It’s Complicated

My routine visit with Mom last week was probably one of the better ones that we have shared over this past decade. We had insightful and meaningful conversations about spiritual paths or our individual personal growth. The cornerstones of our journeys may be vastly different yet the ebb and flow are quite similar. Everything dovetails evolving into a new level of consciousness.

At the age of 94, she is still seeking endless and desperate forgiveness from her interpretation of “God”. I attempted to soften this non-stop self-punishment in a digestible language for her. At the same time, I encouraged her to find her spiritual tribe for where she is at in this moment of her life. A place where her version of nourishment is met and community is felt. It is not for me to decide where that is or may look like. Yet healthy encouragement was made.

One of the most difficult things to do as a human being. Who holds polar opposite beliefs about the process of life with an aging parent. Is to set aside our views and communicate fully from a place of compassion. The suffering and shame that they may be experiencing as they count down the years on the clock are overwhelming and often unnecessary.

Some insight leaked out through our 4-hour conversation. I finally understand in better detail how she and my father met and the circumstances to why they married. She spoke fondly of him, this was another first for my ears. A gentle reflection on those early more youthful dates felt warmly shocking to hear after decades of understandable disdain for each other on both their parts. Alcoholism was largely a part of his life in those more innocent times. She acknowledged the red flags yet highlighted that he was a gentleman with her. Describing with affection dinner dates and safe rides home.

I learned how her grandmother whom she held on a pedestal passed. By way of strangled intestines, a result of a prolonged and untreated hernia. She died dramatically one Thanksgiving, the year undisclosed. This is when mom decided to marry my father. It was her grandmothers wish to see her safe and married before she passed. The death was unexpected, the wish fulfilled, and since mother was to be tossed out into the streets as the house was willed to an auntie. An immediate solution had to be found, hence marriage. Much of this story in itself is another tale for another time.

Portions of her memory are selective. Especially in regard to her two brothers and how and where they lived. I understand trauma and generational trauma more than I would like. This understanding allows me to have a bit of insight into her own mind and nervous system. Unconscious selective memories make life more digestible. I try. to remember that, especially traumatized people of a certain age didn’t have the word trauma as part of their accessible vocabulary. CPTSD & PTSD have not yet been part of popular culture at the time. Not to mention the many tools and autonomy that we are fortunate to have today.

Oddly, I learned more about her potent yet understandable fear of men, distrust of women, and fear of most everything in life. Essentially she was a girl then woman who felt unsafe in all the realms of her perceived reality, with everyone and everything. So many topics began to make sense as the day went on.

She shared with me for the first time how she performed her entire catechism in Bohemian. As this was a language she knew from her mother’s side of the family (I had no idea the language existed in the family). She spoke of her years at St. Agnes of Bohemia Catholic church on the south side of Chicago. She expanded on previous conversations about the tears she shed over the possibility of attending a co-ed high school. Pleading with her grandmother to allow her attend an all girls Catholic high school. As boys meant “trouble” for girls, leaving them pregnant and unclean. As the boys would step away without responsibility, a message endlessly massaged into her by her grandmother. Her panic prevailed and she was allowed to ride a trolley to an all-girls school where she could feel slightly safer. Her grandmother footed the bill “she paid for everything” she said, a new blouse when needed, underwear, and tuition.

She spoke favorably for the first time of the nuns and their admiration for her speaking/reciting in Bohemian with greater ease than the rest of the girls. She also flashed back recounting once more the hours of endless rosaries desperately recited, both day and night as a young girl. Often waking from traumatized slumber with broken beads in her bed from praying so hard in her sleep that the rosaries would snap. A result of relentlessly having pumped into her soul the lies that she was a bad and dirty girl. I breathed through these stories, some old, some new, some told in fuller detail. My heart ached thinking how messed up things must have been for her and my uncles.

A soft, profound, and meaningful apology arouse at one point. “I am so sorry for what I did to you boys”. meaning my brothers and I. She has apologized and tried to make amends over the years for many of the events from our childhood. Often followed by words or actions counter to healing, mean and spiteful leaving my brothers and me hurt or confused. This time I kept in mind that I believe that she genuinely is sorry. At the same time, an ancient reflex will mostly kick in, and when something hateful is said I try to remember it is only an old pattern or habit.

I try to make room for all the parts of her as I do for myself these days. After all, a hurt person who has been unhappy and fearful for many decades, who believes betterment is either not accessible or deserved will most likely lash-out. When unexamined rage, hurt and anger are left untreated they shall arise in many forms. A seeping wound is still infectious no matter how many bandages of denial are applied. Or “rebuking the devil in mind” through prayer and begging.

I expressed some of my thoughts. When coaching clients I often say “It is easier than you think”. Meaning, the work can be incredibly challenging to do, actually at times very difficult. But living as a healthier person is easier and more accessible than you may think. Especially when you never knew it was even possible. Children of CPTSD do not know there is a different way to live. Trauma normalizes the abnormal, as the saying goes. Just because it was normal for you, does not mean it is or was normal. When we heal and I still hold future hope in mind for my mother in her own range of comfortably. I hope that who she can become (at peace) is worth it, this is what is easier, brighter, kinder, and more fulfilling. Again many do not believe they are even worthy of change or happiness in any appropriate way.

Gosh, there is so much that took place through words and space. A few hours could easily fill chapters in a book. All the above and more if flushed out more gracefully could be quite moving. The older I grow the more I see how much she and I are alike. Only in different stages of change and attainable capacity. More importantly, each day I see that we are the sums of the stories we are sold. We learn of the world and ourselves from our caretakers and systems. For many of us, the unlearning becomes our mortal work. Always unlearning and rewriting what we thought we knew. Much of it never true, about us, the world and all that is. This statement varies in depth and meaning for each of us. We may not be able to choose what we learn as children, especially without adult intellectual abilities. But we can do our best to unravel and weave something new.

Forever
Runty

SELF LOVE: It Is Easier Than We Thought.

I haven’t created a video presentation in a very long time that would not fall under the category of conceptual video work. My life has been on an increasingly steady path of ease and widening. And I have found a return video formatting with a focus on direct communication to be a natural concept during this time of gentle shifting.

On self love, I believe this offering covers most all of what I wish to express at this time with clarity and comfort.

In love and Light
Runty

A Remembrance of Innocence

Much like the wet of snow that weighs upon a winters evergreen, thus were the deducing thoughts rummaging through my head, hefty and nourishing. During the wondering hours of my previous night’s sleep, I sought answers and clarity to a restless set of questions streaming within me. Ultimately I found both nesting amongst the branches of remembering and not.

Delicately I began to sift through speculations of my early youth. Only to find my retrospections leaving me in emptiness. I was having difficulty remembering any childhood Christmas gifts. I found this to be strange and soon my head jammed, not from attempts to remember if mementos of the season had been offered or received. I knew that tokens and toys had been exchanged. What pushed my mind into a grasping motion was that I could not recall any particulars. No garments or games, nor memories of a child’s sense of urgency early on a Christmas day. 

I began to analytically sort through my reflective vacancy, a place where visions of ravaged gifts should be. I proceeded with gentle determination questioning myself for answers. While searching for sentiments I discovered that I had nearly any recall at all of holidays past. I wondered in silence if all of this efforting was as unnatural as I felt them becoming. The more I sought, the less I found, yet I continued to challenge the absence of a personalized Christmas lore. Thoughts were neither bad nor good only empty. Do all adult-sized children experience this sort of blankness I asked of no one in my solitude? The more I scraped my brain, the more curious I became about the whys and whats of my blocks.

DREAM STATING

DREAM STATING
During the apogee of my post-trauma remembering’s, my bi-annual clinician launched me on a powerful and dulling rhythm of anti-seizure medications. I would like to note that this is not an uncommon treatment for anyone who may experience a multitude of intense manifestations similar to those that were punching through the floodgates of my nervous system at that time. This was at the peak of my post-traumatic nightmares an aphotic period of time which I mostly documented as intrusive and harsh. I had been experiencing progressively persistent sensory attacks, flashbacks or “mares.” Vivid memory recalls in both my hours of wake and slumber. Seemingly without warning proving disruptive in all aspects of my life. Graphic sensations would own me leaving me pummeled, ripped, restrained, and ravaged in ways not fit for print in romance novels or tabloids.

Circumstances and obligations that were once perceived as routine began to feel like extraordinary feats to be reached. Consistent employment, morning walks down familiar avenues, as well as afternoons strolls through favored parks had become insurmountable projects according to the reprogramed logic of my body and mind. So too where rides on public transit, visits to the local supermarket, communication with strangers and dating which remained in a cubby of incomprehensible for years to come. These experiences were not always impossible with attentive preparations, extreme meditation and awkward bouts of hyper-con awareness.

Numerous were the days in which I slipped into slow contemplative states of humiliation after “sensed” disturbances. I often felt awkward, pounced upon, and self-conscious. Recurrently mornings began with feelings of circumspection, fear sometimes grappling with terror. As evenings somber shades would near, a wrecked ego’s critical self-review of both real and assumed behaviors would leave me in a state of abashment. Often inducing an organic calmative – a torpor of escape would then set me to rest at times for days on end.

I took solace knowing that my protective higher self had been preparing me to lastly face much of my previously concealed traumatic retrospections. Only a few up until this time had seeped out slowly. The most powerfully impactful had remained safely locked in a vault for safekeeping until I was ready to process them. As more began to release, I thought I may be, at last, ready for an assuagement of all that had haunted me to begin. I was set for anything offered in aiding me in a process of additional curing. Including a PTSD tablet regimen, one used on Veterans emotionally fractured by war. After a slow dose build layered over an easement of weeks, I began to notice a mitering of symptoms.  Quietly “Believed” violent attacks from my bed sheets to streets had begun to decrease, in ways that were increasingly numbing to my flesh and head evoking a subconscious state of peace. Inching forward I prepared myself for the next level of living, loving and healing.

I knew that there would be more work to be done with hallucinations of blood streaming down both my legs still taking place. As to where sporadic gasps for air bursting forth from lungs at attackers who no longer existed in my immediate physical world. (an old story to old readers) Simultaneously, I was experiencing the dawning of the age of Topiramate, this would be the expansion of my emotional oxygen tent. To provide a bit of understanding this medication had been created to slow the inner warfare of trauma patients from reaching their conscious core. In other words a flashback blocker, a dream stopper. With hope I could now clot the blood from flowing down, ease my gasps while softening thoughts just enough to rejuvenate maybe even replenish my future vision plan. Only later would I stop to ask myself how much would this privilege cost and how long would I have to pay?

For those who may be kind enough to have read thus far. Or working through scenarios such as trauma loss or an acute life adjustment. Medication and therapy are tremendous tools when appropriately accessed and monitored. Please do not take any of the following statements as a deterrent from professional care. Many of my writings are based on and about my own life’s experiences a series of micro-blip-autobigroies. As always extract what resonates and allow whats left to rest. I personally have found that a healthful dose of self-awareness married with a regime of meditation, writing, soul flexing and seeking has brought about my greatest sense of fulfillment and wellbeing. I am not here to debate philosophies or medical science each person is unique and capable of making their own decisions on personal wellness. I believe that whatever tools may work for an individual is all that matters. Tools are tools, knowledge is knowledge and intuition is intuition. Go for what is good for you, elevate yourself live free of judgment and do it fearlessly.

I think I will always question why the “inner” work that a person may choose to do. Is often the last to be emphasized or rarely discussed on many paths of recovery by a variety of professionals. For myself, these where the goods that transported my mind, body, and spirit on a continuum of sustainable sanity, wellness, agility, hope, and growth. My adventures to the land of mend had primarily been supported from within as I moved onward towards recovery prompting a total reboot.

FAST FORWARD
Oftentimes I arrive at a deeper understanding of our global society through an affable process of self-examination. Looking at relevant excerpts of my own self-history as needed or desired. As the birth of 2019 neared, I began a new elicitation of self-awakenings. I choose to spend my time wisely reigniting my personal pursuit for individual truth while evolving my broader perception of humankind. By opening my eyes, ears, and vibration to the faces, spaces, and happenings both around and within me. Through these actions, I was able to delve deep into the compassionate pockets of my overcoat of empathy. Arriving at a kinder place of social, psychological, and spiritual dexterity.

This is when my appetite to launch an investigative plunge had begun to stir. I started to question precisely what this tiny compound had been doing for me and how it had impacted my daily life. Shortly thereafter an innocent mishap materialized at my pharmacy, an ordinary delay with an ordinary order began to stretch. This was my prompting to dive deeper into my initial reactionary phase of feelings.

I began to ask myself a series of the why’s and whats. Why had I been “crashing out” so easily each day? Why would I lose my thoughts so swiftly? What had happened to the me that once used to be? Shouldn’t I be back to who I really am by now? I even questioned my unusual hair loss “Why is my hair thinning with a family history on either side of guerrilla heads!?!” Gradually I ceased absorbing all of the blame for my questions as I had been doing. Blame taking is often the case for the overly responsible survivors of trauma and rape. As the “it was my fault” mentality lingers in one’s vibration for some time post-trauma even without knowing. Then it hit me- could the answers to these whys and whats lie within this substance they call Topiramate?

I initiated a research project with fractured determination. As I had already begun my self authorized partial un-medicating rooted in trust and intuition. This modification had left me shaky at first mind you a detox like any detox has a price to pay. My first days up to two weeks cost me a manageable toll. At times severe edginess, nervousness, paranoia, swings of moods appetite and rest. I was a bit of a mess, but my test turned out to be well worth the jumble and lack of rest. *please note that I performed this process with the assistance of a friend.

I decided to dig deep with my investigation deeper than my usual Google scratch, sniff, and scroll. I immersed myself in American and British medical journals along with random related articles. What I had been looking for were facts, not faceless internet reviews. I experienced disheartenment to uncover little data to support the effectiveness of this medication in regards to trauma patients. I stumbled upon numerous articles by independent professionals stating strikingly similar tones of view. There had been little evidence to back this medication, for my needs and this actually felt right, I was ok with this. What poked my intrigue, was passing past quotes that read “do not prescribe to patients who are interested in maintaining an engaged lifestyle.”  These read like neon signs to me, bold and blaring felt and hot. Followed by repeat recommendations to bypass informing patients of the side effects of dullness and no longer being interested in life. I sensed I was onto something meaningful at this stage of discovery.

I was relieved to uncover a few key answers to why I had been feeling defeated with my extended internal living experiences. And why I had been feeling helplessly fastened in place for longer than what seemed logical or even valid. Perhaps some readers may be able to identify. You see I had been determinedly pro-active in my attempts to return to living a gainfull life something that was becoming increasingly unattainable. An investigation into the cause of my frustrations unmasked a few answers to my questions, through a mishap with deliberate conviction found what I had been seeking.

One of the reasons I never received an explanation of what this alleviant is proposed to do to one’s brain. Is because professionals are instructed not to do so by big pharma. Why? because it would be a deterrent for patients taking this medication. I know that this is an understandable situation. Many patients may reject many healthful drugs out of fear of side effects and not benefit from the positive effects. The bottom line is, all patients have a right to know ALL the facts and statistics about ALL medications.

What I most felt upset about was that for the past few years, I have communicated clearly with three of the separate prescribing physicians. I let them know that I had cut one of my other medications down to less than half of its original prescribed dosage. Only later through my own research had I found out that this medication to which I am focused on here was/is to be also prescribed proportionately to the other. I have always been honest about my medication regimens, diet, etc., I have discussed my dosage dismantling, yet not one prescribing doctor had either cared about this mathematical difference or caught it. However, it is something I believe any reader here would have noticed with a bit of rudimentary research.

The whack of it all is, I have been taking a highly disproportionate amount of this mind-numbing, body dumbing medication for at two to three years. 100% not my choice and not with my direct knowledge through discussion. I’ve been zapped of enthusiasm and faking my way through most of my days to remain engaged in life. It seems that I have been finished with the main stage production of my trip to trauma town for some time now. Yet numbed as if it were still a Saturday night production.

My greatest irritation over these vanishing seasons me has been an absence of zest. Waking each day living with disinterest as my physical consistency waivered. As my mind vacillated in clouds of mental fatigue. I would fumble with forgetfulness creating a doubtful existence questioning who I had become. Losing momentum or “crashing out”  quickly on most days convincing myself as I fizzled by 10 or 11 in the morning that I had simply become lazy and no longer vital. Then I would rise again come mid-afternoon, only to lose it again around 2 or 3. It was a liken to a predictable lackluster mood swing in which frustration was the culprit placing me onto the edge of snap. Naps ate up days like summer ants on snacks. At this stage of my age, I knew well the difference between depression, slumber, and unexplained sleep. But when you are exhausted and in it, you just can’t think.

Only recently had I noticed the correlation tween my dosing schedule and circulating crashes. My memory loss frustration was crushing my confidence and I reached a conclusion that I could no longer envision myself holding another “normal” job. I was beginning to wonder, how much of my memory loss was due to trauma, addiction due to trauma or my malaise caused by Topiramate which was killing my momentum? My new trauma seemed to be anti trauma therapy far after my trauma memories and reactions had left me.

My gut had been nagging at me, telling me that all of the above may be related to this medication. But as many of us know we trust our doctors or don’t want to be a bother. After all, we are only the patient, we don’t have a degree, we only know how we feel. I had intuitively been pulling myself of other medications for outdated diagnosis that I knew no longer defined me. I had been correct and successful in doing so. Now I wondered, what if I was correct about my current definition of self by another? I felt that this was the time for me to take self-action and ownership of who I wished to be from this moment on. I no longer was a victim of trauma, gang rape, or addiction. I was now the survivor of a medication that was depleting my world of life.

Please hear me loud and clear, I am not an advocate (sort of) for self un-medicating or self-medicating unless you are a highly self-aware person an honest person with yourself and others, void of delusion and have assistance. Please Note I Am Obviously Not A Doctor.

Shortly after splitting my dose in half my energy began to elevate and balance roughly to what it once had been and continues to do so. My sense of self-worth has dramatically increased in part to the following. I am enjoying an ample supply of returned memories, a joy of daily activities, proper use of language, an appreciation of life, general vibrancy, renewed interest, and finally a return of glorious concentration. Simple pleasures spark my light remaining awake throughout my days, and reading books with comprehension again feels like a miracle. My life vision is returning and I say returning because I feel it is an ongoing process.

The most exciting part of my controlled experiment is a return of dreams. I have not had any dreams in a very long time. This drug was designed to squash dreams, bad dreams (a good thing for severe trauma). I have finally begun to dream again consistently, intuitively, deeply and creatively. I have dreams like I use to and none of them are the nightmares that I once had. Some are technicolor fantasies and some are dumb as can be.

Again I am aware that this drug has and continues to serve its purpose and for this I am appreciative. Yet I wonder when did the purpose to my prescribed alleviation come to an end. What would the reason be so why not one trained professional had spoken to me about the maintenance of medication or how my neuropathways where being rerouted, trained, spark and manipulated. Why would highlighting weight loss on this tablet be the of the utmost important factor to over explain to this patient? Why is weight loss the primary point the pharmaceutical companies encouraged prescribing doctors to sell to patients when it comes to trauma? Obviously, it sells the drug “everyone would like to lose weight.”

I wonder how many days of opportunities I had missed, how many inspirational moments I slept through. I began to wonder what my clearly vibrant subconscious self had been trying to communicate. And what other people may be going through and what better options there are for the future. Again I think medications are powerfully wonderful tools, but there must be communication. We live in a world filled with options, they should all be available and many of them are right in front of us, even within us. Medication is only one option of deliverance.

We live in a very big little world, I profoundly believe in the human experience and the strength each individual holds. I believe that one of the greatest superpowers that any given individual holds is the power of choice. The power to look within, the power to question, the power to feel, the power to be still and look within. The power to ask questions, the power to trust and the power to help another human being as we explore, process and grow on our own paths in life. I believe we all know what it is that is best for us deep down inside, I have learned for myself time and time again. Everything and everyone else is only here to support us in our choices on our journeys. But it all comes down to honesty with ourselves first.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt
(Paintings by Jordan Sokol

Yet to Fully Break

At last, I am becoming anchored in a calmed position of new awareness. No longer romanticizing Monday morning rituals, fashioning sheets to crisp perfection, while degreasing his four poster bed.

I can still remember the overstuffed ashtrays that filled every vacant tabled edge of his apartment, strangely this memory makes me smile. At the same time, knowing the permeating dimensionality of the clutter and smell that was part of this hypnotic space has created a haunting imprint within me. I regret to report as the power of this hold lifts from me, it is leaving me emotionally disjointed.

With eyes soothed to a close, I can feel his bare feet resting on top of my naked legs. I imagine myself kneeling before him, folding freshly laundered sox’s to a tweaked perfection. With fluctuating shame, I admit in my private mind, that I habitually lust after our dead recollections. My nerves begin to tense and recoil in regret, I hate all of our razor edged memories and begin to release them one slash at a time. Yet I let them back in over and over throughout time.

Often I crave the warm and intense moments that we once shared, but those were few in comparison. As truth nears the abandon rooms of my mind, tacking reminders to it’s warm edges of denial. I slowly remember the endless activities, escapades, and events that I despised so intensely. Especially those with strangers, many against my will often ending in conclusive falsehoods. But it is the hypnotic influence of your voice and the constant wrestling between detachment and connection, conflict and heaven, no and yes. And of course one more slam, one more hit, three days running from electric to death. Addiction, regret, sex, fantasy, rushes, drugs, decay, death, filth, and rock with no soul.

To this day your vocal cords continue to twist up around my mind, a strangle hold of control. I won’t glorify my version of the stalkings as I recall them, I admit this would not be fare. They are also too painful to reflect on and present, I choose now to detach. I believe your tactics may have oddly worked, I jerk most days thinking of you. I wonder if this twisted brain wash choke hold will ever fully dissolve to an infinite fade.

Unthinkable, not one soul I know would wager that you could break the unbreakable. It has been a few 365’s. Again I ponder hard, was it the drugs? the sex? or was it simply a pile of misaligned and jumbled circumstances that happened to fall into place. Either way, I try to live by no guilt no shame no blame…

I have to ask myself, do I even hear what I am saying? do I even know what I am thinking, do I read what I am writing. I do – the loop does get thinner, it does get better, but it has yet to break.

RUNT

A DILUTION of ME TOO

I believe deep within the warm curves of my heart, that the current conversations encompassing sexual harassment and inappropriateness are all importantly valid. As all topics of discomfort are, I feel the daily mega stream headlines we are seeing today are all deserving of examination. I believe they have also come to fruition for the greater purpose of enlightenment and the brighter transformation of all people. The timing could not be more perfect for the evolution of fresh perspectives as we move forward through the climate changes of intentional sexual identification, conduct and respect .

On a cellular level I am more than familiar with the infrastructure of all of these disputations. I have experienced, healed, and triumphed through my own variety of life’s configurative platforms. I have profound respect for all who have spoken up and claimed their rights and freedoms of both voice and body around the world. I also have deep compassion and understanding for those who have continued to live in silence. And the countless list of brave warriors who have yet to meet their own inner empowered selves. I honor each individual experience as passionately as I do these rising topics of debate. (side note; applause to all on your journeys) 

I can only speak of my own opinion within these pages. One of my perspectives is that it is of equal value, to understand the materiality of both having a voice while harvesting an understanding of rape culture and harassment in positive ways, through education and or ones personal experience. It is also constructive to give voice and thought to any situations should an individual or group arise causing the pendulum of consciousness to swing in a counter productive motion.

When someone is seriously assaulted, I think it goes without saying that there is no humor to be found in either cause or affect. When someone is hit on, as most everyone is at some point on their earth adventure. Or an advance is perhaps taken in a direction that is not of their choosing, these to are not acceptable. I also feel that not all of these illustrated scenarios are equal to an assault as they may be portrayed in the arenas of “Big Press” as of late.

I realize some of my readers may argue my point of view and I am ok with this. What is important to me is the topic of clarity and the communicated word when going public with a statement of allegation. All words are valid, but words can be powerful, they can also be dangerous. As always choose your words wisely especially while illustrating conflict or resolve with another. 

I feel that it is critical to be as scrupulous as possible when in a moment of recollection. As we sit in our varied states of reflection. Especially when we are recounting interactions between ourselves and one or more about incidents of unwanted actions. Should projections of accusations begin to circulate, it is imperative, actually it is our obligation to both self and to society to be as pure as our cortex will allows us to be. To recount the movements of the moment through our verbal communications as well as our physical display, to the best of our abilities. Naturally trauma often makes this an impossible task for many. The concept of this writing, as you may have gathered rest on a loom of allegations more than a pedestal of legitimacy.

These writings are absolutely not intended to be about “victim” (a term I dislike) shaming or blaming. I understand my words through this segment may raise a brow or furled lip. This also is not my intent. My hope as always, is to remain open to both the light as well as the dark of all human experiences. I feel all aspects of life are of value and deserving of honor, it is what we learn and extract from each moment that allows us to evolve, should we choose. It is also up to each individual to evoke a culture of change. (my humble POV)

I do my human best to keep in mind that facts, voice and action are what create empowerment, not ego or the distortion of facts. I feel it is best to be discerning, in our hearts and thoughts as a collective, if we intend to ride purposefully onward with positive intent summoning healing while we advance as a people for future generations. As we heal the wounds of a #metoo manifestation. Keep in mind that this requires honesty, reflection, and a seeking spirt. Compassion and above all else love will take us to the next where we aspire. Love is the primary action of satisfaction that will mend all agitations that prod mankind’s desires for change.

The topic of words continues to rise up within me, I believe all words are good. The spoken word in conjunction with body language are two of the most powerful gifts entrusted to man. They can also be dangerous if used improperly, we see it each evening should we choose to dose ourselves with heaps of American Nightly News (insert a bit of laughter here). They may be counter productive to a cause of beautiful benefit when motives are not grounded in truth. Or when inserted as a tool of manipulation dicing up topics of importance. Particularly when fueled with a fear based desire opposed to respectful uplift-meant and positive intent. Always, choose and craft your words wisely especially when applying them toward any living creature, yourself, another, group or topic.

The words assault and rape are two impactful verbs, they are heavy and deserving of respect. Not only for what they represent as actions, but for the many who have walked through the narrows of discomfort and for those who continue to do so. These are the very souls who without choice faced the distorted powers thrust upon them. Abandoned in thick ponds of what many felt where an infinitude of helpless disconnect.

When words are tossed about recklessly via press or gossip, rooted solely in spectrums of ego and not rooted in actuality. They can unfairly and dangerously begin a witch hunt, destroy a family, career or community, through public humiliation or the unintended aftermath of false allegations. Obviously I am not referring to situations of factual physical assault, verbal abuse, rape or any other persistent undesired behaviors. I am talking about actual crimes of against mind and flesh.

AFTER CARE
It is within my clearest of thought that not only is it up to an individual who has experienced an episode or multiple episodes of aggression. Or in my perception an oppurtunity to evolve to greater life understanding, through their own experience and purpose. And to find appropriate care when they feel they are able to, if they are able to at all. To seek the support of loved ones, medical care, legal assistance and to eventually, if they should desire, carry out a message of hope to another who may still be suffering. It is also in my opinion that this is a positive oppurtunity for the encircling community to support an this individual through their composite of progress and diminishing pain.

Please bare in mind that many of us shut down or take on new patterns of behavior after an act of life disruption. Pay gentle attention to sub currents of new moods radiating post event, mild to severe. Often police or HR may not be contacted as emotions are bottled for reasons only known to the nervous system of those on the receiving end of an assault or harassment. If you sense something is up, my soft suggestion would be “If they don’t speak up, gently step up”! 

It is our fundamental right to participate in the wellness of others. It is actually a gift of living to engage in the betterment of our societies. Often it is the inheritance of fear based illusions that dictate to us that we “should” not be involved in interactions of unpleasantries. I encourage all to release the hype of this tainted thought. Listen instead to the love rooted truth within you and reach out. Surrender the well intended yet distorted teachings that many of us have been exposed to throughout our lives. Most all have heard them in our upbringings in one form or another. “It is none of your business” “They need time to heal” or “they want to be left alone”. While many of these these may be true, it is better to listen to your own “core” even when your gut feelings may feel new or uncomfortable at first.

It is ok to learn to step out our of comfort field of emotional vision and into what is right. If there is a change happening with a loved one or even a stranger, take a chance, take action and offer them your time and your presence. Listening is often more important than knowing what to say. An open ear and a warm smile can go a long way. This is often all that is needed, at times it can be just this simple.

ON DILUTION
I personally find it diluting to this very important topic to determine every advance as an assault, every grope or kiss in an environment of office, play or even home in hours of post convenient reflection as an act of unwanted aggression. Of course NO MEANS NO and YES MEANS YES! Cornered persistence and repeat situations along with a 100 areas of silvery gray variance come into play. It is up to each individual to use their wisdom to be fully honest with themselves when recall is required or desired.

Let us be careful about turning an EXTREMELY VALID and IMPORTANT moment of conversation and social change into another watered down political period of correctness. We should be seeking graceful forward motion with all causes. Avoid blind rage and the emotional white noise of mach protest as they only build barricades to justice. While detracting from the serenade’s of progress being sung as clarity and fundamental civil rights are set into place.

The point of a cultural shift, be it political, social or spiritual is to build a pathway of evolution not a division founded on singular needy spotlights. In other words, when your voice is valid, use it, stand by your sister, brother or other in need. DO NOT waste it when your ego is hungry for attention or locked in a mode of narcism, personal gain or out to destroy another living creature in a Wendy Williams-ish “hot topic” segment, with no genuine interest in social change.

My strongest belief is that we are all purposeful creators. We are all contributing to a climate of change, capable of supporting, loving and shifting the dynamics of tomorrow and the NOW. I am proud to be participate amongst like minded peers in this vast expansion. Politically, sexually, socially, culturally and spiritually. I truly believe we live in one of the most exiting times ever to be had. Furthermore I feel the #metoo movement, when in proper circulation is a powerful tool of uplift-meant, empowerment and change. 

As Always Love and Light
The Empowered Runt

TOSSED FLOWERS

(a short amateur story inspired by the flowers photographed above)

We met in San Sebastian along the Bay of Biscay, it was September of 1993. He emitted souvenir scents of rave packed days and XTC pores gasping for oxygen. A season of repose and exploration had depleted his stained and worn cargo pockets of nearly every last peseta. Intensive days panhandling while squatting patiently awaiting an inbound Western Union reply from home. Had begun to reveal a temporarily strained wear over his twenty two year old vitality.

I made the assumption that in the eyes of many his charms where juvenile desperate and manipulative. I found them, gently magnetic, easily attractive and convenient.

I cleared space in my nothingness for this youthful stick of wondering flesh. Admittedly, for a moment he brought this aging heart to a flitter all for my self serving reasons. An un-proclaimed desire for emotional power ran through me. This was not about mentorship or a mythical cinematic notion of a sage American tourist offering rescue to an adventurous youth in need. A youth lost abroad after a Euro-backpack summer experience had rolled on after a few to many rave-capades. Leaving his bankroll anything but liquid with family and friends financially in a state of disownment.

I decided to move in for my thrill, comfortable with the evident temporary chance of detachment. Twenty minutes later he insisted on telling me his name, Jeremiah something, a lad from Kentucky. He spoke of his dreams and his two years at the University at Tulane and the pleasures to be had, lost in Luisiana charm. There was something genuinely sweet about the boy. Something beneath the grease and tweak. A docile moxie that stripped away seventy-six years of my own crust and jade in quick swipes and flashes.

Fear prevented me from trusting my own intimate reveal. Just as it had detoured me from embracing an innocent human connection. This time due to my own ego driven projections put upon the innocent, a youthful heart who in fact never requested of me a single favor. Not a dime, not even affection, only perspectives and references in regards to the costal area and suggestions on returning home without the assistance of family.

On a return from a recess the boy handed me a bouquet of street blooms. I tossed them harshly, through parted cafe curtains, onto the pavement below. A gesture of internal premature self defense. Over the years my own lessons in affection became entangled in crisis and resentment. I have always been aware that my discernible lack of emotional repair has never been attractive. Especially when put upon those perceived as less experienced in life or the weak. Over time I had convinced myself that I was offering affordable crash courses in defensive living. Just one of the many lies I’ve learned to convincingly live with.

Ever since that day, each time I pass a bundle of wilds laying astray, or a ragged toss uprooted by a child at play, I think of Jeremiah. I recall that September and our encounter on the shores of San Sebastian. I wonder with mixed feeling, is it to late, is it ever to late for a man who had often shielded himself with finance and protective walls of knowledge to kill all possibilities of true intimacy.

Have I laggard so, I wondered can an exploration inward in these last remaining months be at all within my seeking grasp? The one excursion I have yet to embark on is the one that requires no physical travel or fee? I’m feeling a bit waggish, now that segments of my body are fully out of function. Friends have passed and I have enjoyed all that I have had to enjoy. For the first time since the ages of two or three I feel a spark of excitement. Remembering Jeremiah, humble bouquets, the scent of the sea and elements of innocence. I have finally broken free, this is the sentimental me, I venture inward before my body sets me free. It’s never to late to be free, it is never to late, I just wish to be.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

THE LIGHT THIEVES

THE LIGHT THIEVES
(a bash back)

SUMMER 2016 marked a significant shift in my trauma healing. The rips, bends and shreds of both my waking and nightmare’s had begun to take a vicious turn. This has turned out to be a remarkably good thing, an unexpected mend. Although I never thought I’d feel the warmth at the end of my psychological trauma noose.

I have come to a place, mentally and spiritually of allowing, a slow awakening. A process of continuous slow cycles, I believe I have been preparing myself subconsciously to face my demons my mind has been increasingly in a slow spin pace for a very long time. Now I have reached my ready point for change.

My increasing waking and sleep terror’s have been erupting in my mind allowing more and more sensory explosions to occur. So much so that I may once again feel myself becoming whole, I have become internally undone in order to become one. I may now become the man I had yet to fully allow myself to be. The great hold up of the the Light Thieves that have held on to me captive since November of 2011 has finally begun to shift. May we all find our path to our truth temples and created destinies.

FOR THE NEW READER
After being gang raped in November 2011 by 11 men I lived in addiction and denial. It took all the love, light and patience that I could slowly muster to survive. A great deal of personal compassion and intuition was needed to move me ever so slowly on this journey. If I did not believe in some form of greater good, purpose or energy I most certainly would gone mad, lived in a state of continual suicidal mode or would have been arrested for homicide by now. Or the obvious option #black, found alone dead which is preferable to being trapped in an endless dark addiction spiral of destructive living, but here I am.

I am graciously grateful for the 10,000 opportunistic movements of personal, social and spiritual growth that this conglomerate of experiences has allotted me. But do not get me wrong, it fucking sucked and detoured my life perfectly and disproportionately.

SWEET AND LOOSE
The sweet reward of all of these night mares has been the recent rush of finally winning. I went from November of 2011 to March 2015 before I began to understand how deeply effected I was by my “Hall of Mares.” Very few had I remembered, generally partners, dates or roommates would fill me in on the screams, tears, and boxing matches on the day or night after a good round with the boy’s. Fighting it out in my subconscious, literally to death.

March 2015 was one of the first major waking terrors that lasted on and off for 3 days’s. All of my terrors had all been loosing battles of rape, bashing, thieving, and life threats up until these last few weeks when something unusual had taken place.

I had enough, I simply had enough, I had been ill and in a deep exhaustive sleep. One night while in a cold coma an attack thick and heavy crept in around me. In my safe non safe space (until you heal there are no safe spaces of the mind) one of my 11 attackers came for me in my dreams. I saw his face in perfect detail, beautiful young, cocoa and flawless with little boy ears. Short cropped hair, innocent eyes breathing warm and sensual danger in my face with the encouragment of his evil mentor. His body tight smooth, narrow shouldered … God! I could cry for him, this was a kid… he was a 22 year old child, just a lost child of the night. (sorry I digress)

What makes this dream different from my other terrors are the details. I never remembered the intensity of any of their eyes, or how fragile many of them where until this particular dream. All of my real life attackers in my dreams always remained faceless up until this night. Whenever I had flashbacks, no matter how real, awake or asleep, no matter where they took place, on the street, in a store or in bed. In general I only remembered or “flashed” to the sensations and the words used during the rape. The sensations I recalled in my horrors where the penetrations and the brute violence, the fear, of the event, never any exact details of the faces or bodies. The terror blocks it out, the electric blast of my brain created a protective white noise screen protector over the memory pane.

I only could remember the pain, the force, the blood dripping, the breath, the smells, the ripping of my flesh, never any faces. The darkness, the choking, the restraints, and my screaming, never any faces. I’d remember the sensations of the rape, not the faces, never ever the faces although the rape went on for hours with the lights on.

Denial is so beautiful, a protective blanket soft and luxe. I know that I am ready now to move forward, now that I am able to remember some of these eyes, mouths, bodies and textures.

On the night of December 22, 2016 I awoke the next morning with a room looking as if an exorcism had just taken place. My bed frame broken in two, a lamp laying stacked across my face, and a chocker neckless clutch in my hand. Surrounded by clouds of tear soaked tissues and my usual balled comforter and sheets. A few lingering memories, most sketchy and that was all. I had finally begum to bash back the Light Thieves, my rapist and the winner is finally me. I remember one thing, I fought back and I won!

I recall waking seeing one of my attackers with a “slave” collar around his neck. I grabbed the necklace hanging off of my nightstand lamp in real time. While pulling the necklace in my subconscious state I thinking it was his collar. I ended up pulling the lamp onto myself. I remember screaming with voice finally. NOT THIS TIME MOTHER FUCKER, GET THE FUCK OUT. LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE, I AM SICK OF THIS SHIT GET FUCK OUT NOW.

This was the beginning of the release of my rapist, my light thieves. My subconscious had at last become empowered to say NO and finally bash back my bashers. In my dream state world I would no longer be a victim, no longer attacked and loosing. Now I was the victor and changing the game plan. This is huge, these are now my rules, finally a breakthrough that is worth noting.

The dream world can be powerful tool, foretelling the truth a possibilities in ones active waking hours. Now that I have finally taken ownership of my power over these imaginary attacks I am able to move forward with out fear or inner corruption.

*an update, as of August 9th 2017 I have yet to have a rape night-mare that I am consciously been aware of or a day-mare….knock on wood. Hang in there, hope… there is always tremendous hope. We humans are wonderfully resilient.

Love and Light Always
The Empowered Runt

AN ABSOLUTION/raw

AN ABSOLUTION
Tuesday, October 25, 2016

I have to release this absolution, I have to do this process again, I have to rework this forgiveness of self one more time, it has been over a year since my first formal attempt. I will do this as many times as needed, I thought doing this process once was enough. I don’t know why, I would never suggest doing it once to another going through this same living procedure.

I must acknowledge where I have progressed from, where I am advancing to and I will enjoy a moment in between hopefully while embracing a breath of clarity on this journey. Reminding myself one more time to softly appreciate all that arises within me and all that is, for that it is. For now all that is churning is pure, murky and forceful, here in this very moment I harness it the best that I can. This eruption is designed to keep me alive, it is pure fight or flight no different than that night. I need to survive and express what is rupturing forth through every cell of my body.

My anger is bigger than I am, my regret is monumental, MY REGRET EATS ME ALIVE EVERY DAY. I must forgive myself, I must see this for what it really is I must see beyond and bigger than this is I must take off my earth lens. This human experience is far to limited, it is killing me it is unnatural, it is causing a spiritual hemorrhage from within. A stomach cancer rupturing up through my solar plexus on a daily basis. My core black cancerous energy reflex wrestle daily is beyond the recommended daily allowance. If I do not take steps today I will surly be on a direct rode of permanent discord.

I absolutely take the time right now right here to understand again what was taking place during the time I met Bernard. I wanted Fun, Adventure, Security, Danger, even sabotage… But I did not want what took place, I did not want what had happened to have happen to me or anyone on this planet. I did not want what took place not on a conscious level. I did not want to loose my life so completely, and even if I did I no longer choose to.

On the night of the (gang) rape I did not arrive expecting there to be such a disturbing event. I did not know there where going to be 10 or more rotating hustlers in and out throughout the evening to day break. I did not know this “man” was going to be a crazed freak, I did not know foreign objects of flesh destruction where going to be forced inside of me against the will of mine. Only to be surgically removed followed by a weeks hospital stay. I did not know that situations where going escalate as they had.

I did not know it was going to be the beginning of the end of a period of my life where I had some idea of control, if I had any up until this point living. I did not know that this was the beginning of the unraveling of my my living. Of a fairly reliable human being, colorful yet reliable and responsible.

I must forgive myself for being with Bernard, I chose to be with  him, I even loved him in a weird way, I did deep inside and still do I can’t escape the bond we had. Our bond was primarily stacked over drugs, manipulation and co-dependent abuse. I know this to be true, I know it was not a love of heart and soul. I understand the stronger I was emotionally the more empowered he felt to bring me “down”, I know there was a deliberate pattern of drug use put upon me when I would show strength and manipulation and needles came into play. And those words “know one will ever love you like I do, you are a defective, destroyed, junkie boy.” “But you have me always….” and I’d stay.

I forgive myself for letting myself be a part of this. I forgive myself for inviting it, I forgive myself for creating it, I forgive myself for being a deliberate hunter, once I was pulled into the meth pool. I have to cut myself some slack letting meth take control for this period. I know how easy it is to become a meth “addict”, I don’t know if I can forgive myself for loosing my job, I don’t know if I can forgive myself for loosing my apartment. I don’t know if I can forgive myself for leaving and loosing my beloved New York and my beloved sense of HOME and TEMPLE, but I am willing to try. I don’t think I can do and honest absolution but I can make an honest attempt to try.

Every day is a reminder of what I lost, everyday is a reminder of how low I have gone. Every day is a reminder of my failures, every day is a reminder of my removal from self, society, career, home, self, humor, love and truth… Not a reflection of triumphs everyday, I see the anger not the joy, often when I sit in this place (no matter where this place may be) I choke on the the past, present, and future, the noise is unbearable there is no silence (within my heart and mind).  I know these are only feelings… they are brutal feelings with a fierce lasting echo…

This THIRD YEAR ANNIVERSARY OF BEING IN CHICAGO IS KILLING ME. FIVE YEARS AFTER THE EVENT AND STARTING METH IS NOTHING, BEING IN LIMBO AND WAKING IN THIS ROOM EVERYDAY TO A LIVING VOID IS KILLING ME…. EVERYDAY FOR THREE YEARS HAS BEEN AN OXOGYN TENT OF DEATH. With slow pricks of light, I cling to each needle of light glorifying each to grand magnification in hopes of realization. Doing the work, waking each day, plugging away only to remain skin deep in me. Less memory, true there is less fear, more insight but very little forward movement and questionable hope.

I forgive myself for my lack of genuine appreciation, I forgive myself for trying and failing, I forgive myself for being so hard on myself. I forgive myself for not seeing the brilliance of my journey, I forgive myself for the tears and sorrow. I forgive myself for the lock down, I forgive myself for the seclusion, I for give myself for the clutter, I forgive myself for the my forgetful mind, I forgive myself for not having sex, I forgive myself for jerking off only to slam videos. I forgive myself for now living in a way I normally would consider intolerable and unimaginable.

I forgive myself for over spending or shopping to much to compensate for the INFINITE VOID. I forgive myself for all my insecure doubt projecting onto others my own flaws. I forgive myself for not being able reach my goals as fast or as clearly I demand. I forgive myself for fucking being stuck. I FORGIVE MYSELF FOR FUCKING BEING ANGRY ALL OF THE TIME, I FUCKING FORGIVE MYSELF FOR FAILING….GOD DAM IT FUCKING LOST IT ALL AND I DON’T EVEN HAVE SPACE WHERE I CAN LET ANYTHING OUT. I DON’T HAVE SAFE SPACE.

I can’t write an absolution because my life does not exist (feeling not a reality)—- I may return to this for now it does not mean much other than a rant. there was no proper purpose to this…3:33pm

7:55 PM
I return to re read you my rambling page with the understanding that – this is how I feel, and this is ok. 

This has been a raw edit direct from my private notes…this is what we experience sometimes every moment of the day…. it gets exhausting.

Love and Light Always
Runt

 

Helping Another

Out of nowhere it seems, an almost forgotten sense of peace has entered my heart. A steadying of nerves without invitation brought my mind and body back to a near lost state of existence. Stuttering words have once again begun to calm and my stream of thoughts float in logical harmony, free of jagged distraction. I again am coasting down stream in a river of gentle ease.

What events could of have taken place to softly and radically bring me back from the doorsteps of chaos and internal clutter. When only hours earlier I had been gasping for breath as gut and brain relived fractured recall of hallucinatory decay without notice from one unpredictable moment to the next? Simple, a forgotten joy that I dropped somewhere over these past few whenever’s was reactivate.

The actions leading to this shift are no great secret, helping another in spirit by supporting them in a genuine way is all it took. By stepping out of the center of my justified self-indulgent pity. To highlight the love, light and growth that has evolved out of an situation of challenge in someone else’s path of living buffered my own core tarnish. How wonderful to be able to help another human being to recognize their own beauty, strength, power, passion and growth. In return, with out expectation I experienced a spike in my own life current.

Through this action of self abandon and genuine guidance, to point out the positive glow via a life challenge is an absolute natural high for me. It has a multi dimensional flow effect on all and restorative for all parties involved. I have forgotten the pure magic and the force that there is behind the action of helping another. This one small action has done more than a thousand meditations, I thank you my friend for this moment. Last night was my first night without traumatic nightmares in months. At least that I can recall, I thank you again.

The power of supporting one other in even the smallest of ways is a powerful way to uplift every vibration upon this planet. It is so easy at least for me to forget this. Today I am grateful to wake with joy, to wake with calm, to wake with a renewed sense of possibility and knowing. It has been sometime since I have felt “good” in my core, the importance of having the good is so that I have something to compare the “bad” to. For so long I have been stuck on only the bad I forgotten about the good feelings…  My inner compass has been reset, last night has given me a return to personal navigation. Today I am grateful… It is still a journey… I do not know what tomorrow brings, but I am grateful for today…

Love and Light Always