I'm not content.
Discontent can be my
teacher. I keep rejecting the sign that wants to tell me the
truth. Understandably,
considering my past. My past can tell me everything I need to
know. But I must
read it as it stands. Not invent a better past. Is this the
caffeine speaking now?
Without caffeine I'd probably not get to this point so glibly.
Well, glib or not glib,
it's my willingness to invite the truth that determines my future
course. Why is
the truth always such a problem? Because I was set up for the
false. All of
humanity is always setting up to receive the flattering lies, the
comfortable
conformity of tribal propaganda. Volksverdummung, as practiced by
Hitler and
Bush and Sharon, and Tony Blair, etc. Can I look at the
unacceptable? Jimmy
the Greek awakened that inside me. Can I look at it and coax it
out of hiding?
Not to run after it. That only leads to despair. Invite the
feeling to the surface.
No more. Invite the me that I've rejected, that I keep rejecting,
The me that has
no existence except in rejection. End the rejection, dissolve
that self. That's a
good part of the problem. What I'm looking for doesn't exist
except in my
rejection. But it does exist as long as I persist in rejecting
it. Wrong answer.
On 11-Oct-05, at 8:12 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
Now where am I? My subject line: Hi Vince, is a bit irritating.
I'm not talking to
Vince, I have no intention of posting this to him. I'm just
using his name to signal
some absurdity. The absurdity embodied by Vince in my mind. Why
do I want to
highlight this quality of absurdity that already attaches to all
my writings here? I
want to acknowledge the absurdity of my postings to a site that
lacks any serious
readers. I want to distance myself from a situation that I
cannot change. Similar
to my position at the Academy. I go, but feel no part of it.
Why? Isn't such behavior
counterproductive? The others are just markers for me. Wouldn't
it be better for me
to withdraw from what is false? Is it possible for me to
withdraw from the false but
not from the falsifiers? Separate the sinner from the sin, as it
were. Engage with
the sinner but not the sin. Engage with the fraudster but not
with his fraudulence?
The trick is not to trap myself in my image of the other. Remain
alert to the fakery
without the expectation, without any anticipation. Is that
possible? Why not? It's
no more that the alertness that I bring to an encounter with a
dog, or a squirrel, or
a beggar. I don't always bring that alertness to these
encounters. But I do unless
I'm otherwise preoccupied. Can I practice freeing myself of
preoccupation? Not
practice in the normal sense of that word. But I can develop
greater alertness. It's
simply a matter of becoming more sensitive to my own
pre-judgments.
On 11-Oct-05, at 7:33 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
I don't know. Some of the words below sound a little crazy.
Perhaps
I went a little crazy yesterday. Even my High Park encounter -
Jimmy
the Greek - had aspects of craziness. Perhaps it's connected
with Vince
in some way. He called. Maybe I gave him more rope than I
should have.
No, that doesn't feel right. The craziness entered before those
other
encounters. Check my other writing yesterday. Did that and
found nothing.
Maybe there is nothing crazy there. Only my reading this
morning, my sleep-
enfolded brain, not up to the slightly poetic mood of those
lines. The
encounter with the Greek, too, seems to have a poetic edge of
some sort.
Greeks often have that wild quality of ancient times. In their
dancing too.
But where am I after this? Let me just post this and start
again.
On 10-Oct-05, at 8:45 AM, Hermann Janzen wrote:
Postmodern tristesse. Is my life really that dismal? I guess
it is. And
yet there is enough of an awareness there to be going on with.
Give that
lemon another squeeze. But maybe I shouldn't. Maybe I need to
learn when
to toss out the empty skin. The habits of poverty. How I
cling to those habits.
There is a putrescent odor about my life. I'm helplessly
sitting here with my
dead baby in my lap. Not knowing how to bury it, not knowing
how to mourn
its loss, not knowing how to go on. Extruding sentences. The
senses will be
my guide. If the senses don't instruct me, it's best not to
move at all. If the
senses are tired to speak to me, give it a rest. All moves
would then be the
wrong answers. They would be the noise that interferes with
perception.
Choose only the words that are compatible with silence. Those
silent words
can be my guardians, can be the fresh air that will revive me,
revive my senses,
revive my lost humanity, my lost heritage. Can be the melody
of another life,
Keats's unheard melodies.
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
Not to the sensual ear, but, more endeared,
Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
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