brightrosefox: (Default)
Yes, obviously. Sheesh.

http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/6081918

Friends have been sharing this back and forth into repetitive boredom, so I'll just add: Yes, this is obviously a strategy I've been implementing for a while in order to manage my mental illnesses, it is totally part of a very very specific personal therapeutic ritual that will take at least another couple of months to complete, and for Loki's sake, this stuff takes time, quit asking if I'm better yet. I've only been ritualizing for three years; most of this takes at least five. Plus, I can't just magically fix damaged neural pathways by thinking happy thoughts. Most people spend decades in therapy, while their acquaintances urge them to fix themselves faster. The frantic urging especially comes from people who've never even been in states of extreme anxiety, clinical depression, endless chronic pain, obsession, compulsion, memory disintegration, traumatic stress, dissociation, depersonalization, derealization. I often hold back from just punching walls. Therapeutic ritual and mindfulness in mental artistry takes time and a large amount of control. I've only been doing it since 2011. By 2015 something will at least be, as they say, Fixed. At least enough to allow other treatments to fall into place. Until I finish that intense ongoing ritual, I'll keep on battling where battles must be fought.
brightrosefox: (Default)
And... some days I wake up from ethereal dreams I barely remember having the intense sense of former pointed ears, former wings growing from my shoulders, and a former unicorn horn growing from my forehead. If I look in a mirror before the dream is fully shaken, my eyes still have a faceted crystal glow, white enough to show every color, ringed by blue-tinted midnight black, and my skin shines from beneath, light rippling across my hands, like reflections in rivers.
Sometimes in those moments I just don't feel human. And it makes me feel wonderful.
brightrosefox: (Default)

My medically knowledgeable best friend was right about that daily extra Klonopin. Hello, sudden sobbing breakdown and potential nightmare about my cat dying all over again.
I know she is still here. She's just not... here.
Oh, Rose-kitten. I miss your sleepy weight on my torso.
...
Oh, now this is fascinating.
I took that second Klonopin while crying wildly. Across the hall, in the other room, Calliope started meowing loudly. I went in despite wanting to just curl back up in bed. She immediately rubbed against my legs. When I sat on the couch, she nuzzled and kneaded me, then jumped down, rolled on the floor, and offered her belly. I immediately, instantly, powerfully, got a sense of "I am here to give you comfort. Here is my love, if you want it. Touch me. Love me. If you want. I am here." And as soon as I touched her face and she purred so loud my hand vibrated, I felt so calm and tranquil it was like a river becoming still after a rock had been tossed in. Mind, the Klonopin had not had a chance to work yet. But Calliope's purring did... something. I just breathed. I breathed and I stroked her and I ran my fingers through her unshaved belly fur, and she nibbled my fingers and rubbed her cheeks on them. She hadn't instantly jumped on me or rubbed my face, but she had quietly and simply offered comfort. And as I made sounds of pain and sadness, her soft mewing and loud purring grew stronger.
I know it is far too soon to tell, but I think this kitten will be a medicine cat. Not like Rose. Not in an instant touch way. In a quantum touch way. Give when it is needed. Push out serenity without nudging. Be there without being instant.
I think I can work with that...

 

She jumped onto my lap now, right as I write this, purring purring purring, and I swear it is quantum healing. Touch when touch seems okay, distance with comforting waves when needed. Yes. This is who Calliope will be. Offering. Asking. Culture of consent. Do you want me to help you? I am here if you need me. I will not disturb you unless you come to me. I understand you. I will care for you. Here is my energy. Here is my Serenity.
The way she touches me is like a healer hovering hands above a patient, drawing power from outside sources.

 

I believe her middle name should be Serenity.

 

I think she knows who Rose is...







brightrosefox: (Default)
Back pain back pain back pain backpain backpain backpain NNNGGHH.
It's the lumbar area, leading to sciatica down both legs. Of course, you know? I've got an appointment with my new orthopedist on January sixth, and we're going to get be fitted for true customized orthotics... although I am going to insist they be cushioned, if not highly comfortable. The ones I had as a teenager actually made my feet hurt whilst walking. I still have the left one from those days. It is not comfortable. I understand practicality and function, but still.
Nnngh. Back, hips, legs, knees, ankles. Come on, drugs, work faster.

When we came home from grocery shopping, I looked up at the stairs and whispered, "Mama's home, Rose." I had meant it merely for her memory, for her spirit that now lived in the house, free to leave the clay statue that was a vessel, as Adam had not bound her to it. Adam said, "She's still gone, sweetheart." And I knew, and I reminded him that it was just... oh, I couldn't even find the words. It was just for her ghost. But he knew. We held each other and he knew.

My friends have cried for me, I think, more than I've cried for myself. I will have pockets of moments in which I will break down in gasping sobs, but they are so quick and triggered. A brush that had moved through her fur while I was comforting her in her lethargy, before I understood what was really happening, tufts of fur clinging to the bristles that I may not remove for a while. My pillow, and the soft bean-bag type pillow behind it that served as a general cat pillow but which was generally used by Rose especially in the mornings. A bag of Greenies treats that I realized I no longer had to move to a high place where Rose couldn't grab it and tear into it. Sitting in this desk chair, now, and knowing that Rose will never jump onto my lap and rub her cheeks over my mouth. She will not curl up on the floor, waiting for me to announce that Mama is going to bed so she can lead me there and see me to sleep. Oh. Yes, I'm in tears now. Oh, babygirl. Luna is on my lap now, kissing me, nuzzling. In her own Luna way.

We will be adopting another cat. Yes. It may be sooner than anyone thinks. I've already dreamed of her. I've already named her. I already know her age range. But... you know, someones through the grief and the numbness and the deep deep shock and the horror of physical death, we know deep deep inside that even if it takes only a week or two to get another pet, it is nothing like a replacement. It just means that the throbbing empty hollow burning in our hearts might start to heal, just a little. Luna is still my heart and soul, my queen and my moon goddess, my precious love. Jupiter is still my beautiful big boy, my chatty feline child who brightens my day just by smiling. The new kitten, the new young cat, will never be Rose. She will be herself.
Rose is never coming back, not even in a new incarnation. I'm not even sure I want that; it might hurt too deeply. Rose herself was already the reincarnation of Adam's patchwork dog, Ralph. Rose spent five glorious years learning to love and be loved. In Buddhism, that is a vital thing. All animals understand this. It is slightly Jainist. Adam and I, in our eclectic paganism, are mildly Buddhist in various, often conflicting, ways. It is not possible for us to be fully Buddhist in any way, but eclecticism is a wide arena.

"Life is a journey.
Death is a return to earth.
The universe is like an inn.
The passing years are like dust.
Regard this phantom world
As a star at dawn, a bubble in a stream,
A flash of lightning in a summer cloud,
A flickering lamp - a phantom - and a dream"
brightrosefox: (Default)
Seizure happened in the kitchen. Jupiter meowed and rubbed against me while I crouched. Adam came in and gently lay me on the floor. My eyes were open and blank. Adam touched my face and reached for my mind, and I spasmed and gasped and blinked. I asked why I was on the floor. Adam helped me up and stood me against the large freezer. My memory is swirling. Alicia is holding me. Earlier, Adam said he told his boss, a fellow animal lover, that he needed an extra day to care for his wife. I rolled my eyes and said that was not necessary; that I was fine. Never mind. It was so dark and so white equally braided as order and chaos magics. I was spinning at ninety-nine percent light speed and thirty-five miles an hour. The world was elsewhere. A few seconds lasted a thousand years. Adam suggested I go upstairs and rest. Jupiter is suggesting a cuddle. I am thinking coffee and clonazepam and baclofen. I am made of light and love and pure order-chaos magic in its simplest form. I can give myself the right strength. May be that I can regenerate. As brightly and intensely as a Time Lord. I always shine enough for everyone.

brightrosefox: (Default)
I must quote this, because it struck me deeply and knocked me over and stunned me and amazed me.

*****
From: [livejournal.com profile] naamah_darling.
I don't know if I can explain it, any more than I can explain why I find anyone amazing, but you're open about what you are and what you are going through. You don't expend energy trying to be normal, and you never seem to even want to. You aren't afraid of what you ARE, even when the things that HAPPEN, sometimes because of things that you are, are scary. You seem sometimes scared of things that happen or that you (body/chemistry) do to you, but not scared of yourself, really. You're fierce. You're . . . we don't have a word for it. The way in which children and animals are alike, that we *call* innocence, but isn't innocence, it's just a kind of transparency and guilelessness-without-cluelessness. You're contradictory, and this isn't a problem. You've imposed . . . not order . . . but some sort of reason and meaning and story on the chaos in your life, and you have made beautiful things out of it inside you. You persist. You change, you are not destroyed. You're mercurial, joyful in the sense of being flat-out at everything you feel and not in the sense of being always happy, you're generous, you're very kind, you're forgiving. You aren't afraid to spend a lot of time working with and understanding yourself, because you know that is important. You are more people than just-the-one-you you. You are comfortable working with shape and meaning and color, when words aren't good enough. Whole parts of you are indescribable. You're a *good person*, while still being strong and fierce, and that is overwhelmingly obvious to anyone with half a synapse. You belong in fairy tales, like so many of the rest of us, writing better endings. You're kind of amazing.

And tangentially, THAT is why when people are all like "disabled people are so inspirational!" I get kinda pissed on the grounds of "THESE PEOPLE THAT I KNOW, they are SO MUCH MORE than a stepping stone for your ego or a friendly reassurance that hey, if those people can manage to get themselves to a beach/a gym/on a horse, you have a good chance of not being an utter asshole failure your entire life, and accomplishing REALLY important things!" and at the same time am like "No, really, we ARE inspirational; you have no fucking idea how 'inspirational' the disabled folks I know are . . . and if you had one iota of their self-awareness you might not be saying such asinine crap."
You want to find disabled people "inspirational?" I'll accept that . . . if what you are finding "inspirational" is their honesty in speaking out and sharing their opinions, their desire to help others, their weapons-grade swearing vocabulary (so many disabled people I know HAVE THAT, it's glorious), their ability to incorporate something literally disabling into their self-image and life when our culture gives them limited scripts and limited opportunities, their persistence in navigating the obstacles placed in front of them not by what they are, but by how our culture and the many dickheads in it unwittingly and often VERY DELIBERATELY make it harder to do so, the fact that they are often poor as dirt but are the most generous people you will ever meet, that they have known pain and so they often know great compassion.

*THAT* SHIT IS INSPIRATIONAL.

So is persistence, yes, which is why I am always impressed when I see someone who has had to deal with major issues accomplish something that is made particularly difficult BY those issues SPECIFICALLY, but when that sort of thing is nearly always ONLY praised in the context of visible, physical disability, or when it's some completely unrelated shit, that pisses me off.

It's like . . . people are apparently impressed by when disabled people do anything *while smiling*, because that indicates the triumph of overcoming our miserable existence? Or that we have a good enough attitude to forget, for a moment, that we are fucked up and are supposed to be miserable constantly? I don't even KNOW. But these same people aren't finding me inspirational when I'm at my blackest and am hanging on by my last claw, which is arguably when I am being my MOST BADASS. That's when I need to be pulling up my bootstraps and thinking my way out of it with sunshine and baby kisses. But an ungroomed, exhausted, surrounded by laundry, not moving, fat, blotchy, cat-strewn DEPRESSED person staring at a computer screen or TV or at nothing in particular doesn't look good in a facebook picture. "This person: probably exercising more willpower not to give up hope and eat a bullet than you will exercise at any point in your whole life. Stop. Bitching. That. Your. Yoga. Is. Hard." <---- Nobody wants that. (And, while maybe sometimes true, it's also kinda dickly, because Suck Olympics are uncool. The things that have made me most miserable sometimes do not seem to be proportional or make sense. To wit, the hour-long crying jag I had when my last pet scorpion died, years ago. Dude, I cried less painfully when my GRANDMOTHER died. What even the HELL?)

All I know is that the shit people usually talk about as being inspirational is not really very inspirational to me. Like, *if* it's true that Chris Evans really does have anxiety/panic attacks (never read reliable info about how severe his "problems with anxiety" are, though he apparently went into therapy) and he still navigated two MONSTROUS blockbuster movies and associated press events, I find that totally fucking impressive, because I KNOW WHAT THAT IS LIKE, and I know I couldn't handle it. And that's the stuff people don't seem to understand. That's the stuff people latch on to and *make fun of.* Because people who don't Get It can be real dicks about that stuff.
*****
I truly believe that if Namaah and I lived closer, we would see each other several times a week and never get tired of each other's company.
My husband once told me that everyone has multiple soulmates, that a soul can be split into many different parts. I think Namaah may be one of my soulmates. It took me five years to realize that, and that's okay. I like to take things slowly.
brightrosefox: (Default)
You guys, I amaze myself. I've been writing helter skelter all over the place: Novel, stories, novellas, blogs, facebook, notebooks with various pens, everywhere... in the middle of a postictal migraine and insanely horrific agonizing chronic pain flare-up following recovery from a panic attack. If I didn't have a computer or paper I might write on the walls. I hurt so badly I have no idea what I'm doing. I feel half fire and half water. Wild and raging, and all I want is a crackling bonfire and a rushing river.
I doctored up a photo of myself and it came out half gold light and half blue light. It looks inhuman. But part of me adores it so much. My face is two different parts. I am two entities in one. When I burn, I am cool. When I am cool, I burn. It is ying yang, dragon phoenix, up and down, left and right, I don't even know. I don't speak out loud except to my cats, I just speak through Story. So much Story inside me.
That rock. That rock that my husband gave me, the rock that he held while standing in Room 217 of the Stanley Hotel, in which Stephen King wrote "The Stand" and used as an inspiration for "The Shining". That rock is still next to my laptop. I am covered in words. I am filled up with Words. I may disappear into Story. I may not even see the world until I have to.
Is this what it is like to live in the land of the Fae and then come back to the land of humans?

jowitchzen2

Maybe it was the super moon. Maybe it is the heat from the sun now. Maybe it is anything.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Why is it that, in most dreams where I am in physical danger, I am unable to scream or move quickly?
My last dream involved a bad fall and crash at the top of the stairs, while a large group of people were downstairs having a small quiet party. Something supernatural was with me, something insidious. I grabbed the stair ledge and pulled myself up to a kneeling position. I yelled my husband's name, but it was only a whisper. I couldn't call for help, not with the shadowy creature surrounding me. I was moving so slowly. It felt as though nobody was in the house but me, me and the cats.
And abruptly, I realized that nobody was in the house. Adam was at work. There was no party. The cats were all downstairs. It was only me and the shadow entity. I struggled to call on my internal resources, my spirit guardians, but even my psychic voice was muffled. I was not afraid. I was determined. I was badly injured, and I only had myself, and my powers to create weapons and defenses were drained. I stopped trying to stand. I knelt there and mouthed words, calling on the water in the bathroom, the air circulating around the house, the earth under the house, the fire downstairs used to light the gas stove. I pulled in all into me, and with a desperate burst, I unleashed it. The shadow creature shrieked and vanished.
Without any warning at all, the house filled with presence again. There was that quiet downstairs party. I whispered my husband's name again, struggling to turn it into a cry. Someone must have heard. Adam came up the stairs and found me, sagging against the door of the bathroom, my nose bleeding. He spoke to me. He half-carried me to the bedroom and helped me lie down. He brought damp towels and tissues and water with electrolytes. I managed, somehow, to tell him that a negative spirit had entered the house and stole my strength, and I pulled all the elemental power I could to drive it away. He was very proud but also puzzled, since the house was supposed to be powerfully shielded and guarded. I was crying but I didn't mean to cry. It was just a reaction without intention. He stroked my hair and curled up with me, and me took my hand and fed me energy and power and strength, and he said, "Go to sleep, my darling. I'll be monitoring you through our psychic bond and everything will be okay. I will strengthen the wards." He needed to check on our friends. He would back be up soon.
The dream ended there.

It has been something of a recurring thing: My slowness in dreams. My exquisite agony in dreams. My whispering words in dreams. Sometimes I can barely walk for the pain in my hips and knees. Sometimes I can only speak with thoughts instead of physical words. Sometimes my body is wrapped in a floating translucent shell and it is the only way I can move. In my dreams, the pain is so much worse than in reality. But I have access to weapons of all kind and I feel safe, even if something horrible grabs me.

When I was a child, I had flying dreams every night. Even astral projection. Like my father and cousins in their younger years. And if a harmful person appeared, I just waved my right hand fiercely, shouting "Shoo! Shoo!" to make then disappear.

When I was a child, I dreamed of dragons, of ancient tortoises, of unicorns mixed with white tigers, of phoenix birds with feathers of every color. Dragons have never been dangerous to me. Even if some were, there were always other dragons who were benevolent.

It is why I always bristle when I read an article comparing chronic pain to dragons. The only way I can see such battles happening is dragon against dragon. And I am a human amalgam of dragon, phoenix, tortoise, unicorn, white tiger, and fae, wrapped in the skin of a moonlight witch.

Then, why do my dreams cripple me? The only reason I can think of is to teach me to use the insides, the powers coming from my spirit and not my body. My body is very important and vital to me. But perhaps not so much in my dreams.

And I think this piece of art, beyond anything, is one of the greatest ways I can understand myself. Every time I look at it, I weep. I even have that same cane. I know Shinga and I barely know each other, but she knows chronic pain. She knows what being a warrior means. She was in the US Army and was badly injured and treated so poorly during therapy that she has severe PTSD. She is disabled badly. She knows battles. And I want to hold her and hold her and tell her what this means to me.

http://shinga.deviantart.com/art/Awaken-Warrior-and-Rise-378439320
awaken__warrior__and_rise_by_shinga-d69b9nc
(Note: Please please refer to Shinga before borrowing or using this image. Please use the Deviant Art link. This is her work. Copyright Shinga. The only reason I displayed the actual image was in case someone can't click on the link.)
brightrosefox: (Default)
Somehow, my neighborhood area rarely gets hit with all the weather that hits everything around it.
Mom called to say, "So, I hear all the towns and cities in Montgomery County got slammed all over with a tornado. Are you okay?"
And I blinked and said, "Wait... tornado? OH. Right! Tornado! No, we just had a violent screaming thunderstorm that sent me panicking into my bedcovers after taking anxiety drugs."
Later, Adam called from his job in Las Vegas (101 degrees, dry heat) and asked how our community area had fared. I told him that it was wet. And fine. Not even a power outage.
I'm starting to think all the magic and psychic shielding that he and I had placed around our house has extended to our community. Or something. Who knows. Like, if trees get knocked down from storms, it's always in the neighborhood next to ours. If a water main breaks, it's one around the corner that doesn't affect us. If there is a local power outage for us, it doesn't last long. If there is a random screaming gunfight, it's far away enough that we're not bothered beyond having to call 911. Any sort of major damage somehow becomes far less damaging once it reaches where I live. Now I just feel weird.
And now I shall knock on every piece of wood in the house. Including the maple tree in front.

I have no idea how the weather will act tomorrow, but I hope to do a little more grocery shopping. It's gotten to the point where I've stopped giving a fuck if I get caught in the rain. It washes my hair for me.
brightrosefox: (Default)
bluelotusglow

bluedarklotus

bluelotus4

***
You lift your head to ask if this is a dream. She presses her finger to your lips and smiles. As she gently places the shining blossom into your outstretched hands, she whispers, "This will be safe inside you. Together, you will understand." You want to ask her everything, but you know you mustn't. She kisses your lips and stands tall. Raising her arms, she fades slowly. The air is filled with the scent of the sacred lotus. You press the flower to your breast and it vanishes, sinking inside you. And you begin to understand.
***
You find her in the swamp itself. This time she is wearing faded denim shorts and a sleeveless top, muscled abdomen and arms well exposed, bronze skin glistening. She is knee deep in muddy water, examining each blossom with careful fingers. She looks up at you with bright green eyes and smiles widely. Her hair is blacker than the darkest muddy water, tied back with satin. She looks so young and so old.
"Are you here for another one?" she asks. "Never mind, of course you are. Hold on. I need to find yours." She moves slowly, dipping her hands in up to the wrists until her skin is masked in mud.
"They're sleepy today," she says. "Here, talk. Ask which one wants you and I'll take it."
"Do I have to come into the mud?" you ask, preparing to remove your shoes.
"No, no, just call out. They'll hear you even far away."
You take a deep breath, focus on the flowers floating all around the woman, and say, "Dear blossom, come to me." You aren't sure if that will work. But then the woman nods. She tilts her head one way and the other. She turns around and walks a foot, then slowly bends at the knees and carefully scoops up a richly pink lotus that looks exactly like all the others. She whispers something, and the flower begins to glow. Grinning, the woman walks out of the swamp and holds out the flower. "Perfect!" she says. "Instant connection. Good job."
You cup your hands and she slides your lotus into your hands. There is a small amount of mud; it feels cool and refreshing, with a slight tingling. The lotus shines so brightly that you need to squint, and it disappears into your hands, under your skin.
You blink at the woman. "So that's it?"
She smiles. "Nope. Never. But you're learning more as you go. I'll see you when you're ready to come back. You'll know where I'll be."
You want to ask something, something important. You have forgotten. You just feel blissful. You reach out, and she hugs you tightly, burying her face in your hair. You rest your chin on her shoulder. She smells like lotus and frankincense and pure joy.
"I'll come home soon," you murmur. She just nods. Nothing else needs to be said.
***
The lotus flowers are in full bloom, all of them. You stand naked and waist deep in the swamp, surrounded. The blossoms and glowing gently, swimming around you. Your guide is nowhere. You cannot call out, or speak, or even whisper. You draw in a breath. A small pink petal floats on the air toward you and presses itself on your tongue. No, you think. I must not speak. You are crowded by flowers. Instinct speaks, and you fall back until the lotus flowers catch you. You are floating on a shining bed of full lotus blossoms. You are covered in tingling mud. You open your mouth and light streams from it. A single whole flower lifts and slowly flies to you and settles gently in your mouth. You breathe in very slowly, and the lotus becomes pure energy that pours down your throat like a refreshing drink. You close your eyes. Everything makes sense. You are everywhere. You begin to laugh, but you do not know if it is in your mind or through your mouth.
"There you go!" says a familiar golden voice. "How do you feel now?" You open your eyes. You cannot stop laughing like a child. The Lotus Woman has eyes that cycle through every shade of green, and you find it fascinating. She reaches for you, and you reach for her. She scoops you up and carries you to a heated rock beyond the swamp. There are clothes waiting for you, folded on another rock. The Lotus Woman helps you sit up. She produces a wood brush and slowly combs your hair, letting the bright, bright sun dry the muddy water away. She carefully rubs you down with a towel that feels like silk and cotton. You look at her, finally, and notice that now she is wearing a red sundress that moves like water, with boots polished like mirrors.
She finishes smoothing you down and helps you into undergarments, blue slacks, a red tee shirt, and boots similar to hers.
"We're going to the healing room," she says, "if you'd like. There will be oil massage and saunas and showers of all kinds. Now that you have your next lotus, I think you'll appreciate the new magic."
You just feel so much bliss, so much joy, so much euphoria, that you only nod and smile widely. She taps her finger on your nose. "Now, don't get excited. That'll fade. We need to make sure it doesn't overwhelm you. It's supposed to become part of you, remember?"
Licking your lips and taking a deep breath, you say, "Yes. I'll remember." Your voice sounds like small bells inside your head.
You hold the Lotus Woman's hand and shield your eyes from the sun with your other hand. She is leading you far from the swamp, but it is all right. You will be back soon, of course.
***
It is the way she looks at you, with that quirky smile and those gleaming dark green eyes.
You hold out your cupped hands, trying not to tremble, trying not to disturb the velvety white lotus nestled against your fingers.
"Is this your gift to me?" she asks.
"Yes," you say. "You have helped me so much... and I know you always have these, but I found this one right where I live, and, I mean, I know they're so rare, but..."
She holds up a hand, smiling so widely. "It's okay, sweetheart. I understand." She very carefully takes the lotus from you, holds it to her lips, and kisses the petals. "Thank you. It's perfect."
"Maybe... maybe tomorrow," you say shakily, "we can go to the swamp and... you know... talk to the other flowers?"
She tilts her head and her eyes fill with compassion. "Oh, darling," she murmurs. "Don't be so nervous. There's no need to be shy. This is your world. We will do anything you wish."
You nod, your throat thick with tears. You have no idea what to say next. You realize you don't need to say a word. You watch as she holds your white lotus gift to her breast, and you watch as the lotus turns into golden light, and you watch as the lotus melts into her bronze skin, and you watch as she draws a deep deep breath, exhaling into the sky. Suddenly, you feel a massive weight lifted, spiraling away from the top of your head. Energy fills you starting at your feet and moving in a rush until it reaches the same top of your head. You feel absolute and complete ecstasy, euphoria, tranquility, and serenity. You draw a deep deep breath, exhaling into the sky. You want to laugh, so you laugh. And she laughs with you.
You feel how deeply the universe lives inside you. You laugh, and you embrace everything you can reach, until you feel yourself glowing. You dance and dance, and she takes your hands and joins you, and the universe dances with you.
***
This time, you are standing ankle-deep in a swamp at midnight. Everything is glowing blue - the sky, the water, the lotus flowers, your skin.
The Lotus Woman is sitting in front of you, cross-legged, surrounded by blue and white lotus blossoms all in full bloom. Her bronze skin, her black hair, her green eyes... everything about her is shining with pale blue light.
You feel comforted and serene in a way you have never known at such a deep level. You carefully sit down in the same position, letting the mud flow against you. You and she are both dressed in shorts and sleeveless tops, no shoes, your hair both unbound. The mud sinks effortlessly into your skin.
Neither of you speak. After a few minutes, one lotus blossom floats into your lap, white and blue and covered in dew drops. You very gently pick it up and it dissolves into your skin with an intense burst of blue and white light.
She grins and laughs, clapping her hands. "Oh, yay! I was hoping you would get that one. It's been waiting for you."
You smile and shrug. "I guess I've been waiting too."
The dozens of flowers float and spin around you both, several touching your skin and her skin, merging with you in tiny light bursts that feel like soft winds. She holds out her hands and you reach out and you grasp them tightly.
You don't know how long you sit and meditate, but it doesn't matter. Forever can fit inside a single moment, after all.
The white and blue lotus blossoms swirl around you, lifting your soul, until the entire world is filled with light, and you feel completely at peace, bursting with serenity.
***
brightrosefox: (Default)
Let's see. *fingercounting* Sleep seizure, postictal migraine, pulled muscle in my neck, extreme hypertonia with hemiparesis and ghost nerve sensations in the left arm, hip pain, sciatica, chondromalacia patella, TMJ, difficulty swallowing and speaking due to spastic ataxic cerebral palsy complexities, ankle pain due to tripping over my own feet, right wrist pain due to ulnar nerve entrapment, mild asthma attack, difficulty working both hands, hay fever, swelling in right knee...
And of course the wonderful fibromyalgia flare.
*fingercounting* Eighteen distinctive symptoms. So far.
Pain level: Eight on a one to ten scale.
Oooh, eight! My favorite number and also the infinity symbol when turned on its side! *clapping* Clapping hurts, but fuck it. *more clapping*
Thank you, pills and special stretching and mind over body quantum magics. I have no idea what Normal is right now, but at least I am conscious and moving. That is a wonderful thing. I still win.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Well, I am still feeling that bizarre euphoric buzzing all over. My brain is sparking all over. Tiny baby neural pathways are weaving and dancing around dead and damaged parts to form brand new tinier baby pathways. I can see them. I can feel them. Blue and purple in all shades. Each with its own sense of emotional self and frequency. Which is the point. I am still feeling symptoms of chronic pain and all. But I am starting to form this conscious communication with the whole consciousness in my body, which I have never done before. This is after just one session of craniosacral therapy with Feldenkrais Method. The therapist said to grab on and hold that feeling for as long as possible, try to direct it, keep communicating, keep listening. No fear, no worry, no fighting, no anger, no judgement, no upset, no anxiety. No judgement. Just let go. Just let be. I am going to do my best.

From now on, whenever someone suggests I try a method they think will work, I will thank them and smile, and it doesn't matter if I never try their method or take their advice. Nothing will matter except listening and communicating and understanding and knowing the inside of myself. Because I've been there. That's where I went during that altered state. Pulsing blood vessels and veins and fibrous tissue and muscles and skin and bones and brain matter and and and everywhere. I can't come back from that without being changed or altered. I'm more ME than I think I have ever been.

I will always have these disabilities. Craniosacral and Feldenkrais therapies will not make them go away. But the therapies will allow me to work with MYSELF, deeply, powerfully, intensely. And that is all I want. I don't care about finding a cure or being fixed anymore. Maybe one day... it will just happen on its own. Just because. I'm not waiting for that day.
I'm just going to live. And communicate. Hello, body. A pleasure to meet you.
brightrosefox: (Default)
So.
Craniosacral therapy with Feldenkrais Method.
Yeah.
Well.
So.
So, wow. Yeah. Like, WOW. Up to eleven.

It was such an amazing, indescribable thing. There was the usual craniosacral bit, and Peggi was amazing. And then, very suddenly, I... wasn't there anymore. It was not an "out of body" experience. It was an "in body" experience. I still can't find the words. I felt myself inside... inside someplace. Some-me. I was electric. I was a neuron, perhaps? I don't know. I don't KNOW. Peggi spoke, and my eyes snapped open, and for a minute I didn't know where I was. I was groggy, but filled with a weird energy, a crazy intensity. She told me I had entered an altered state of consciousness, that it was normal, that I should just rest. My brain felt... settled. My body felt... settled. Aligned? When Peggi helped me off the table, my pelvis shifted and aligned all on its own and my posture became practically perfect. It felt bizarre. I still had pain, but Peggi said that was normal. She said that the goal was to communicate, to be conscious of my body, to understand my pain and my disabilities rather than fighting. Listen, learn, grow. If my pain asked for a certain drug in my arsenal, a certain supplement, a certain exercise or stretch... I needed to listen.

My synesthesia is still going wild. Colors and sounds are emotional. I need to pull back a little. So much conscious energy. So much power flooding all these parts of me not used to having all this energy and spark. Mom suggested writing everything down and recording the length of time it all lasts. A few days. A week. Two weeks. I plan on seeing Peggi again next month.

So.
So, yeah.
I can't even.

It is not my place to say if it is a good treatment method for anyone else. Maybe, maybe not. You are not me. But all I can say is that whatever Peggi did on this very first treatment did something extraordinary, and I think it really will help in the long run.

http://www.restoremotion.com/PeggiHonig.html
http://www.aebodywork.com/
http://feldenkrais-method.org/en/feldenkrais-method
http://semiorganized.com/articles/other/ReeseDynamic_systems.html

I crave more coffee now. I just... do. Already had chocolate. My body wants what it wants. I shall listen.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Body is very slowly getting better. Adam put a game hen in the deep fryer, I made herb rice, and I ate salad greens. My stomach finally began registering fullness.

Adam wondered if both the fibromyalgia and the fibromyalgia medications are having this effect on the nerves in my stomach; he fully understands now that I tend to vacillate between being unable to eat much and being unable to feel full despite eating plenty. He actually knows more about how the digestive system and nervous system work in tandem than I do, so I'm taking his suggestions to heart. He approved of the Ensure and since he has tomorrow off he suggested cooking tantalizing meals together.

I came for the love, I stayed for the food. When Adam was a teen, he was given a half scholarship to the Culinary Institute of the Arts, but it was still too expensive, so he just cooked amazing foods for family and friends. He's been doing such since his preteen years, when his mother was hospitalized for three months with pleurisy and he was forced to learn to cook to prevent three months of hot dogs with his father. When I first became anorexic, it was Adam's chef powers that saved me from hospitalization and feeding tubes. Oh, the man can cook.

A migraine is beginning to happen, again triggering nausea and sinus pain and muscle spasms inside my body, which is such an insane sensation. I am unhappy. I shall be receiving a skull massage from Adam, who also knows Shiatsu, Reiki, psychic touch... I did mention that randomly, probably. Yes yes, I love and adore and cherish him, etc, he is as a demigod to me.

Time for medical meditation with amber and lepidolite and charoite and kyanite and tourmaline. This is what the bracelets and rings are for. Connecting to Gaia, the cosmic consciousness, and healing deities like Apollo always seems to help, even just a little. I cherish the sensations of chakras opening and aligning, of energies moving, of my quantum psychic consciousness activating.
brightrosefox: (Default)
Started on Facebook. Copied to Livejournal because Facebook is not a blog.
Inspired by a painting. Actual recurring dreams. Stream of consciousness, free form.
Will be updated as the dreams continue.



****

You lift your head to ask if this is a dream. She presses her finger to your lips and smiles. As she gently places the shining blossom into your outstretched hands, she whispers, "This will be safe inside you. Together, you will understand." You want to ask her everything, but you know you mustn't. She kisses your lips and stands tall. Raising her arms, she fades slowly. The air is filled with the scent of the sacred lotus. You press the flower to your breast and it vanishes, sinking inside you. And you begin to understand.
*
You find her in the swamp itself. This time she is wearing faded denim shorts and a sleeveless top, muscled abdomen and arms well exposed, bronze skin glistening. She is knee deep in muddy water, examining each blossom with careful fingers. She looks up at you with bright green eyes and smiles widely. Her hair is blacker than the darkest muddy water, tied back with satin. She looks so young and so old.
"Are you here for another one?" she asks. "Never mind, of course you are. Hold on. I need to find yours." She moves slowly, dipping her hands in up to the wrists until her skin is masked in mud.
"They're sleepy today," she says. "Here, talk. Ask which one wants you and I'll take it."
"Do I have to come into the mud?" you ask, preparing to remove your shoes.
"No, no, just call out. They'll hear you even far away."
You take a deep breath, focus on the flowers floating all around the woman, and say, "Dear blossom, come to me." You aren't sure if that will work. But then the woman nods. She tilts her head one way and the other. She turns around and walks a foot, then slowly bends at the knees and carefully scoops up a richly pink lotus that looks exactly like all the others. She whispers something, and the flower begins to glow. Grinning, the woman walks out of the swamp and holds out the flower. "Perfect!" she says. "Instant connection. Good job."
You cup your hands and she slides your lotus into your hands. There is a small amount of mud; it feels cool and refreshing, with a slight tingling. The lotus shines so brightly that you need to squint, and it disappears into your hands, under your skin.
You blink at the woman. "So that's it?"
She smiles. "Nope. Never. But you're learning more as you go. I'll see you when you're ready to come back. You'll know where I'll be."
You want to ask something, something important. You have forgotten. You just feel blissful. You reach out, and she hugs you tightly, burying her face in your hair. You rest your chin on her shoulder. She smells like lotus and frankincense and pure joy.
"I'll come home soon," you murmur. She just nods. Nothing else needs to be said.
*
The lotus flowers are in full bloom, all of them. You stand naked and waist deep in the swamp, surrounded. The blossoms and glowing gently, swimming around you. Your guide is nowhere. You cannot call out, or speak, or even whisper. You draw in a breath. A small pink petal floats on the air toward you and presses itself on your tongue. No, you think. I must not speak. You are crowded by flowers. Instinct speaks, and you fall back until the lotus flowers catch you. You are floating on a shining bed of full lotus blossoms. You are covered in tingling mud. You open your mouth and light streams from it. A single whole flower lifts and slowly flies to you and settles gently in your mouth. You breathe in very slowly, and the lotus becomes pure energy that pours down your throat like a refreshing drink. You close your eyes. Everything makes sense. You are everywhere. You begin to laugh, but you do not know if it is in your mind or through your mouth.
"There you go!" says a familiar golden voice. "How do you feel now?" You open your eyes. You cannot stop laughing like a child. The Lotus Woman has eyes that cycle through every shade of green, and you find it fascinating. She reaches for you, and you reach for her. She scoops you up and carries you to a heated rock beyond the swamp. There are clothes waiting for you, folded on another rock. The Lotus Woman helps you sit up. She produces a wood brush and slowly combs your hair, letting the bright, bright sun dry the muddy water away. She carefully rubs you down with a towel that feels like silk and cotton. You look at her, finally, and notice that now she is wearing a red sundress that moves like water, with boots polished like mirrors.
She finishes smoothing you down and helps you into undergarments, blue slacks, a red tee shirt, and boots similar to hers.
"We're going to the healing room," she says, "if you'd like. There will be oil massage and saunas and showers of all kinds. Now that you have your next lotus, I think you'll appreciate the new magic."
You just feel so much bliss, so much joy, so much euphoria, that you only nod and smile widely. She taps her finger on your nose. "Now, don't get excited. That'll fade. We need to make sure it doesn't overwhelm you. It's supposed to become part of you, remember?"
Licking your lips and taking a deep breath, you say, "Yes. I'll remember." Your voice sounds like small bells inside your head.
You hold the Lotus Woman's hand and shield your eyes from the sun with your other hand. She is leading you far from the swamp, but it is all right. You will be back soon, of course.
*
brightrosefox: (Default)
Some people have been asking me why I wear so many specific bracelets in varied order. It isn't because the stones are beautiful, though they are. It is for neuromuscular and sensory processing balance. See, since my left arm, affected by spastic ataxic cerebral palsy, often feels ghost-like, I wear multiple gemstone stretch bracelets to give weight to that arm, so I can feel that weight, look at my arm, and think, Oooh, pretty stones, and oh, right, I should use this arm. Raw amber, charoite, lepidolite, kyanite, tourmaline.
On my right wrist, the balancing act is more of a counterweight. The raw amber, polished amber, fluorite, and lepidolite help me concentrate on my total physicality. I am inside my mind too much. My body needs me just as much, even more.
It is the same reason I wear gemstone rings: charoite, lepidolite, seraphinite, kyanite - the gemstones that work best for me, alongside amber resin. On my left hand are my green gold wedding ring and my inherited yellow gold band. On my right hand is my heirloom engagement ring. I need balance, once again. So I wear a ring on my left index finger and two rings on my right middle finger. Balance is vital for me with my particular set of neurological damages. It helps that all these stones have metaphysical properties that work perfectly for me.

braceletsleft

braceletsright



ringsleft

I do wish my left hand would not tremble so badly, even when propped against a surface. But that is what I live with and I respect it while I seek to improve and strengthen it.
brightrosefox: (Default)
So, I found this meme. And I started trying to answer the questions. And then suddenly I froze and started crying. I'm attributing that to the depressive episode borne out of that postictal state. Or something. Maybe the migraine too.
I may try again tomorrow.

***

What is the working title for your book?

Stormfall.

Where did the idea for the book come from?

During my third year in college (SUNY Purchase), I was at my best friend's house; we were sitting on her bed reading books quietly. Suddenly, very randomly, I fell asleep (I now realize this was an epileptic seizure) and had... a vision. A dream. Something. Crawling naked through the woods away from a burning building. Moving through a cave in a psychic vision. Actually being psychic and doing psychic things. When I woke up, feeling exhausted and funny, I said, "I just had this amazing dream" and my friend looked at me with this very knowing look. Because, you know, she and I had been having psychic dreams and such for a while. I described the dream And I turned it into several scenes in the first chapter. And the rest of the chapter formed around that vision. And suddenly I was writing more chapters, and then I had a novel happening.

What genre does your book fall under?

Future fantasy. Or is it futuristic fantasy now? A sort of science fantasy. It takes place almost two centuries from now, close enough to have streamlined versions of current technologies, far enough to not be anywhere near now. But there is more magic than science, magic in the form of psychic powers, psionics. Lots of it. Very character driven, to the point where I barely have the world around the characters really built.

What is the synopsis or blurb for this book?

Oh gods, I hate trying to do this.
[*deep breath*] In a future world where mild psychic powers have become common, four of the most powerful psychics in the world will test the limits of their powers and the bonds of their love when a fifth powerful psionic seeks to destroy and rebuild reality - but he needs the help of one of the four to do so. When she refuses and he captures her, she finds herself fighting for her life, her friends, and for all existence.

What actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

I have no clue. Since it will probably be years and years before a film gets made ... maybe Dana could be played by a red-haired Chloe Moretz or Elle Fanning or Ariana Grande or Tiffany Thornton or Sara Paxton or Alexa Vega or Bella Thorne, with hazel contact lenses? Maybe Kara could be played by Selena Gomez or Victoria Justice or Camilla Belle or Ashley Greene or Elizabeth Gillies or Ariel Winter or Jodelle Ferland, with light blue contact lenses? For Ian and Alex, since they are fraternal twins and have different coloring, perhaps Dave Franco or Jeremy Sumpter or Cody Linley or Drew Roy or Max Theriot or Sean Faris or Johnny Pacar or Nicholas Hoult, with blue-green contact lenses and brown contact lenses? Jeremy could be played by one of those guys, with dark blue contact lenses. *shrug*

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

Agency, I hope. If they like me enough.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

First draft? I finished that after college, then ripped apart the whole thing. The ending has been missing for ten years while I put the rest back together. I mean, I have the ending. It's just not put in yet.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

I've had such a lifelong love and obsession with psionic/psychic powers and superhumans that I'd been writing such stories since my pre-teens. I suppose that has come out of my being born disabled and wishing I could be more than I was. And also really really loving superhero/superhuman stories. I've loved Marvel's X-Men comics since childhood. Perhaps all the stories I write are allegories for being born with disabilities. Just something you live with. What you choose to do with it is your choice and yours alone. It can boost you and cripple you at the same time.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

Um. Any book where the main characters have really strong psychic powers? I guess? Like, telekinesis and telepathy and all the subcategories thereof?

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

Fuck, I don't know. The superpowers? The future world? The fact that all my characters are pagan, that polytheism is really really common and running neck and neck with monotheism? Psychic abilities of various levels? Character interaction? A villian who isn't truly a villian but a person who feels wronged and wants to make things right in his own way by destroying the world? A main female character who is disabled but it isn't made obvious? Three other main characters who have mental illnesses that are not made obvious?

(Also, I feel bad that I don't have many POC characters (Kara has heritage that is Navajo, Korean, Welsh. Dana's heritage is Russian, Columbian, Gaelic, Greek. Ian and Alex have heritage that is Celtic, Welsh, Greek. Jeremy has heritage that is Italian, Spanish, Scottish, Belgian)... and many POC characters are tertiary. But, you know, the main characters that came into my head were Caucasian. I don't want to alter their races just to appease social justice warrior readers.)
brightrosefox: (Default)
Last night was deeply not fun and very aggravating. I have gotten surprisingly good at typing through the start of seizures and the end of waking from seizures. Facebook is testament. I typed out a whole status post about how I was about to go under. I went under. I came out of it. I typed out a whole status post to say I was okay. I don't actually remember it. Hah.

I remember feeling my head fall back against the back of my leather chair, my whole body sinking down, my mouth falling open. I went inside my brain, and already I was grasping Alicia's hand and we were running. No surroundings, just light and color streaming past. My head was pounding and my legs were burning and I desperately wanted to rest, but her grip was like steel. Her voice echoed: "It's okay; we're almost at the end. You can make it." I began to cry. I whispered, "I want Serena." Alicia said with pure compassion, "She's right at the end. I promise." I focused on her blond hair flying behind her, on her bright blue eyes and the determination glowing in them.
There was an end. Some sort of tunnel, rocky and jagged. Through the opening, I could see a wall made of bronze. A figure was moving toward the opening, and I knew that long long dark hair, those deep green eyes. I flung out my left arm while squeezing Alicia's hand with my right hand - I couldn't let go yet or I would be lost. Serena reached out her right hand, just shy of the force field around the opening. Alicia pushed me far enough to where my arm passed through and I could grab Serena's hand. The women nodded and smiled at each other, and Serena pulled me all the way through and gathered me into a tight embrace. I closed my eyes, opened my mouth to speak, to cry...
My body twitched and jerked. I opened my eyes, feeling my eyelids physically flutter. My neck hurt. My shoulders and back hurt. My head hurt. Everything hurt. I couldn't go back to Serena unless I put myself under again. I let myself cry and weep for a few minutes. It took a while, but I was able to drag myself to the bedroom, where Rose and Jupiter curled up with me and purred me to sleep.

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