Resistance

 Brett, my friend on death row, wrote in a recent letter that he has been enjoying watching the sun rise and the sunsets; that they are some of the prettiest he has ever seen.

My son, who befriended a mature aged man who was in his Animation Course and finally finished the course after a number of years, made the effort yesterday to attend his graduation, a very special day for him.

My painter, a refugee from Afghanistan who came here on a Humanitarian Visa, noted to me that he had been enjoying my stash of camomile tea.

Volodymyr Zelenskyy noted to David Letterman in an interview that he had been enjoying the mornings; another day in which he had woken up alive.

A guest of Andrew Huberman who visited the Ukraine recently said to him that the people were still making delicious food; prided themselves on doing so.

The guest noted also that while it is thought democracy is at threat in the United States, when one visits the Ukraine, there is the realization that life in the United States is fundamentally stable.

When I am in the enclosed trampoline with my grandsons, that sits in their garden, they want me to bounce them, and jump with them, but my right knee sometimes tells me that it's a bit too much. So I sit in the middle and let them run about me. There's still plenty of movement but I'm not adding to it, or trying to stop it. I'm secure and know that eventually it will stop.

My youngest son, the one who still lives with us, sees that life lived with a worrier, a compulsive person like his Dad, is not easy. He has a quirky sense of humor, as do I.

'Mum, you do good work," he said pointing at me from the far side of the room just before he departed.

'You do good work', I said, pointing back at him.

We both laughed.

In a tough situation, laughter works. Zelenskyy agreed. He still likes to crack jokes.

When Deity died, but I was still unaware of his passing, there was a very still moment for me, complete peace, and somehow, don't ask me how, I knew his spirit was free.

All these little moments. The present moment.

As the world spins around us, chaos, even madness seemingly winning the day, we still have at our disposal the pleasure, and the acceptance of the present moment.

As one of my favourite meditation teachers likes to say, 'Everything that peace touches becomes peaceful.' 

I fulfilled a request by my painter from Afghanistan yesterday to construct a letter to ask about his sisters' application for a humanitarian visa to join him here in Australia. The streets of Tehran are very dangerous and even going onto the streets to buy food puts them at risk of being jailed should they be deemed a protester.

We sat looking out onto a lush garden as we talked of them on the streets of Tehran in possible danger.

It's been a wild, wild ride this year.

As a friend said to me via email just now, if I try to go against the spinning tree, it will throw me off, but if I let it stop of it's own accord, it will. 

Don't resist.

Ah yes, that special phrase of Carl Jung comes to mind, 'What you resist, persists.' 

'It is what it is.' Indeed.

And the most profound of all? Lennon's 'Let it Be'.

To be delighted

 I've been hungry for something lately, hungry for a dive into my own darker desires. Alone for an evening I turned onto 'Fifty Shades of Grey'. It was late and I was tired so I flipped forward, looking for scenes that might scratch the itch.

He's taken on a novice. She hasn't even thought about what he has been fixating on his whole life so it's a pretty hard sell. I think watching this time I was mostly aware of his frustration, and his patience. But how, with all that attention, could one not be entranced, even just a little?

This morning, I wondered how I might find some little morsel, a bite for my starving soul, when the thought occurred that I might go back to a time on this journal. I chose September 2009 and reading there I realized immediately that it was the interconnection with another person, the dance, that delighted me; a sweet morsel to have with one's chai tea, you know?

Delight. That's what I once had. And how delicious it was.

OCPD

 For years I have skirted around the issues of my life on this blog, trying to be discreet at the same time as I express myself as best as I can. However, it's been going on for so long and secrecy and discretion have achieved nothing. With nothing left to lose, I am just going to come out and say it.

My husband has some sort of anxiety disorder which affects many aspects of our lives but most importantly it is his anxiety about his health, and his deep distrust of the medical profession that puts me in a position where I sometimes feel I am going mad.

Whilst I was away last week interstate he experienced sensation such that my son took him to a public hospital in the middle of the night. They were efficient to the best of their ability and gave a diagnosis consistent with their findings, but my husband didn't agree with the diagnosis, highly suspicious of the woman in whose specialty it was.

All week he raged about the woman, fixating on the details of the middle of the night dash, not once entertaining the thought she might be right. Having gone past the point of simply agreeing with him, I suggested that maybe she knew a thing or two about her specialty and that it was worth the possibility of opening his mind. He remained unconvinced and undeterred.

This led us to the private hospital emergency this afternoon where it was quickly determined that, no, there was no heart arrhythmia.  However, they were happy, as you would expect, to run all requisite tests and confer with various specialists until he was satisfied and that's what they will spend tomorrow doing.

I want to be clear that if I can, I stay away from doctors and hospitals. My goal is to be well enough to achieve that end, doing sensible preventative tests, of course, but basically using the insurance policy of a balanced life to visit medical establishments as infrequently as possible.

However, when you need them, all their training comes in mighty handy, not to mention some drugs newly invented change and save lives.

My husband has a combination of fear of dying, of being very sick and needing doctors and a belief in his own ability to research conditions such that he can come up with the correct diagnosis and treatment himself.

Anyone who trashes his body as he does with lack of sleep, forcing himself to stay up late, along with a great deal of anxiety and stress hormones running through his body in an almost non-stop way, is going to experience illness, and he has been unwell with one thing or another for some time; bits and pieces.

The key thing here - and was so with Deity also -is that you can't help someone who won't be helped. If you insist a la Sinatra in going your own way, no-one can stop you. Certainly, I don't make a dent in my husband's thinking. 

If you could have a reasonable and fair conversation, things could be worked out together. There are solutions. But that's not something my husband is prepared to do because his black and white thinking means that I can't possibly be right, or a doctor can't possibly be right, when he is right. Do you see the issue?

I have threatened to leave him. I have tried living part of the time away from our city house in which he is bunkered. I have said he must get psychological help. Nothing moves him; certainly not my upset.

In many ways this is why I was able to tolerate Deity's stubborn nature; because I know stubborn natures up close and personal. I occasionally make the mistake of thinking I can save such people which I definitely cannot.

I am not trying to 'save' my husband in fact since I have no influence. I am trying to make sure that my husband doesn't send me to the funny farm, and all the kids along with me.

OCPDers think they are right and are to this end unaffected. It's the families that are traumatized and who is there to support them?