Oct. 27, 2006 - The Long Sabbatical

It was never my intent to take a season-long sabbatical. I planned to hike, write and settle into my long-sought stability. All I managed was deeper intimacy with my beloved woods. Sometimes the forest was my only refuge from the dizzying mood swings that disrupted any momentary balance I accidentally achieved.

Adding to that angst was my seeming inability to string even a few words together with any clarity or eloquence. My writing withered, and my soul with it. Add to that the ballistic impossibility of communicating my heart-felt sense of defeat with my hubby, who is the most annoyingly optimistic person I have ever known. To him, the notion of depression is as graspable as a keen understanding of giving birth.

Silence seemed the better part of valor.

It is tiring, though. This eternal juggling act. The existential hypocrisy that comes from coaching others that anything is possible for anyone ~ except for me.

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Jul. 9, 2006 - The Silent Pen

Mine is a perfidious muse, with a twisted sense of humor and a downright pitiful sense of timing. As a minor deity (she would argue the “minor” part), Calliope is accustomed to abrupt comings and goings, as suit her imperious whims, and she cares little whether it’s 3 p.m. or 3 a.m. when she chooses to share an inspiration with me. But she is brilliant and holds my highest esteem.

Unfortunately, I think I really pissed her off when I named my teddy bear after her.

See, a friend of mine knows all about subtle energies and how to infuse items with specific frequencies. She has the best ever “energy” teddy bears. Anyone who picks one up can’t seem to put it down. Even men. In fact, my hubby got one for himself. So, I got a teddy bear too, and asked that “inspiration” be added to her energy. Then I named her Calliope, and my muse has been miffed ever since.

It’s not that she’s really off somewhere napping. No, she’s exacting revenge with more devious tricks. She whispers snippets of totally unrelated intrigues, or dictates partial new scenes for books already published. Worst of all, she lurks ~ silent, except for spectral snickers and that sinking-stomach sensation that I’m on the verge of a massive creative binge . . . that has yet to materialize.

Lest you surmise that I am wordless without my muse ~ I , thankfully, am not. My stories still stir and gestate until compelled into book. And I have enough discipline, normally, to write what’s next. But Calliope makes it ever so much more fun. She wakes me with whole scenes ready to unfold at my first stroke of the keyboard. She teases me with snatches of upcoming chapters. She keeps my characters present and evolving. She keeps me excited.

So, Calliope. Dear. I can do no better than a public mea culpa. I in no way meant to diminish your Importance when I bestowed your vaunted name upon a rather tatty stuffed likeness of a pretend bear. If anything, it was my clumsily mortal attempt to portray my fondness for your presence in my life.

Psst . . . Calliope . . . I’ll put out milk and honey . . . burn pink candles until the moon is full . . . I’ll . . . I’ll credit you in my next book . . .

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May. 27, 2006 - The Cosmic Stomach-Turner

I’ve never been a rollercoaster fan. Not as a kid. Not even when my kids were kids. No doubt it’s because my life is perpetually up and down without mechanical propulsion.

Only God knows what triggers those whiplashing jaunts, and She’s not too free with Her secrets. Either that, or the price of stability this time around is mastery of the illogical, the intangible and the unexpected. Moon phases, planetary alignments, the ebbs and flows of mass human consciousness ~ maybe black ops mind control projects ~ all or any might contribute to my emotional unsteadiness. At this point, I rule nothing out. What I can say for certain is that I’m beyond weary of not knowing who I will wake up as tomorrow.

Besides, my experience of the rollercoaster rush is precisely opposite that of coaster aficionados. I get my jollies on the up ride. I’m brilliant, inspired, articulate ~ all the attributes of Emily Dickenson and Wonder Woman perfectly sculpted and infinitely endowed.

Ah, but one nanosecond past the crest of the summit, I plummet and become a waste of space and breath.

No amusement park ride will ever duplicate the degree of my descent, for it defies the laws of physics, especially since my present rate of highs and lows occurs about once a day.

Yes, I know, that qualifies as “rapid cycling,” the next-to-most-dangerous phase that one blessed with bipolar disorder must face. But fear not, friends of mine, I am more conscious than ever before. I’ve amassed a vast array of resources, and my support system is amazing.

I will not jinx my fate by declaring that this is my last ride on the cosmic psychic stomach-turner, but I do swear that when I disembark I will be wiser and stronger and maintain inviolate well-being boundaries.

In the meantime, I’m investigating another resource, Rhodiola, an Eastern European/Asian herb that is technically labeled as an “adaptogen” but hints at numerous other healing virtues.

Check back for an update.

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May. 16, 2006 - Singing for Sanity

I sing. It’s not a vanity thing. I sing for self-preservation.

No doubt the craving began when I was small, when the brutality of my circumstances propelled my psyche from my little body. But dissociation from the physical punishment only spared me the immediate pain, for each blow and defilement left a scar in my memory. And the necessity of being “out of my body” so often, so young, created a permanent disconnect ~ an ever ready escape route, if you will, holding my mind to my physical self with the flimsiest of tethers.

But when I sing, I am fully present and physically engaged on multiple levels from profound to delightful. My soul is fully absorbed, of course, so singing is always a spiritual experience. Mirren, the she-ro in my new novel, Lorcan’s Bane describes it this way:

”The moment I parted my lips, my feet began to tingle. Then a jolt akin to lightening drilled me through from foot to head. And before I knew it, all the world had vanished except for my song. Gone were the warmth of the hearth and the lingering aromas of dinner. Gone were the sounds from the kitchen and the stones beneath my feet. Even my mother’s harping grew faint, for the will of the music conquered my senses and hollowed me out to channel nature’s voice. Words rose from my heart, and I sang them to life with my breath. Forests grew from my lyrics. Animals sprang from my rhymes. Each verse and intonation invoked an essential element until, by the end of my song, I had planted a living picture of the valley in the souls of those who listened.”

So, my refuge is my studio, my space downstairs that accommodates my small P.A., a couple of keyboards I seldom use, my mic, Irish whistles and all my music. For an hour or two, I surrender to the music. I call the frequencies through my body, energizing and cleansing my cells, washing away any worries, and singing my truths with power.

Singing is my salvation, a grounding/bonding ritual that keeps me from drifting too far from my center. It is a balm to a bruised heart. . . a celebration of confidence. . . grief purged through grace. . . my in-body escape.

Finally, it is my conscious intent with every in and out breath, to sing love into the earth and into the hearts of all living things.

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May. 7, 2006 - Good Things ~ Small Packages

Sometimes little miracles come along that change everything. One of them, 5-HTP, began as a remedy for one thing and turned out to be a gift beyond value.

Necessary Caveat: Herbs, minerals, and other natural supplements are as powerful and sometimes as dangerous as any medically prescribed drug. Although 5-HTP has been a blessing for me, before you even consider trying it, consult your medical care practitioner. This is especially critical if you are taking any other kind of medication.

I first read about 5-HTP as a natural supplement that would help eliminate my relentless afternoon cravings for carbohydrates. As is my habit, I researched every link I could find and discovered that 5-HTP was also thought to help regulate moods, promote healthy sleep, and mitigate anxiety.

I figured if it did even one of those things well, without side effects, it would be a godsend. But all of the above?

Nature packed quite a wallop into the seed of this African plant. In addition to all of the virtues I listed, Griffonia simplicifolia may also lower the risk of heart disease and help with chronic pain. 5-HTP works much like modern synthetic anti-depressants by increasing the amount of serotonin available to the brain. Serotonin is a prime neural chemical that regulates mood and sleep, among other things, the depletion of which is a huge contributor to depression and in my case, manic episodes.

As I’ve mentioned before, alternative remedies have been my saving graces, because so many pharmaceuticals are unwelcome to my system. But 5-HTP is a balm to my psyche ~ a walk in the woods in a capsule.

Perhaps it’s my attunement with Nature that makes my body more receptive to herbs and things of the earth. Maybe I instinctively “pick up” on the living frequency still inherent in the supplement, and I respond on an elemental level. Maybe that’s why I experience negligible side effects and immense relief. I can only report that during my years of experience with 5-HTP, I’ve staved off manic spikes, achieved much better sleep, substantially trimmed my waistline, and manage my well-being more easily and dependably than with anything else I have tried. 5-HTP is part of my daily regime and a gift I will always give to myself.

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