(Explanation of picture: I was thinking today that sometimes we are individuals in a community of others but we can bust through to another shell in which we find in the old otherness a home. Other thoughts about the shell and attributes in layers, too, the yin yanginess of it all vs the whole egg cocoon monad thing. And more. And on anon. Monkeys with typewriters from Shakespearean Gods.)
Feeling mania coming on. I’ve mostly averted it during Smith’s operation and recovery with liberal doses of Gabapentin and the occasional Prince Valium, less coffee, moderate running, etc. The doses of emotional medical joyrides and the forging forward bursting green mother load of spring and its resultant creativity are challenging waters for this raft. Alternately joyous with an hope that I don’t go overboard from into more uncontrollable deluges, which make me feel nauseated with myself.
“I don’t understand why I can’t feel calm naturally, without a pill,” I tell Smith.
“That’s what meditation’s supposed to do,” he says. “That’s what Yoga’s supposed to do. But sometimes it takes years of practice.”
“So meditation is sedation?”
“No, it’s calmness without sedation. It’s the ride without the ticket.”