Fabulous Friday: Fabulosity Part One

In a Facebook Rheumatoid Arthritis group that I’m in, someone posed the question: How did your life get better after being diagnosed with RA?

Not necessarily because of RA, but after you found out you had it?

I marked it, saved it for later for when I was a) not hurting so badly and b) could actually think of ways my life has gotten better.

My answer, when I had sketched it out, was far too long for a Facebook post. In fact, it’s far too long for a single blog entry.

So I present to you, Part One.

I.     I have become more mindful.

I say this one first, because it is the foundation for all the rest of the ways my life has improved.

Within the past few months, I have incorporated meditation into my morning routine, a short piece of time where I try to do nothing but follow my breath. It’s a bit funny…everything comes along just as I sit “to sit,” as they say, and that’s when the dog’s butt must be scratched, the wild cat who detests me decides to rub against me, and the cats in the far bedroom knock something over that may or may not make it dangerous to walk into my bedroom.

But I sit.

2. I also take 20 minutes in the morning and use it to attempt to learn something new.

I have what may be a literal ton of books in my house–many of them I haven’t read. I’ve made a vow with a passion that Brienne of Tarth could appreciate: I  will not get any new books until I read the ones that I have. I’ve been tested. There are so many things out there I want to read, and I am ever-so-grateful for Amazon’s wish-list feature.

oathkeeper

Aah, my precious. Is that an Oathkeeper in your pocket, or are you happy to see me?

But I have so many books that I have and, at one time or another, wanted to read them. So, I read them first.

Right now, for example, I’m reading Dealing with People You Can’t Stand: How to Bring Out the Best in People at Their Worst by Dr. Rick Brinkman and Dr. Rick Kirschner.

I think i won it for raising my hand at a customer service conference I went to several years ago.

It’s a decent read, at least at 20 minutes at a time. I don’t know that it’s affected my behavior in dealing with people. In fact, I don’t know that it’s directly changed anything except pointed out the irrationalities of some of my own behaviors.

It’s just one of many elements that have been introduced within a short amount of time. But I am different.  I deal with people differently. I deal with my time differently.  I deal with forgiveness differently.

My life has deepened; it has–perhaps not more–but different meaning.  What I love has been magnified:  a flower that is where it “shouldn’t be,” a shared laugh with a friend, really, really good coffee, the feeling of accomplishment at adding another 1,000 words to the novel.

What I don’t love has lessened or fallen away:  the attraction to negativity, the addiction to distraction.

Mindfulness–as it’s progressing for me, anyway–has been the single biggest change in my life, but it has set the stage for every other positive that has happened since I was diagnosed.

It reminds me that flares are temporary, life–with or without   flares–is fleeting, and my proverbial clock is ticking. It forces me to examine the question: What do I want to do with my life?

Rumi said, “Let the beauty of what you love be what you do.”

RA has, at the very least, sharpened my focus and led me, perhaps kicking and screaming, in small steps toward the beauty of what I love be what I do.

I won’t go so far to say that “RA is a gift.”

I am SO not that Zen.

But it has brought about changes for which I am grateful.

And that is something.

(Image Sources: Featured Image taken by my cell phone; Brienne with Oathkeeper from HBO’s Game of Thrones found here.)

Just a Little Longer

September 10 was Suicide Prevention Day. Sadly, I didn’t get it finished and posted on time.

His name was Tim, Tim of the floppy hair and floppy pajama bottoms that made his legs look all the skinnier.

Tim, a Carpe Diem boy, jumping on and over furniture as he recited Jim Morrison’s mantras and Shakespearean soliloquies.  Tim, the one man Cirque du Soliel show, flipping over and flipping off, oratorian to a star-struck audience of one.

Tim of the animated features: eyes that widened and contracted as he traced the height of me, head that nodded, dragging his floppy hair along for the ride,  and mouth that was the sloe gins of slow grins, spreading not just acceptance, but approval and intoxication, when I declined a joint.

Tim of the one kiss.  One single night; one single kiss. A kiss in the shadows against a friend’s house, a kiss that lasted forever.  Tim of the kitty-cat tongue and kitty-cat teeth.  Bit my ear and whispered, “This is how it’s done,”  while I melted into a sixteen-year-old puddle, lapping at his feet.

I didn’t learn what “it” was nor did I learn “how it’s done” that night.

But about year later, I learned what it was like to lose someone that I loved from afar.

This boy, this beautiful boy who had awakened in me a trembling passion for Morrison and kissing, for Shakespeare and choice, this boy who had, in a split second, given me more reason to say no to drugs than a thousand television ads with frying eggs ever had, this beautiful boy committed suicide.

He shot himself.

I didn’t know how to process it. He had just transferred to my school, had a girlfriend, and I saw him for moments between classes for a very short period of time.

Rumor had it that he had also left a note behind blaming his girlfriend.

A few months ago, I had the privilege of attending a suicide awareness event hosted by a local group called CAYA RACE. I lit a candle for Tim and listened to stories.

Standing in the community didn’t matter. Sexual orientation and race didn’t matter. Those who showed up were as diverse a group as I’d ever seen in south Mississippi.  And they all had stories.

Some were stories of people who had, despite their best efforts, managed to succeed at living.  They spoke of bullying, of depression, of angelic friends who, in the last possible moments, pulled them from the ledge of their bad decisions.

Some were stories from loved ones. Those left behind, wondering the why, what, and who of it all.

All of them were heroes. There were those who stood up, spoke out, and became the friend they needed when they were in the dark.  A mother spoke of her daughter’s best friend who had taken her own life, and how it transformed herself and her daughter into a superhero duo who would answer the call, twenty-four and seven, for anyone who needed to talk. They would go to the caller and sit with them to make sure they were safe until someone else could take over.

Of course, superhero is not what she called herself and her daughter.

But I do.

I’ve written about how courage looks like different things to different people, and but it is exactly the same for everyone: a single step over that line of fear that divides the safe from the unsafe.

Even Captain Hammer says “Everyone’s a hero in their own way; everyone’s got villains they must face.”  (We’ll ignore the part where he says not-that-heroic way because, well, it is Captain Hammer).

I didn’t mean to speak at the Suicide Awareness event. I just did. Bumbling on crutches through the sand, I stood and spoke, my words all a jumble. I spoke of Tim, but I also spoke of myself, and that was something I did not expect.

Here’s the part where I stand, just a little more maskless than I was before.

I have attempted suicide. Twice. I’ve wished for death to take me more times than I have fingers and toes. In the past.  I had told God that “If You love me, you’d take me,” and when I woke, took my breathing for proof that either there wasn’t a God or that He didn’t love me.

I’d listen to the Trevor Project’s promises of “It Gets Better” and I hated them for lying. Because, somehow, I was beyond the point of it ever getting better.

I am here to tell you that the Trevor Project’s promise is NOT a lie. It DOES get better.

Wil Wheaton has talked many times about how depression lies. Jenny Lawson, better known as the Bloggess, has talked about how depression lies. 

What depression does is create a sense of tunnel vision where nothing is visible beyond the immediate pain.  People talk of the selfishness of suicide, but I think they’re missing the mark. Those who attempt it aren’t selfish so much as they are blind. Depression steals vision from those who suffer from it just as it steals hope.

Depression lies.

And now that I’ve firmly established myself in my forties, and living a far more challenging life than I could even imagine for myself, I am here to say that no matter the circumstances, life can get better. It will get better.

For all its pitfalls and prizes, life is just too damn interesting to let go of. I want to see it through–too much lies ahead of me that is still undone. Too many people and places and adventures left to see. Too many stories left to tell.

There are bad moments. There will be bad moments. There are bad days. There will be bad days.

But there are also glorious moments, when you see or hear exactly the right thing at exactly the right time, or when you succeed at something in a way that exceeds all expectations.  There will be many glorious moments. There are magnificent days, when you reconnect with a “long-lost” friend, or see the perfect sunset, or be given a boon that you never saw coming. There will be many magnificent days.

You are in this place at this time because you have a purpose to serve. Whether you believe in God or a universal “big picture” or simply the natural world, each person has a part to play otherwise he or she wouldn’t be here.

Find that purpose.

Breathe deep. A bad moment is just a moment, and a bad day is just 24 hours. They may stretch on for what seems to be forever, but nothing earth-bound lasts forever.

Breathe through it.

Keep breathing. Imagine the walls of a tunnel chipping away with each breath until you can smash them with the tap of a single finger.

It will happen.

The walls will crumble and tumble, and you will have regained your vision and your hope.

Depression lies, tells you hope and vision are gone forever.

They are not. They’re just tucked away in your pocket for safekeeping. Breathe and reach into your pocket. You’ll find them again. If for some reason you can’t find them in your pocket, reach out.  There are many people and organizations out there that are holding your hope and vision for you until you can carry it again. Find them.  They are waiting for you to welcome you back into life again.

There are only two things you must do: keep breathing and hold onto the tiniest bit of hope that you will find the right resource.  If one doesn’t work, seek out another.

You will find it again if you just hold on a little longer.

Turn to Mr. Koyczan and listen to his Instructions for a Bad Day.

Call the suicide hotline or find them online.

1 (800) 273-8255 www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

http://hopeline.com/

If you are out there, somewhere on a continent other than North America, reach out.

https://www.iasp.info/

They are waiting for you.

Hold on. Just a little longer.

(Featured Image: http://aeirmid.deviantart.com/journal/New-Contest-A-Candle-in-the-Darkness-462480705)

Plot Twist

plottwist

The great thing about having rheumatoid arthritis is that I learn something new–almost every day.

Today, for example, I learned that it is possible to get isolated fever in the heel of one foot and the ball of another at the same time.  I  also learned that my Fred Flintstone feet suddenly have more curves than Marilyn Monroe.

flintstone feet  marilynmonroe

Whoda thunk it?

I can’t walk today. I’m sort of dragging myself around only for mandatory things such as coffee and voiding coffee.

Important things.

So: Plot twist. No work for me today, even though I have piles of stuff to-do sitting on my desk. No work for me even though I have calls to make, people to chase down, lists to put together, things to type, and supplies to order. No shopping for me even though I’m dangerously near to being out of coffee and coffee creamer. These are two things that, along with dog food and cat food, I MUST, MUST, MUST always have in the house. Toilet paper, I’ve discovered, is definitely desired, but not mandatory since, in a pinch, other paper products can fill its space.

But coffee? Coffee creamer?

There are no substitutes.

Since I can’t do housework today (oh, darn), I can at least spend some time in the cat’s head again. The novel, while not exactly “ticking along,” is definitely moving along. Slowly. As if it were moving toward coffee despite its best intentions to stay perfectly still.

I hit 28,000 words a couple of days ago.

It’s a story of an almost Zen, smart-assed cat who loathes dogs and seems to have an opinion on everything. It’s a fun place to be.

A domesticated feline (my words, definitely not hers), she misses her wildness, her freedom, her nights spent hunting and her days spent napping in stolen sunshine.

I had read where authors speak of “letting the character show you who they are” and that the writer is merely an observer, not a creator. I didn’t really understand it until I got claws-deep in this project.

Her opinions are different from mine in some cases, and, I think I’ve held her back. Correction. I know I’ve held her back. Censored her.  Because I didn’t want “that kind of book,” or I didn’t want her words attributed to me. Because we are similar, but we are not the same.

So. Plot twist. I’m letting her out of her proverbial carrier, removing the kitty muzzle, and letting her go.

There’s no telling where I’ll end up with a cat in charge.

Image sources:

  1. Plot Twist : Grammarly on Facebook
  2. Fred Flintstone https://retiredruth.wordpress.com/tag/fred-flinststone/
  3. Marilyn Monroe: http://shannonmarie1510.buzznet.com/photos/bettypagemarilynmonr/?id=68045773

Foolish 101

Time flies while you’re having fun–at least, that’s what how the old saying goes.

This year marked my eighth year blogging (off and on–more off than on, I’ll admit).  I’ve changed sites several times, went on new adventures, tried having my self-hosted site (which I promptly broke!) and find myself once again, here, at the lyricalfool.wordpress.com site.

The original title, way back in 2007, was Footsteps of a Fool. There’s something about the Fool that I can’t quite let go of.  I’m still as much in love with the archetype as I’ve always been.

For so long and for so many reasons, the fool has always had negative connotations.

Whether it’s for his stupidity or silliness, his lack of vision or lack of judgment, his poor fashion sense or poor common sense, the Fool has gotten a bad rap, for sure.

And yet, there’s something more, just below the surface.

It is said that the tarot deck is the Fool’s journey, and, as all journeys do, it begins and ends with the traveler himself. In the classic Rider-Waite deck, the Fool’s order is zero. Being neither positive nor negative, the Fool strikes the balance between the two. When the tarot was a popular card game, the Fool was the trump card, operating outside the rules that governed all other cards.

When looking at the card itself, at first glance, we see a man foolishly about to step off a cliff.  Eyes opened, he appears to be taking a poor puppy with him. Poor judgment? Wanton disregard? Blatant blindness? Whatever the cause, judging by surface appearances, there’s a willful ignorance in play, a refusal to see the obvious—that he’s about to go over the cliff—or a knowing and doing anyway, even if it’s to his detriment.

But again, there’s something more, just below the surface.

His eyes are open, and he has no doubt that he’s about to step off a cliff. In fact, his rear foot is already lifting, already taking that next step.  This card is an action shot; it’s a man with a plan—not just a plan, but a plan that is advancing. He may have found himself hesitating or doubting himself in the past, but at this moment, this singular moment, he is moving.  Moving toward the great unknown, moving toward the future.

Moving in faith.

His next step is the beginning of the end, and the end of the beginning. No longer will he be on familiar footing, but rather freefalling, plunging into pure mystery. His action is determined; his end result is not. Does he meet his end on the craggy rocks below the cliff? Does he regain his footing and continue on his way until the new way is as familiar as the old only to have things change once again?

No one knows. Such is the fate of a fool.

But the Fool does not travel alone, nor does  he  travel empty handed. He brings with him a dog for company, a symbol of unconditional love and loyalty, and, as it so happens, the dog is also in motion, neither leading nor following. Excited and eager, the dog is also moving toward the unknown. In the Fool’s possessions are a flower and a small rucksack.  A balance of beauty and necessity, inspiration and practicality, the items are everything he needs for this moment. It’s an exercise in faith that everything he needs for the next moment will be provided for him.

Fearlessness. Unconventionality.  Openness. Movement. Balance. Faith.  Love and loyalty.

Thus lies the nature of the Fool.

I am, on my best days, a Fool-with-a-capital F.  Always a work in progress, a lover not a fighter (although, I am trying to break a habit of showing up for most verbal fisticuffs I’m invited to), an  embracer of adventure, She-Who-Sees-Behind-The-Mask.

My goal by blogging: To celebrate awesomesauce wherever I find it, in whatever form I find it, to discover greatness in the mundane, beauty in the intrepid, and to cry out praise for those things that really, really rock my world (See: Featured Fools). I want to examine those things I have taken for granted, celebrate small victories, liberate my inner bohemian, and live as joyfully, fearlessly, and beautimously as I possibly can.

And maybe, just maybe, one day finish that damn novel.

(Image Credit: Michael Thomas who made this awesome banner for me when I was using lyricalfool.com)

Cases and Precedents


A friend posted an unusual (for her) Facebook post about Kim Davis, the Rowan County, Kentucky, Clerk. Apparently her feed was filled with ugliness, and she was concerned that people were judging her for her beliefs and asked if only certain people were allowed to have religious beliefs, i.e., the pretty and the rich.

I’m a big fan of debate. Debate allows me to articulate my beliefs, find holes in them, re-evaluate and, if need be, change my beliefs.

But I can’t stand incivility.  I’m guilty of it at times, mistaking position for people, and lowering myself into an insult match that attacks the person and not the position.

I’m working on it.

For me, to debate a position–without degrading oneself by mudslinging–is one of the finer things in life.

I’m pretty sure I got my love of arguing from my father, and the fact that we differ so much politically, can make it both invigorating and flat-out frustrating.

This is a post from a friend of mine whom I absolutely adore. Her concern, she said, is “how quickly we as a country are to judge this lady for her belief.”

I cannot deny that there are people who are doing that. I think it’s atrocious that people have attacked her appearance, put words in her mouth, and basically called her just about every epithet in the book.

But there are many people, of whom I consider myself, who respect her belief but condemn her action.

I think anyone has the right to believe anything he wishes. Religion-wise, anyone can believe anything that they want to. It’s one of the great things about the United States.

Everyone has the right to hold any opinion they wish as well. I don’t think, however, that all opinions are equal. No matter how often one says, for example, “1 + 1 = 3,” doesn’t make it so. No matter how often they say it, no matter how many people believe it, 1 + 1 does not equal 3. They still have the right to believe it, but it does not make it right.

A more real-word example is people who do not believe in evolution despite copious amounts of evidence (of which I always cite the partial use of anti-biotics and sickle-cell red blood cells). They have the right to not believe in evolution. They’re wrong, of course, but they have the right to believe anything they wish.

Same thing with religion. The United States of America was formed, in part, to avoid religious persecution and to ensure not only freedom of religion but also freedom from religion. To clarify: I do not think Kim Davis’s religion is wrong, whatever brand of Christianity she follows. For me, it’s not even particularly about religion. Or, rather, her religion.

For me, Kim Davis’s religion isn’t the issue.

It’s the fact that she’s a sworn agent of the state, of the court, elected and paid to do a very specific job, which she is required to do, a job which she is refusing to do.

Now, I understand that she doesn’t wish her name to appear on marriage licenses for same-sex couples. I respect that.

But, since signing marriage licenses is her job, she has two choices: either do her job or resign, perhaps even find another position with the state that doesn’t come in conflict with her beliefs. To keep taking a salary for a job you’re unwilling to do is, in my opinion, highly unethical and tantamount to stealing.

I get that she doesn’t see it that way, too.

A Grenada county clerk, Linda Barnette, after the Supreme Court’s ruling, resigned, citing the ruling and her beliefs. (Source)

I disagree with her beliefs, but I have mad respect for this woman. She didn’t grandstand. She didn’t stay closed in her office refusing to do her job and forcing those under her supervision to refuse to do their jobs, either. She didn’t keep taking a tax-payer funded salary.

When someone is in office, they are an agent of the government, whether it’s state-level or national-level. And, government cannot–absolutely cannot–respect an establishment of religion. Because of the “state action” requirement of the establishment clause, private individuals cannot be guilty of establishing a religion–but an agent of the state can. (Source.)

This is exactly what she was doing by refusing marriage licenses. She was using her office to “establish” a religion for the government of Rowan county, Kentucky, and that is clearly unconstitutional, completely irrespective of the Supreme Court’s ruling.

Her beliefs matter. Her faith matters. She matters.  Unless her employment contract forbids her, she is more than able to protest anything she wishes–while she is “off the clock.”  She is free to exercise her religion in any way she chooses–while she is “off the clock.”

Just not while doing government duties–or, in her case–refusing to do her sworn government duties.

To refuse to do her job while accepting a salary is one thing, but to require that those under her immediate supervision also refused–based on HER religious beliefs–is a clear, and by clear, I mean abso-fucking-lutely crystal clear, establishment of religion by an agent acting on behalf of the government.

A marriage consists of two primary parts (not including the actual hard work that goes into making one successful!): legal and civil.

One may be married by any priest, minister, or shaman, or shipboard captain she wishes, and would be considered, respective to her beliefs, married in the eyes of God. This is the civil part. She can be married with or without religious clergy, with or without friends. But she is NOT married in the “eyes of the state” (i.e., legally married, or, plain married for all legal intents and purposes) until the government recognizes it, and that recognition requires a license and a witness.

By refusing to sign licenses, Kim Davis was refusing to allow couples to be recognized in the eyes of the law, and de facto, denying couples the privileges granted upon marriage. Not just same-sex couples, but all couples. Why did she stop issuing all licenses? Perhaps she knows, and rightly so, that to do one and not the other is, legally speaking, discrimination, no matter what her beliefs are. And so she refused all, therefore completely failing in a vital and mandatory part of her job.

I don’t know what a county clerk’s oath is she takes office, but I’m pretty sure it involves an oath that swears to carrying out the duties of her office, which includes issuing marriage licenses to those who qualify.

“God’s moral law conflicts with my job duties. You can’t be separated from something that’s in your heart and in your soul,” she testified before federal Judge David Bunning. ” (Source)

I do not question her right to believe as she does, or to pick and choose which verses (and versions, for that matter) of the Bible that she follows. She’s absolutely right. You can’t be separated from something that’s in your heart and in your soul. But you can be separated from your job if your job duties conflict with your religious belief.

I watched a video (God bless YouTube!) of Dr. Neil Degrasse Tyson and Stephen Colbert (fantastic by the way), and one of Dr. Tyson’s statements stood out to me: “We need a scientifically literate electorate.”  While I agree with him, I think a good step in the right direction is empowering a governmentally literate electorate.

People, judging by comments on various articles, don’t seem to understand how basic government works. I’m no expert, but an elementary school social studies class teaches the basics. I have seen many people complain that  these “activist judges” “wrote a whole new law.”  Others defend Ms. Davis for “Following the laws of the state of Kentucky, meaning the Kentucky Constitutional Amendment 1 which states: Only a marriage between one man and one woman shall be valid or recognized as a marriage in Kentucky. A legal status identical or substantially similar to that of marriage for unmarried individuals shall not be valid or recognized. (Source.)

The question put before the Court was, to wit, “Is denying same-sex couples the benefit of marriage constitutional?”

It was found to be unconstitutional, specifically under the 14th Amendment, or the “Equal Protection” clause.  When the majority of the Court found it so (and they did so by interpreting the existing Constitution and citing precedent, such as Loving v. Virginia, not by “making new laws”), all state-level laws that were in opposition to this ruling were automatically nullified.

So, by denying same-sex couples marriage licenses prior to the Supreme Court’s ruling, Ms. Davis, was in fact, adhering to state law. After the ruling, however, she was not.  Nullification of a law deemed to be unconstitutional does not require a repeal by the voters.  It is simply no longer a “lawful law” and is negated.

Case in point: the state of Mississippi did not officially repeal slavery until 2013, despite it being federal law since 1865. (Source) It wasn’t still legal for Mississippians to own slaves simply because they hadn’t repealed any slavery laws–it wasn’t legal because a US Constitutional amendment was passed–with–or, as the case may be–without Mississippi’s formal agreement.

The question I have for those who feel that Ms. Davis’s being jailed for contempt of court is proof positive that Christians are being persecuted, is this: If a member of a pacifist religion were to be elected to give licenses, and later, gun licenses were incorporated into his department, would his refusal to grant gun licenses be acceptable? What if he were Muslim?  What if it were drivers’ licenses that were incorporated, and he were of a religion that believed that women didn’t deserve the right to drive? Or voting licenses, and women should not vote?

And for those that support the Hobby Lobby decision (another soap box for another day), what if it were a Scientologist corporation that refused to pay for psychiatric medications for its employees? Or one that refused to cover blood transfusions? Or mammograms and prostate checks? For whatever sincerely held religious belief.

Would those be acceptable, too?

It’s not just about the single case or the single refusal of duties or a single case about refusing to provide certain forms of birth control. It’s about the precedent it sets as well.

If we allow Ms. Davis to continue in her position while citing religious beliefs as reason not to do her job, all of these things I mentioned are possible. With the Hobby Lobby decision, so many “exclusions” are now made possible.

Because the government can’t allow one religion to trump another.

It’s not the door so much as it is the hallway of doors that are possible just beyond the immediate case. It’s about common sense and precedent.

And these are some very, very dangerous precedents we’re setting.  Especially for a country that purports itself to be “The Land of the Free.”

Word Wednesday 9/2/2015

Only after we've lost everything are we

Just a couple of days before Katrina hit, a friend and I were riding around Bay St. Louis, Mississippi.  On the marquee for either St. Stanislaus school or Our Lady Academy–both private religious school–was this quotation.

I took a picture of it because:

  1. I thought it strange that a religious school would be quoting Fight Club,
  2. Fight Club is one of my favorite movies, ever,
  3.  and I had a disposable camera and needed to use up the shots.  Little did I know that the shots of bridges, beaches, and some of my favorite trees would be the last I would see of them for months or years or ever.

As Doctor Horrible would say, what a crazy random happenstance.

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