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Archive for the ‘Soapbox’ Category

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From a Facebook site: https://m.facebook.com/2travelingdogs/photos/a.107764925964382.13451.106802709393937/638346789572857/?type=1&source=48

While I agree wholeheartedly with the message, they need to have this same message with old people on the picture, too. Westernized cultures are almost phobic about aging populations, and too often the elderly, a rich source of oral history, perspectives, wisdom and spiritual balance, are shut out, shut away, and categorically dismissed and devalued. Most are warehoused away from families and community, as very few can afford high end retirement communities, and shortage of quality assisted living housing, and even then, they are still segregated from family, seen and heard rarely. Non-elderly adult disabled usually fare even worse on the “throwaway” spectrum.

I say this without judgment or condemnation, just an observation and supported by extensive expert docs.

By way of contrast to western trends, cultures that typically retain and integrate elderly inclusively with younger generations are much more balanced and stable overall.

Even those with familial caregivers with best intentions and dedication struggle with issues of isolation for elderly and their own with longterm burden of care. The young have least appreciation, very often, for benefits of connection, perhaps because they are swept up in the expansive “doingness” of early life, and less focused on the being element, which the older people increasingly focus on, key to internal balance and vigor….

Food for thought….

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Yesterday’s journal drawn in darkness with pencil…..

“I have not loved the world, nor the world me.
I have not flattered its rank breath,
Nor bowed to its idolatries a patient knee.
I stood among them, but not of them,
In a shroud of thoughts which were not their thoughts…

What is the worst of woes-that wait on age?
What stamps the wrinkle deeper on the brow?
To view each loved one blotted from (my) life’s page,
And be alone on Earth as I am now…

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,
There is a rapture on the lonely shore;
There is society, where none intrudes
By the deep sea, and music in its roar.
I love not man the less, but Nature more.”

Excerpted from writings of Lord Byron (with apologies for my appropriative use and with gratitude)

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If I can dream it, I can experience it!! Imagining, even after almost 4 years, is still sweet!! Terrifying, dangerous, thrilling to contemplate, to remember each time that I’ve thought, “Onward! Courage! The abyss be damned! If the world won’t come tomto the bubble, bring the bubble to the world!” The dream is no less beautiful…..

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When people don’t want to discuss past events, or allow others to discuss or focus on the past, very often, their motivation is a desire to avoid facing their own void or, to barricade and insulate themselves from inconvenient truths.

Fearing consequences from these truths, in an attempt to deflect or discredit what threatens them, or if they are simply opting for “ignorance as bliss”, hoping and believing that the cliché is true because they want it to be true, they claim to what feel safe to them, whether it is or not.

They may say, let’s not dredge up the past, or what’s done is done and can’t be changed. In the psych world, they would blame the patient for ruminating, or worse, when confronted with an inconvenient truth, they more often would stick some pejorative diagnosis on the speaker, so as to discredit them and after that, no one would listen to them or believe them.

Now this is a situation that is motivated purely by self-interest, not from care or concern for a patient, or a desire to discover the truth, or to help anyone except themselves. Also called a conflict of interest. I’m that can be a very inconvenient truth. The particulars may, in some cases, be that they have taken possession of an innocent victim’s person in the first place–a kidnapping under the guise of protective treatment.

Even when the crime is known, very often most involved will fall back on a preference that the victim accept, silently, that what’s done is done. Well that may be convenient for the sensibilities of the general population and those involved in the crime, yes only intensifies the harm done to the victim, and could very well determine their very futures forever.

From this, there will be no lessons learned, no action will be taken, to change to prevent future similar outcomes. These individuals in these situations who are in power are are therefore virtually bulletproof.

Temple Grandin, like myself, has lived her entire life, with most formative choices motivated by primarily fear, that formed the foundations of her life efforts and growth. When the world is constantly bombarding you from birth with its millions and quadrillions of the details of truths that you cannot block out, and your gifts render you so different from others, (a la Ghost Whisperer, trying to conceal the truth of what she sees and experiences that the rest of the world does not), trying to pass for being like everyone else you are not bombarded this way, the human world can be a dangerous place, left unprotected from childhood.

Being smart enough to see all the outcome potentials, yet forced to watch the disaster scenarios play out, not only as potential outcomes modeled in your head long before the event, but now come to fruition disastrously, while being powerless to prevent it–can be agonizing, and you can either go crazy a hundred times or endlessly, or you can really learn to get your zen on, buckle up, and prepare yourself for another roller coaster ride, and ride on.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t have the ability or could dumb it down on command. I get tired. I get impatient and frustrated. I just want to withdraw from all the noise. But at the end of the day I know that I am what I need to be, and it’s a good thing even if I don’t always like it, and even if others don’t always get it. So whatever the ride has in store for me next I guess I just got to ride that train, see where it takes me, and discover what I can learn from it.

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Apocalyptic Conformism

Clones, stones, monotone drones.
Busted saxophones.
Infestations of militant catatonic uniformistic Lilliputians.

Drag their own salvation
behind themselves
Locked away in tiny secure cages.
Mindlessly staggering toward annihilation,
Blinders uniformly in place,

The caged ones,
forced to silence
forced to bear,
forced to witness
the entire apocalyptic procession
to its conclusion.

The asylums, now standing empty,
their former residents,
their pretty houses,
their perfect masks
just nameless, ever faceless masks,
never real to have been known, ,
never known to now be forgotten
just shells dissolving under harsh gaze of a reality of which they knew nothing.

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