Tag Archives: awareness

16 Personalities

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I recently took the Meyers-Briggs personality test, which uses Jungian principles to yield you an idea of how in the hell your noggin operates (i.e. WAY differently than others’!).  My result was INFJ, and I was surprised at how accurate the descriptions were.  I emailed the test to my parents, who replied with their types, ISFP (mom) and ENTJ (dad).  Researching them, I realized I had been trying to understand my own family members, in addition to everyone else, through my own perceptual lens.  I also learned why they are such vastly different characters, and objectively for once!  I realized that this could be a valuable key if you really desire to better understand yourself and those around you.  I hoped that my parents would read about my result also, as perhaps it could explain to my father why I care little for competitive environments and external achievements, and shed light for my mother on why the heck I’m SO freakin sensitive (both long-standing pet peeves of theirs).

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Don’t let my writing style fool you; I am a true introvert.  I expend energy in social situations, and tend to experience my environment through intuition, swimming in an unlimited pool of feeling and emotion- not just mine, yours too, you freaks!  It wears me out, and I often have trouble telling just where I end and the world begins.  I almost always feel out of my body (see my entries on derealization and depersonalization), and have to really focus to physically ground myself.  When I do, I feel like I’ve just woken up.  It’s so much more familiar to float away on the endless stream of ideas and pursuits of development and growth as I personally understand and define them.

Understanding how your mind works and relates to the world can be empowering.  I know it has been for me.  It helps you to better (and genuinely) appreciate yourself and those around you.  It hints at areas at which you could improve, aka: our opposite natures.  It’s tough for me to be extroverted and social, but I feel much more balanced when I attempt to be.  I also learned what (-) traits tend to surface under stress, and yup, they were right on.  So annoying.  I guess that means they were me and my problem the whole time, haha.

I encourage you to investigate your personality type!  It might give you a clearer perspective and provide some direction for you on your journey through this crazy thing we call Life, whether in pursuits of love, livelihood, happiness, or personal success.

I don’t know if anyone actually reads this blog, but if you do and happen to take the personality test, I’d love to have you anonymously add your answer below!

Temples of Man.

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I was listening to an interview with Alex Grey, the visionary artist whose work resonates a multi-dimensional psychedelic experience, and I find his current Entheon project fascinating:

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There’s something about sacred images and spaces, specifically uniquely conceived and masterfully executed ones, that I find utterly compelling, and some are thoroughly timeless.  Take, for instance, the Temples of Damanhur, the modern Northern Italian wonder conceived by visionary Oberto Airaudi in childhood dreams of past life experiences:

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damanhur 1damanhur2damanhur3damanhur5What a wonder it is to be divinely inspired to great works, and what a triggering phrase that must be for some of you, for whom any mention of god, or a higher power, or whatever you call that larger-than-life IT, ignites instantaneous rage, or, on the flip side, a sense of ecstasy, or perhaps you feel nothing.  What a strange and powerful concept, invoking such a wide range of emotions, some contradicting, along the path of the individual’s alchemical journey, and what a beautiful thing it is to feel and then reflect, always learning, always creating.

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Ode to a Volvo 850.

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I like to think of my first car, a 1965 Dodge Dart coupe.  It was in primer, with mean hood scoops and fat back tires.  I thought its lines were super modern, and I loved the simplistic beauty of engineering under the hood in the form of a shocking blue slant six.  I loved my Mopar A-body.

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I’ve been driving a 20 year old Volvo the past decade, having sold the Dart long ago.  My brick has transported my friends and me, and with the highest safety standards, to endless concerts, countless road trips, and at least one successful HSO.  It has shuttled us to the airport to fly travels that would elate our spirits, break our hearts, and launch us into our futures.  It’s moved me up and down the California coast.  You can find a slight stain on the passenger floor mat, compliments of a Coldstone concoction dropped by my childhood friend Alicia circa 2005, and a single cigarette burn blemishes the headliner from our friend Joseph in the same year.  The metallic clear coat is chipping, and there’s an unfortunate dent in the rear end from the time I backed into my dad’s trailer hitch.

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With little aspirations to the newer, sleeker, or shinier, I haven’t felt the inclination to drive anything else in 10 years, until last week, when, like an itch in the nose, I was casually tickled with the abrupt impulse to look for a new set of wheels.  Maybe the time had arrived to part ways with my Volvo, and all the experiences, memories, people, and animals she had transported.  Perhaps it might be inspiring to choose a new vehicle to take me up future roads.

Life is funny, and a few days later, Joanne (aka: Volvo 850) started acting strangely. Driving home from my orthopedic appointment (leg is healing well!), the stereo began sputtering during Portishead’s The Rip.  A few miles later, my SRS airbag and ABS lights flew up on my dash, and I watched as the odometer twitched and slowly dropped.  On the highway and alone, I sadly flipped on my emergency lights and maneuvered toward the shoulder.  I crawled up the grassy knoll lining the asphalt, and dialed for a tow.

broken brickI’m trying to avoid superstitious thinking, but it’s tough not to draw a parallel between my broken brick and another fractured aspect of my life.  Should I stay or should I sell now?  Even if repaired, she might leave me stranded again, but a new old car comes with its own set of problems, and ones with which I’m not at all acquainted, at that!  …And of course, there’s the rub- there is no right decision.  There are simply choices.  So it’s the time for assessment, and soon it will be the time for action.  Perhaps it will be a manageable repair; diagnostics must be performed.  If not, well, that certainly complicates matters.  I’m just not ready to give up on Joanne yet.  I have a habit of becoming attached, but I’m learning when and how to let go.

The Greatest Speech Ever Made.

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Moves me to tears. Let us learn to listen to our hearts! We are not machines! We are not cattle! We are men!

I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be an emperor. That’s not my business. I don’t want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone – if possible – Jew, Gentile – black man – white. We all want to help one another. Human beings are like that. We want to live by each other’s happiness – not by each other’s misery. We don’t want to hate and despise one another. In this world there is room for everyone. And the good earth is rich and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way.

Greed has poisoned men’s souls, has barricaded the world with hate, has goose-stepped us into misery and bloodshed. We have developed speed, but we have shut ourselves in. Machinery that gives abundance has left us in want. Our knowledge has made us cynical. Our cleverness, hard and unkind. We think too much and feel too little. More than machinery we need humanity. More than cleverness we need kindness and gentleness. Without these qualities, life will be violent and all will be lost….

The aeroplane and the radio have brought us closer together. The very nature of these inventions cries out for the goodness in men – cries out for universal brotherhood – for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world – millions of despairing men, women, and little children – victims of a system that makes men torture and imprison innocent people.

To those who can hear me, I say – do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed – the bitterness of men who fear the way of human progress. The hate of men will pass, and dictators die, and the power they took from the people will return to the people. And so long as men die, liberty will never perish. …..

Soldiers! don’t give yourselves to brutes – men who despise you – enslave you – who regiment your lives – tell you what to do – what to think and what to feel! Who drill you – diet you – treat you like cattle, use you as cannon fodder. Don’t give yourselves to these unnatural men – machine men with machine minds and machine hearts! You are not machines! You are not cattle! You are men! You have the love of humanity in your hearts! You don’t hate! Only the unloved hate – the unloved and the unnatural! Soldiers! Don’t fight for slavery! Fight for liberty!

In the 17th Chapter of St Luke it is written: “the Kingdom of God is within man” – not one man nor a group of men, but in all men! In you! You, the people have the power – the power to create machines. The power to create happiness! You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make this life a wonderful adventure.

Then – in the name of democracy – let us use that power – let us all unite. Let us fight for a new world – a decent world that will give men a chance to work – that will give youth a future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, brutes have risen to power. But they lie! They do not fulfil that promise. They never will!

Dictators free themselves but they enslave the people! Now let us fight to fulfil that promise! Let us fight to free the world – to do away with national barriers – to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where science and progress will lead to all men’s happiness. Soldiers! in the name of democracy, let us all UNITE!

 

The Siren Song of Humboldt County.

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Having always fancied myself a forest creature, I immediately delighted in my move to Northern Humboldt County: all yawning black sand beaches carved into cliffs with impossible faces, an enigmatic landscape heavy with dew and a forest so dense that upon entering, one discovers an impossibly charming and glowing room, carpeted from wall to redwood wall in soft layers of fluffy soil and feathered moss.

trinidad forest

Filling my head with the luminosity of the myriad green, growing things has been inspiring and therapeutic.  I have enjoyed every single moment of every day I spent amongst the chloroplast, and I’m not ready to leave yet.  You see, there’s a real siren song to Humboldt, to which outsiders are wholly deaf and oblivious.  It’s a sleepy, thick, magical melody that plays in hushed, lilting tones, riding the salty breeze in whispers, inviting you to lose yourself, for just another week, month, year, in this essence that’s all nuanced and subtle.  It’s a place of limbo, where wanderers set down their packs to rest, lured by the gorgeous seascape, only to wake up a decade or two later, bearded and lined and kind of insane.  It’s a very attractive place to the isolators, the artists, the thinkers, the writers, the walkers, and the retired.

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I’ve begun making my preparations to move back down to Southern California, and I’m having a tougher time with it than anticipated.  A part of me is hesitant to loosen myself from the sirens, but the bigger part recognizes the exquisite, ultimate fulfillment on the horizon.  Who knows, I might have found myself wandering the forest forever.  And maybe, one day, I’ll be back.

trinidad beach pano

The Monsanto Protection Act: Total BS.

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The Farmer Assurance Provision, AKA: HR 933, AKA: “The Monsanto Protection Act,” is so sneaky, gross, and transparent that it’s hilarious.  What’s with these storybook villains we have running the show?

eye of sauron LOTRThe bill, signed by Obama in late March, was written with Monsanto, and several members of Congress were apparently unaware of that they were approving a “Monsanto Protection Act,” as that little detail was TL;DR.  The provision castrates the federal government’s ability to ban the selling or planting of genetically modified or engineered seeds, even if found to be harmful to the consumer (spoiler: research shows they are).  Yes, you read that correctly.  And no, it probably wouldn’t have banned the seeds (with which federally-subsidized crops are sown) anyway, but still.  Now it extra can’t, what with another bureaucratic loop for opposing legislation to have to battle through.  We are in the second act of the Monsanto drama, and this is the part where degraded morals and ethics unwind to illumination.

I really don’t think I need to add much more commentary; the material wrote itself.  Sign a petition urging Obama to veto the Monsanto Protection Act here.

Diatomaceous Earth

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I have been around animals, household and barnyard, my entire life.  Every year, from cat to horse, our buddies are dewormed.  Following an annual or biannual deworming schedule is recommended by veterinarians to avoid health complications from a variety of parasites, including pinworm, roundworm, and hookworm.

The past several weeks, I have been wondering: why is regular deworming not equally recommended for humans?  I realize that most of us are not outright eating our feces, but the unfortunate reality is that an estimated 85 – 90% of Americans carry a parasite, with the CDC projecting that 60 million Americans carry Toxoplasma gondii, a specific parasitic variety that gives me nightmares (thanks a lot, Joe Rogan, for bringing this into my psyche).  According to the Veterinary Record, 15% of potting soil contains roundworms, and we are inevitably exposed to multiple varieties via our environment and food.  Even Dr. Oz says that “90% of humans will have a problem with parasites in their lifetime.”  I know that I’ve certainly consumed my share of sushi (sans wasabi), rare meats, and undercooked eggs.  I won’t freak you out any more, but the statistics indicate that you’re probably carrying around one of these ingrates.

I am not at all an advocate of fear, but I am a proponent of action.  Perhaps the fear factor and high-def macro photography is why we don’t talk about this… or I could be totally full of shit, but I don’t think so.  There seems to be an unspoken American consensus that we humans are above the other members of the animal kingdom, but I accept that the same rules apply to and affect us.  This includes pathology.  Europe agrees on this point, and recommends annual or biannual deworming for both pets and their people.  It’s not scary, it just is what it is.

worm monster

So what do we do about it?

We have options, including specific preparations sold online and in health stores.  Prior to the 1930′s, people regularly took herbs, castor, and mineral oils to expel the buggers.  I have chosen to use regular old diatomaceous earth.  I finally got my hands on a 5 lb sack of Perma-Guard food-grade (this part is very important) DE, which I purchased for my home and animals.  DE is widely recommended and used for animal deworming, from small animals to large livestock, as the shape and hardness of the diatoms dehydrates and destroys internal parasites.  Containing a huge amount of silica and trace minerals including calcium, magnesium, and iron, I decided it could only help the healing of my fracture (as well as my hair and skin, yay!), so I began working up to a teaspoon a day about a week and a half ago.  There is a lot of contradictory information out there about DE, and it took me two years of research before I decided to put it in my body.  Its history of safe and effective use in animals is well- and widely-recorded, and I feel confident about taking this modest amount for 90 days.  I am also particularly pleased with my seasonal timing.  I think it makes a lot of sense to include your body in your spring cleaning.  I am excited to observe any changes, but so far there has (perhaps thankfully) been nothing noteworthy, with the exception of possibly higher-quality sleep and slight sedation.  I will continue updating as I complete my course.

Parasites can be the stuff of nightmares and horrific YouTube hits, or a simply managed reality in humans as well as their pets.  I believe the latter, and that we need to be addressing their presence in both on a consistent schedule!

Seasonally Affected: turn, turn, turn.

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Winter arrives, and the northern California coast provides an appropriately tepid and grey backdrop for a dreary depressive episode. The sky occasionally cracks with bouts of fishing weight-sized hail, punctuated by ellipses of thunder, but the real endurance test comes with the length of misty rain that feels as though it will never end. Clinging to your eyelashes like cobwebs, it’s an insidious variety that sinks deep into your bones. It has the passive-aggressive habit of getting you sopping wet without you really noticing. Then you realize your Pendleton wool is scratchier than usual, and, worse, it smells like wet dog and you sigh and remember that you’re not in Kansas anymore.

I lost two grandmothers this autumn, may their souls rest in eternal peace. The mourning process has been a more subtle experience than I might have anticipated, and I was not at all anticipating. I seem to have temporarily settled at a slow simmer two months later, as suggested by the eyelid twitch that has persisted since the boil over of the last service. I can check off the boxes on the quizzes: Loss of interest in favorite activities? Easily fatigued? Trouble sleeping? I’m not sad, though. I’m just… meh. Like an existential meh, without hating my life. The thing about it is, it’s bleak underfoot and I miss my family and friends, but I can appreciate the poetry in all of this, in this business of living and in the art of dying. I’m beginning to really appreciate the mutability.

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What a wonderful life I’ve had! I only wish I’d realized it sooner.

Colette