I’ve recently decided that I desperately need to alter my relaxation to stress ratio in favor of the more positive of the two aspects. Decisions like “I really need find more ways to relax” tend to change the way you look at things, activities, the cost and complication of acquiring things and of participating in activities. It also can change the places that you LOOK for relaxation and methods for achieving the effect in general.
I personally feel that starting with the easiest, most readily available method of relaxation is the best way to free up thought-space to better enable the “creative” conjuring of relaxing ideas. For me, that means reading or in extreme cases of distress, not even something that mentally involved. There are occasions where if I even have the energy to be conscious (read: anything beyond constant sleeping), I have only enough consciousness at my disposal as to make watching television as challenging of a task as I can handle outside of necessary function. At that point, I can’t even watch movies unless I didn’t have to make the choice of which one to watch in the first place. This is a VERY bad place to find one’s self.
UNLESS…the boob-tube proves to actually be informative for a change. We know that’s rare but even more rare that a commercial — that capitalist trap of eye-candy — is for a product that can legitimately make me drop my jaw in awe, envy and excitement. When suddenly you see the very PRODUCT which could virtually CURE you of all of your stress and tension and woes with just a mere purchase…it’s a day to chock up as an “amazing TV” day.
Enter, THE VIBRACOUSTIC (by Kohler). The currently most BAD ASS bathtub I have ever seen.
After seeing the commercial that made my palms sweat with wondrous anticipation, I immediately thought two things: #1, I bet you have to use JUST the crap they pre-program the thing with like those stupid “white noise”/”spa” sound machines and #2, I bet that thing costs as much as a small car.
Well….as it turns out, it’s a good thing I don’t waste my time in casinos or playing Lotto because I was wrong AND right… The sound system on this awesome tub does come with specific, pre-loaded tracks which are designed to utilize acoustics in a fashion that morphs music into hydro-massage-therapy. Additionally, you CAN load your own music into the system for a customized experience. SCORE!
On the down side, the part I WAS right about sucks pretty badly. According to KOHLER’S pricing on their website, these tubs range from $5, 670.00 to $7,770.00. OUCH.
Can’t they have a heart?!? The common folk are in DIRE need of this sort of relaxation due to added job stress (layoffs: fear of being laid off and/or the added burden of picking up the work that was left behind when OTHERS were laid off), economic stress (even IF someone still has a job these days, almost no one is getting a raise any time soon and that’s given that they didn’t already LOSE money under the guises of “saving jobs” by cutting a percentage of all employees’ salaries). We working folk desperately need some way to avoid the cardiologist!!
I originally started this post with the intention of merely sharing another dream from a while back in its extremely raw descriptive form. In the midst of getting it typed out, I got a call from my vet (well, my CATS’ vet, I obviously don’t need a vet for mySELF). It seems one of my cats, LapWhore (named for her tendency towards any new visiting lap and her virtually obscene drooling and “making out” with someone petting her), is dying of Lymphosarcoma cancer which has attacked the left side of her lower jaw. She has one to two months to live according to the vet, at which time, she will ultimately starve to death due to the rate of growth of the tumor and location.
This is LapWhore (aka, Orange Cat):
lapwhorecharacter2005
lapwhoresummer2006
I’ve had pets my whole life but not since being an adult have I had to deal with one dying, let alone had to be the one with the decision as to when she’s had too much and needs to be put to sleep. This is one of the precise points of trouble that Robin Williams’ family faces in the film, “What Dreams May Come” with their family dog. It is the first time that their children lose a pet and it is difficult for them to comprehend. The comprehension isn’t my trouble though. It’s the heartbreak of watching her suffer when she has been such a lively, spirited cat for all 11 years of her life and the loss that will hurt for me. I don’t look forward to this…
I’m no “video editing” pro so if you want to see the scene in “What Dreams May Come” that I’m talking about, start at 4:40 and watch through 6:05:
Anyway…in the nature of having to carry on, this was the dream I initially began posting… Forgive me if I don’t currently care enough to make it a more refined read. Just read it for what it is…
Dream from Night of May 21st, 2008:
The dream begins with my entering some derelict Cathedral of mammoth size but with cheaply done Gothic details — amusement park quality. All black and red.
Inside, it is falling in on itself. There is a space almost the entire size of the cathedral underneath but it has to be reached by ladders and improvised, constructed means (like a pulley, lift system) of lowering down through the cathedral’s collapsed floor to the lower level. The lower level is almost like a previous church that was ransacked and destroyed, buried and the new, black and red cathedral built on top of it.
My parents are visiting and are well dressed, behaving like members of the upper-class. I am taking them around a bizarre hotel that is decorated in bright, bold colors but not over-lit in the least. Rooms, including the lounge and restaurant are deceivingly large inside. Angles are odd and corners are not at right-angles. There was someone else walking along with us as we toured the hotel — a man of small frame but not clearly identified, perhaps the architect.
We leave the hotel in a large, black car and I take them on a nighttime, driving tour to the old cathedral. The cathedral is situated on a side street near Downtown Pensacola, close to where the Civic Center is, near the old cemetery that is there. (Gregory St./Wright St.).
A slight jump in time and events.
I either WAS or was HELPING a glowing “distant” woman who was of some other world or supernatural degree of significance — world altering power. Taking her down the ladder to the lower cathedral where our underground army’s base was — amongst up-turned pews and broken iconography. It had to be something like 3 full stories down, at least. As I am escorting her down, a spirit version of her begins to open out of her back — like a disembodied split-off of a more powerful/purer part of herself — uninhibited by the constraints of flesh. She is our super-weapon in an underground war between armies with various (but lesser) supernatural abilities on both sides of the battle.
After my considerably more adult review of LittleBigPlanet in association with some films that the art design reminds me of, here’s a childish bit of ha-ha for you. Since LBP is by design, customizable and enables every player to become a level developer, that literally opens the door for all SORTS of stuff.
There’s a connection here, believe it or not. I love both — but that’s not the connection. Yoga is a little more new to me than guns. This is a bit of general info about the line of guns that THIS baby comes from. I have one of these (a .22 cal Mark II target pistol by Ruger) that was my (yes, there is meaning here) 22nd birthday present from my father. I’ve been shooting that gun since I was eight years old. It’s sentimental but even better than that, has cheap ammo for LOTS of hole-punching at the range.
The deep sense of peace that the practice of yoga and the practice of target shooting (note: not reducing your stress-producing foes to the role of “target”) can offer is quite similar. Of course, there are plenty of debates around the value and risk issues but we’ll cover that too very briefly later.
For now, let’s focus….on the focus. Ah yes, the FOCUS…. To do either of these activities requires focus. It requires concentration, a quiet mind and steadiness. Even if you’ve never tried your hand at “down dog” or at squeezing off a few headshots (at your target silhouette-guy of course), I’m sure you’ve watched enough TV, movies and internet videos that you have an idea what these activities LOOK like.
Now is the time to activate your imagination if these are hobbies you never have or will dream of trying. Think of threading a needle, of packing wheel bearings, building a PC from scratch, building a piece of furniture, drawing schematics for a piece of machinery or blueprints for a skyscraper. If I haven’t gotten at least CLOSE to something you might be able to identify with, I’m afraid you’ll have to try a little on your own to find your comparative point of concentrated effort. Just roll with me here for now.
With yoga, it’s a PRACTICE of POSES — keywords when talking about yoga. It’s not a competition with the person across from you in class, it’s not about putting your legs behind your head (for whatEVER reason you may feel the need to achieve that feat) unless that’s just “available” to you (another bit of lingo). Yoga is about doing what your body can while pushing it just enough to FEEL a pose but never to the point of pain. Yoga is about getting the alignment of the pose — of your body — RIGHT. Yoga is about getting the alignment right and knowing how it feels when it’s right. Yoga is about focusing on your breath when a pose is difficult and you feel yourself start to quiver because your muscles never knew they could work like that (all while remaining STILL). Yoga is about FOCUSING on your breath and your body and your orientation/relationship to it and the ground below your feet (or head perhaps). The combination of physical activity and meditative movement and stillness offer benefits that are holistic and one of the reasons I personally am so fond of yoga.
Guns…now how exactly do these go with yoga again??? Focus… You clearly aren’t practicing your yoga or target shooting or you’d remember that.
Target shooting can offer a lot of the same mental focus that yoga can offer. You get a slightly more energized version though since yoga is about quieting and shooting about making a bunch of reverberating racket (and putting holes in things of course). You still FEEL the experience since most firearms have at least SOME degree of a “kick” (basic shooting lingo for “recoil”). You sometimes even get the shocking sensation of a hot, ejected shell smacking you in the forearm or face (wear your protective eye and ear-wear, people) as it flies from the recently emptied chamber as well. You may not get sweaty from this activity like with yoga but you’ll likely get a little dirty since gun powder and gun oil do tend to “smudge” a bit. It’s a satisfying bit of grime that washes off easily though — nothing like a little evidence besides your Swiss-cheese target that you’ve accomplished something.
The sense of focus with shooting though really comes from the manufactured silence of plugged or muffled ears offering the strangely internal sound of your own breath. You may not realize it but as you begin to aim, you increase your odds of an on-target shot if you steady your breath. Smooth, even breaths… Wait, didn’t I say something about breath and yoga??? :0 Yes, steadying your breathing can help steady your hands and as you focus on your target and your aim and your steadiness, you are inadvertently generating a stillness within yourself. What’s the point in target shooting if you’re shaking too hard from being enraged or upset and can’t hold your aim still? Pinpointing your concentration on such a centralized task that requires a steady hand focuses the mind away from distractions and the skipping-about that the mind can find itself doing throughout the day, just like yoga quiets the mind. So really, there ARE some very helpful benefits from both if you need some calm in your day.
And who’s to say one trumps the other either… Like I said, I love them both. The more calm, the better these days! Namaste.
Your obligatory and complimentary SUPER-BRIEF comparison of yoga and guns:
Yoga Cons: New Age/Hippie stereotypes, cost of classes (Unless you’re already a trained teacher, I suggest that you attend classes. The REAL effect and benefits of yoga cannot be achieved at home or without an instructor), need for modifications to poses for those of us not born in a “yogi” shaped body, scheduling issues for the average working adult making it difficult to get to classes
Gun Pros: focus, calm, confidence, increased hand-eye coordination and distance judgment, self defense (if needed), being a bad-ass (Please see this clip from Snatch if you are in need of a better understanding of “bad-assery” and are neither faint of heart NOR repulsed by sailor-mouth language + crassly naughty analogies.)
Gun Cons: ugly stigma of abuse, violent industry and application, risk of accidental discharge, children, expensive initial investment, expensive ammunition (depending on the type of firearm), if you DO decide to get a permit to carry — also added cost and trouble of acquiring and renewing permit
I recently learned an interesting fact. Abercrombie & Fitch was once an outdoor-sporting and excursion retail outfitter. Now, there’s this element to consider about the nature of sporting goods stores; they frequently also sell firearms (or used to at least, as gun laws make that a greater challenge these days). Of course, none of this is really very interesting or exciting but what I do find ironic is that as it so happens, the beloved A&F was also an establishment once frequented by one Ernest Hemingway in its day of more interesting retail merchandising.
What does this have to do with anything really??? Unless you already know that Hemingway shot himself, that it happened to be with a shotgun and that as the story goes, a Boss & Co. purchased at his little corner A&F…it has a lot to do with irony. It may still have a lot to do with irony even if you DO already know the story…
Even more ironic though is that just as the nature of the business, Abercrombie & Fitch has mutated into something more akin to a poisonous, societal toxin than an establishment for buying oars, fishing rods and shotguns. I find it ironic that this same toxic, brain-cell-killing brand just so happens to be the one who sold the gun that literally killed one of our great American writers. Do not mistake my notation of irony for a shout for harsher gun control, however. Hemingway was already deemed suicidal (despite the claim of his death to be “accidental”) and someone who is suicidal will take care of his business however he can — he could have very well bought a measure of rope intended for use in SPELUNKING from our old, trusted A&F retailer. He could have then decided on that fateful day to hang himself instead of shooting himself.
It’s that time where I make a statement about myself and the world around me. The world of consumerism, in this case. I hate department stores. All of them. I hate trendy mall-rat magnets and “preppy” kid clothiers even more so I’m not JUST picking on A&F for their unfortunate marketing decision. Seeing 1,000 16-year olds in the mall (on one of the accursed occasions I need to venture into one) all dressed in some variation of the same attire makes me want to vomit. This bile-flavored reaction is provoked not only by the hegemonic effect of the look, but also the fact that these poor, idiotically impressionistic adolescents are being capitalized on (or their parents), brainwashed and stripped of their individuality at the mercy of the marketing machine. It would have been better for Abercrombie & Fitch to stay bankrupted into memory but of course, some other brand would be standing in line stepping on ole A&F’s heels trying to get to the front.
These kids (yes, I’m old enough to refer to them as kids) are being convinced that to be “cool,” you wear ___ brand of the latest fad and if you don’t, you’re a loser, a misfit, an eccentric or even worse things that I know I or people I know have been labeled over the years (even as adults). What horrifies me now is that teenagers seem to have an even more exaggerated panic-driven need to fit in than I think was ever the case when I was growing up. Now it is out of desperation that kids will resort to all sorts of things to get what they need in order to feel accepted. When the standard is Hollister or Abercrombie & Fitch, for example they can’t always afford it either and resort to stealing. Sure, there have always been various fads and trends but I NEVER recall there being SUCH a maddening need for a pair of Reebok Pumps or some Guess-wear that we (or anyone I knew) would resort to stealing.
It really is depressing to me to look around and see the trend of decay in America. Kids aiming to look as boring as possible, it seems. Kids brain-rotting from too little decent education. The economy turning to crap and if Americans spending more to “stimulate the economy” was the answer, we should all already be golden thanks to where good ole A&F took the company business.
Hey Ernie…you got any shells left for that shotgun??
My six year relationship that I have bled gallons to try to make work against the odds is ending. I know it’s for my own good and probably for his but it still hurts. I really thought I could MAKE it work. I’m not sure what part of it hurts the worst…the fact that the same thread of amazingness about him that was there all along, that kept me from giving up — kept me hooked — is still there (even though now I know it’s just not enough to keep me from drowning) and I know I’ll miss that… Or maybe it’s the fact that all of the bad was REALLY bad and I can’t BELIEVE that I kept shredding my hands trying to climb up above the waves on that tiny thread of good amongst the ocean of bad… Or maybe it’s that I feel simultaneously weaker AND stronger than the average person for putting up with all that I did for so long before it finally broke me and I had to say ‘fix it or I have to give up and save myself’… And still I feel like an immediate family member died sometimes, usually without warning and mingled with rage. It could be any, all or even more than all of that which makes it hurt like it does.
Still, I think about all of the things I’ve blamed myself for over the years and think of how little he probably thinks I actually consider to be my own doing in the death of our relationship. I think about the fact that I still hate him in some ways from all of the REALLY fucked up things he’s done over the years and almost immediately think of reactionary awfulness that I’ve committed myself… In a discussion about our damages today, I was reminded of one of the things that DID actually make me feel like not quite as big a nut-job as I probably really am and it’s that he is too…more so really in some ways. I’ve got my own extremism issues and have said so for years and years and years. He’s probably got me beat by yards on that though. Go him. I’m volunteering him to win THIS pissing contest… I’ve got my head-start on therapy… I really feel for how much he is going to need in order to really gain some sense of wholeness and GOOD self-confidence but just like I’ve asked myself about myself…I wonder if he’ll CHOOSE to try to find some sense of middle ground when faced with that realistic option.
The thought of being normalized makes me think of an episode of “Law and Order: Special Victims Unit” where Ellen Burstyn (the speed-balling mother from “Requiem for a Dream”) plays Detective Elliot Stabler’s bi-polar mother. This episode sticks out in my horrible memory primarily because of when she’s sitting at the table talking to Dective Stabler’s partner and tells her that when they made her take medicine for being bi-polar — to “fix” her — that she felt like she had been stripped of her soul…that even if it made her life path extremely difficult, she at least felt like herself.
I wonder if he or I would be the same if our extremes were normalized by therapy or medication. I’ve already gone that road of questioning though. Except for times like now, when I’m struggling to maintain the ability to function, I would rather have to deal with people not understanding me, having few friends or social engagements and having to at least partially mask some of my more difficult to swallow parts when I have to (e.g. work) than to walk around feeling like a shell of a person that I don’t even know. Screw it if I can’t understand myself but at least I KNOW me! Maybe I’m just getting old in my craziness and therefore comfortable but I’d much rather be the interesting person that I think I am with all of my conflicting pieces and puzzle-soup thoughts than a cookie-cutter punch-out from the burbs… I’m happy with my dysfunction I guess — even if I’m in tears or want to “destroy something beautiful” (to quote one of my many favorite lines from “Fight Club”).
Maybe I WILL just take my Prozac, drink alone and settle into the role of “old cat lady” with a piece of magical realism fiction to keep me company while I listen to a lovely French death metal album… And hey, at least of the relics of my relationship I get to take some added complexity with me when I go! In the meantime, I hope he at least gets some help and learns his options before he decides to remain crazy and alienated too.
No one cares if this is my first or last blog post ever but for the record, it is my first. I have spent the better part of my life with a compulsive desire to feel words form from the efforts of my finger tips — either by pen or by keyboard. It’s the sensation that matters most — that beckons to me — not so much what I have to SAY at the moment… So for you, this very well may be the most uninteresting thing you’ve read in your entire freaking life… For me, it is a tiny little adventure in the world of too much already like it so although I know better than to expect much, I still can’t help but play with the idea of grandeur. I’m primarily a pessimist for a reason…
That being said, I would just like to make it clear that I very well may be one of the more well put together nutcases I personally even know. That’s not bragging…or is it?? I backhand my own self-compliments. I’ve been told that I have a “self-esteem” issue a few (too many) times in my adult and maybe even adolescent life. The funny thing is that the few people on this planet who know and believe in me (which I still am dumbfounded at why) maintain that it’s all out of order that I lack it… I’m pretty sure they try to understand me as best they can but for too many years now, I still don’t get me my-damned-self. I make no sense. Nothing is clear-cut and black-and-white for me. Nothing is simple. Reality is odd and most of the time, SURreal for me.
I suppose this would at least be part of the reason that I am drawn to the creative and the variety in life as well as why I look at nearly everything from about 6 different points of view. I don’t do myself any favors with this latter part, by the way…but still, the result seems to actually be that it is the thing about me that both gains so much awe from those who believe in me as well as INFURIATES them. Virtually nothing is easy for me and as a result, for them to be there for me. I am a self-proclaimed burden despite my best intentions to be as far from that as possible. In my effort to not be a burden, half the time I cause myself to be an even bigger one. It’s genius really…
Although I love art, food, traveling, etc. I seem to be ill equipped to paint, sculpt or even draw. Hell, I suck at STICK FIGURES! I’m great at eating (and as I get older, it’s showing more), but only okay at the whole “cooking” gig. I don’t typically pine to cook, I don’t stalk about my kitchen in my artiste’s fog of inspiration, creating (or even REcreating) masterpieces. I lack the vision and creativity and inspiration for that. Traveling…well, I do that fairly well but it’s expensive and I feel hedged in additionally by my pathetic inability to learn other languages. I also just don’t have that bad-ass traveler’s instinct for finding cool stuff, places and people. I’m a meticulous person and a meticulous traveler as a result.
Writing though, I seem to at least stand a fairer shot at being half decent at with some time. For one, I’ve been told more than a few times that I have a very keen sense of detail and the descriptive but really, that’s not a lot to ride on for content (and anyway, I maintain that it’s only because I can’t draw or paint!)… I’ve come to realize over the last year or two that creativity may be handing itself to me in code thanks to my tendency towards peculiar dreams. Sure, sure…I know you’ll say that I should save them for my shrink but really…REALLY! Some of these would just be a shame to waste on a shrink if he doesn’t appreciate the aesthetic detail in some of them. Would you want a shrink to read a 3 page, single-spaced detail of a fantastic (in the fantasy sense), 2-minute long dream and only have a diagnosis to reply with?? Wouldn’t you feel cheated??? So I am starting slowly (REALLY slowly) on my fiction but need to start putting something on the refrigerator so this will be where I start.
Expect topics to range from the mediocre to the BIZARRE with me. Although there may be no sense to the order or choices of topics, I assure you, there is some strange little thread of thought that can be followed back to a moment of realization and/or connection to it for me and I will eventually get some categorization done to make the organization a little easier on the reading-eye. Enjoy or don’t.
