' Don't You Think Its Time For A Needed Revolution ? '

‘ Don’t You Think Its Time For A Needed Revolution ?  ‘

03/30/12

To my very dear, and dearest friends, and wonderfully constant, loyal readers, even when I am as made diminished by waves of heated agony, and a listlessness of spirit, which is ever a devouring pain that makes me tired, filled with broken an nightmare ‘sleep’, I find that in my dire and despair, yet, my thoughts so often turn to you; to thank you for your kindness and support…and your forgiveness.

Somehow, within those briefest spans of time, measured by a scale marked by uncertain breathes, or draw of welcome cigarette, or of glimpsing a shadowed, and ever-changing mirror of myself, as I sip gratefully into a cup of coffee, and—for a moment—feel a warmth of comfort from the rising steam; amid a too-quiet house, my scattered and wispy thoughts turn most naturally to you, dearest friends. 

In the quiet of my heart, I wonder if you are well, or, feeling better; I wonder if—while I’m awake—you are sleeping softly, your dreams as sweet; your ‘troubled’ day having reached its end.

And as I light—perhaps, another cigarette—hope that all is well, and that you and all who live with you are safe, and free from harm’s reach, having earlier had a most delicious supper so that the evening made you sleepy, with all thoughts of cares and worries far behind you.

I wish for all a safety; I wish you never know want, or to despair for lacking of having funds; I wish you and yours health, happiness, and prosperity, and for the FULL exercise of all the Rights and Privileges established for us by our Founding Fathers.  For NONE of us asked to be in monstrous pain, too ill to rise.  Nevertheless, we have contributed, and STILL contribute to the system; for everyone on S.S.I., or, S.S.D.I, these are fully earned benefits.  That’s why they are called, ‘Entitlements’, because we are fully entitled to them.

I have allowed my coffee to get cold, and so make my uncertain way to the sink to pour it out, and make another.  For I never know when that accumulated doses of medicine, will rise to meet my pain…and for too short a while, I do hurt less, but am exhausted and all –over sweat from having fought it ( though the pains will always win).

And should my mind be clear, I think about so many things.

I pause to think of yet the most recent April’s budget, and how the previous six have ended in the garbage can as unworkable.  Although I get my S.S.D.I. check on the 3^rd., I have exactly fourteen cents in savings, and maybe, $53.00 left in checking…and that’s with spending nothing at the grocery store, nor intending to; of asking all to whom I’ve written recent checks to please kindly hold them for me, until after ‘payday’, as the cashing of a single one would put my account into overdraft.

And, as you so well know, it would be the beginning of the accumulation(s) of $35.00 charges by my bank, when, with what I will have, still, the bills are never paid in full.  Once—with another bank—I was overdrawn by $5.26.  By the time other checks had come in for payment, I owed that bank $178.00 in charges and overdraft fees…for being over by $5.26 !

I quickly changed banks…but, in truth, they are all about alike.

Before I leave you for today, my dearest friends, perhaps I will close with an illustrative story; and promise to not run overlong, I hope!

The subject of these next diary entries, that of a much needed revolution on our parts concerns the now, 0.5 %, who control our money supplies; our economy; our foreign policy; and the way the ordinary citizens are being openly treated as doormats; nameless, and privilege less; utterly scorned by bankers, money changers, investment houses, and the like.

They OPENLY despise us as cattle, instead of Americans.  When a banker in Palm Beach sends to a crowd of Wall Street Protesters, a note on a pillow, carried by his chauffeur, to air his thoughts, sarcastically at the crowd, then, clearly, something more lasting, and efficient, must be done.  The banker was—of course correct; as ordinary citizens, we have allowed ourselves to be herded like the cattle we are considered to be.

All the peaceful, non-threatening protests, will, regrettably not change a thing.

And, while I am not usually a proponent of violence of any kind, we will continue to be controlled by those who have no fear of us…only disgust.

Why, because:

1)           We are—to a large degree—ununited by our own complacency.  Let’s face it, life is hard, and getting harder.  Those who can work are deathly afraid of rocking the boat lest they lose their positions.

2)           We have—as we can afford it—become too easily sated by bright, sparkly things, which we willingly allow to divert our attention from serious issues.

3)           We understandably are overwhelmed by too many things that distract us: the noise; the cars; the crowds; the plasma television set, with its nine hundred channels, or ‘smart’ phones, on which we can play silly games (how few people ONLY use their cell phones to make and receive calls?

4)           And, at the end of day, how tired are we to do anything but flop in from of the screen, eating our hastily-prepared suppers, until time to go to bed.

5)           With few exceptions ( of recent, notable for their acid regard), the ones who truly control the Country ( and Countries abroad) are faceless, hiding in the brick-and-mortal comfort of a life none of us will know; but like rats, there’s a safety in hiding and anonymity.

Although I no longer watch television, I do get my news from online sources (not, ‘angry birds’).

And while it hurts my heart to distress you, especially when life is hard enough, it would seem a necessary part of the human condition that fear gives way to worry; but, that is what motivates anger. And anger and desire leads to demand for change.  Sometimes, even demand for change is not enough; sometimes changes simply MUST be made.  Without bartering.  Without equivocation. Without endless delay.  But with efficacy, and planning, and upholding the Rights of the average citizen, while contributing to the common weal.

Above all, please do not continue to hide in your homes (you who still have them!), why waiting for the sky to fall.  You already have a largely unused power as an electorate; we’ve seen the almost endless parade of criminals and wrongdoers in office; vote them out!  Then, prosecute them.  They are not Gods, nor are they above the law.

And that is just a start.

Begin to go after the real power-holders, first by boycotting their commerce.  Could Wal-Mart, with its foreign buying practices, and notably egregious treatment of its employees last even a few weeks without customers?  Please at least think about it, perhaps even as you pause to complain about the current state of life in America.

Before I close, in posting this entry for today, my dearest friends and gentle readers, please allow me to leave you with some thoughts to consider:

1)           For some time—now—in our Country, probably full in force by the mid-1980’s, there is no longer a ‘Middleclass’; certainly, within the last twenty years—or more—the ‘Middleclass’ was swept out of existence.  There remains a ‘Super Upper-class’, that for some time, no longer hides its wealth, influence, or power. 

2)           The rest of us occupy the ‘Lower-class’, struggling to survive; those of us who work for minimum wage; those of us who must eke out an existence on insufficient Social Security Entitlements; and that nameless, growing population of the poor and homeless, sometimes turning to drugs;  sometimes, crime; this element is by its growing numbers becoming unavoidable.

3)           Were the police, and military on our side…think about it…does THAT in any way remind you of 1917, and the Russian Revolution?

Change occurs whenever the Present Order of things becomes intolerable.  And happens whether you or I want it to; all it takes is just the one match to light the powder keg.  Personally, I would have to say that things are pretty lousy-enough as they are.

Meanwhile, dearest friends, please know I wish for you better and better days; days of lessened, or of ‘no’ pain; quiet days, safe and secure; with pantries full enough to share; evenings surrounded by the ones who love you and genuinely care for you; and nights of blissful rest, free from pain, depression, or nightmare, as always kept safe and guarded by watchful angels.

I love you always,

‘Zahc’

' Why Is That Singular, Happy, Edifying 'Dood Dream', Seem Now More Rare Than Sight Of Purple Swans'

‘ Why Is That Singular, Happy, Edifying ‘Good Dream’, Seems Now More Rare Than Sight of Purple Swans…?’’

03/25/12

Oh, my dearest, kind, and joyous friends, and constant, loyal readers, how often have we given up the day as somehow lost, and tired to  exhaustion’s sake, and finally gone to bed full knowing that our uncomfortable, and all-over sweatedness, will be assailed—not by wondrous dreams, but—more likely, by toss and turning, with frequent wakefulness-- our hearts pounding--lost in some evil nightmare of other; why can’t we find some needed respite from our pain, and the combined disappointments of the day?

And so, the tile of this piece might well be called: “

‘ Why Is That Singular Happy, Edifying Good Dream, Now Seems More Rare Than Sight Of Purple Swans, While The Ebon’d,, Blue-Black Evil, of flapping, Raven’s Wings, and Nightmare Would Oft Cover Us Like Clouds, To Steal Our Very Breaths. ‘

There now are occasions—with counting, my dear, sweet friends— at the inevitable close of day, when in exhaustion I can hardly keep my eyes open, and—in medicating for the night-- retire reluctantly to a cool, soft bed that wants me not, in which I have no choice but to climb in, say my confused, and hurried prayers, and, thus, prepare myself for some much-needed rest.

The remained, still-conscious thought prevents my ease, but, do—in time—unravel, coming to a confused and weird ending, as sleep, as such claims my recumbent form.  I know the night will stretch before me, not with some blessed and much hoped-for benison of recuperative sleep, but broken into pieces by either nightmare so horrific as to drag me to the surface of a wanted rest, or wake me—instead—by assorted bathroom calls, or on occasion to be waked by Daisy, who—at fourteen—has bathroom calls that know no clock time, but are just as insistent as my own.

And, so, dear friends, it is not unusual in a nine-hour period to have been awakened nearly every hour.

This is, in no way, restorative sleep, which is why, so often, I require an afternoon’s nap, to  just survive the evenings, without being further overcome by a ‘mind fog’ that makes me slurry, forgetful, and silly.

One might think that, because of illnesses, and the advent of agonizing pain, along with the responsibilities of the day, that day’s end would be given gratefully over to some bodily craving for an endless sleep, full of healing, and delight, and the hoped-for waft of angels’ wings, that in such a sleep, would find full respite from the day, its confusions, and its despair.  Not as some ‘reward’ for being good, but as some necessary adjunct to health,

But…how many times have you, have I, have we, waked more tired than when we went to bed?

Now, ancient Man knew nightmare as a survival tool; 1) to dream-perhaps, of predators, or, of hunts that were unsuccessful; 2) as some, subconscious warning, that the sleeping body was somehow in peril, and needed immediate wakening.

In these parlous times, we still are warned, say, should the house be on fire; or that we may drown, or be attacked by rogue predators.

Think of the more harmless times, when the body was awakened by nightmares of burning up, only to find oneself too tangled up in blankets, limbs trapped by overheated coverlets; in pre-history, such warmness and confinement were unacceptable.

Our modern predators, today, consist of bills that must be paid; the demand for money by others, and the monthly fear that our incomes will not nearly be enough. Or that we may not have food-enough to last, and live from check to check.

Our illness cause us worry, as do our medications, and we feel to the weight of guilt in being less able to protect, and to provide for our families, or, to spend time with them, when we think they need us most.

Thus, the accumulated pain and anxieties of the day, keep the subconscious well fed with misery, and uncertainty; and so the nocturnal stage is set for a variety of broken sleep, and dreams that only seem to torture us.

Oh, one in a while, our dreams prove to be pleasant, happy, unencumbered by either worry of fear.  And it is ‘these’ dreams I so wish I had more often; like some brief, but wonderful vacation from the ills of every day.

But, I cannot, nor you cannot legislate our parade of nightly dreams, so that, in having them, we can—perhaps—wake with a smile; a momentary peace; a new and gathered strength to face the day.

But, as in so many other things, we can but live in hope; that somehow in our fevered prayers, a more kind, and gracious Creator will full listen to our nightly pleas, for sweeter dreams, and solid sleep.

And so, my dear, dear friends, and loyal readers, both for whom I give my thanks and gratitude, I would ever wish for you joyous days of lessened, or of ‘no pain; incomes that will keep you comfortable through the month; pantries full, with plenty to have…and share; the vigilance to report abuse; the strength to enjoy your families ( as you have them such a shortened time ); pleasant evenings free from worry; nights of balmy, and untroubled sleep, full of dreams that cause you a gladdened wonder; and ALWAYS watched over, protected, and comforted by sweet angels, so that you and your loved ones will be ever kept safe, and secure.

And, I would further wish for you all the happiness that your kind hearts can hold.

Please always know,

I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’

‘ Why Is That Singular, Happy, Edifying ‘Good Dream’, Seems Now More Rare Than Sight of Purple Swans…?’’

03/25/12

Oh, my dearest, kind, and joyous friends, and constant, loyal readers, how often have we given up the day as somehow lost, and tired to  exhaustion’s sake, and finally gone to bed full knowing that our uncomfortable, and all-over sweatedness, will be assailed—not by wondrous dreams, but—more likely, by toss and turning, with frequent wakefulness-- our hearts pounding--lost in some evil nightmare of other; why can’t we find some needed respite from our pain, and the combined disappointments of the day?

And so, the tile of this piece might well be called: “

‘ Why Is That Singular Happy, Edifying Good Dream, Now Seems More Rare Than Sight Of Purple Swans, While The Ebon’d,, Blue-Black Evil, of flapping, Raven’s Wings, and Nightmare Would Oft Cover Us Like Clouds, To Steal Our Very Breaths. ‘

There now are occasions—with counting, my dear, sweet friends— at the inevitable close of day, when in exhaustion I can hardly keep my eyes open, and—in medicating for the night-- retire reluctantly to a cool, soft bed that wants me not, in which I have no choice but to climb in, say my confused, and hurried prayers, and, thus, prepare myself for some much-needed rest.

The remained, still-conscious thought prevents my ease, but, do—in time—unravel, coming to a confused and weird ending, as sleep, as such claims my recumbent form.  I know the night will stretch before me, not with some blessed and much hoped-for benison of recuperative sleep, but broken into pieces by either nightmare so horrific as to drag me to the surface of a wanted rest, or wake me—instead—by assorted bathroom calls, or on occasion to be waked by Daisy, who—at fourteen—has bathroom calls that know no clock time, but are just as insistent as my own.

And, so, dear friends, it is not unusual in a nine-hour period to have been awakened nearly every hour.

This is, in no way, restorative sleep, which is why, so often, I require an afternoon’s nap, to  just survive the evenings, without being further overcome by a ‘mind fog’ that makes me slurry, forgetful, and silly.

One might think that, because of illnesses, and the advent of agonizing pain, along with the responsibilities of the day, that day’s end would be given gratefully over to some bodily craving for an endless sleep, full of healing, and delight, and the hoped-for waft of angels’ wings, that in such a sleep, would find full respite from the day, its confusions, and its despair.  Not as some ‘reward’ for being good, but as some necessary adjunct to health,

But…how many times have you, have I, have we, waked more tired than when we went to bed?

Now, ancient Man knew nightmare as a survival tool; 1) to dream-perhaps, of predators, or, of hunts that were unsuccessful; 2) as some, subconscious warning, that the sleeping body was somehow in peril, and needed immediate wakening.

In these parlous times, we still are warned, say, should the house be on fire; or that we may drown, or be attacked by rogue predators.

Think of the more harmless times, when the body was awakened by nightmares of burning up, only to find oneself too tangled up in blankets, limbs trapped by overheated coverlets; in pre-history, such warmness and confinement were unacceptable.

Our modern predators, today, consist of bills that must be paid; the demand for money by others, and the monthly fear that our incomes will not nearly be enough. Or that we may not have food-enough to last, and live from check to check.

Our illness cause us worry, as do our medications, and we feel to the weight of guilt in being less able to protect, and to provide for our families, or, to spend time with them, when we think they need us most.

Thus, the accumulated pain and anxieties of the day, keep the subconscious well fed with misery, and uncertainty; and so the nocturnal stage is set for a variety of broken sleep, and dreams that only seem to torture us.

Oh, one in a while, our dreams prove to be pleasant, happy, unencumbered by either worry of fear.  And it is ‘these’ dreams I so wish I had more often; like some brief, but wonderful vacation from the ills of every day.

But, I cannot, nor you cannot legislate our parade of nightly dreams, so that, in having them, we can—perhaps—wake with a smile; a momentary peace; a new and gathered strength to face the day.

But, as in so many other things, we can but live in hope; that somehow in our fevered prayers, a more kind, and gracious Creator will full listen to our nightly pleas, for sweeter dreams, and solid sleep.

And so, my dear, dear friends, and loyal readers, both for whom I give my thanks and gratitude, I would ever wish for you joyous days of lessened, or of ‘no pain; incomes that will keep you comfortable through the month; pantries full, with plenty to have…and share; the vigilance to report abuse; the strength to enjoy your families ( as you have them such a shortened time ); pleasant evenings free from worry; nights of balmy, and untroubled sleep, full of dreams that cause you a gladdened wonder; and ALWAYS watched over, protected, and comforted by sweet angels, so that you and your loved ones will be ever kept safe, and secure.

And, I would further wish for you all the happiness that your kind hearts can hold.

Please always know,

I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’

‘ Why Is That Singular, Happy, Edifying ‘Good Dream’, Seems Now More Rare Than Sight of Purple Swans…?’’

03/25/12

Oh, my dearest, kind, and joyous friends, and constant, loyal readers, how often have we given up the day as somehow lost, and tired to  exhaustion’s sake, and finally gone to bed full knowing that our uncomfortable, and all-over sweatedness, will be assailed—not by wondrous dreams, but—more likely, by toss and turning, with frequent wakefulness-- our hearts pounding--lost in some evil nightmare of other; why can’t we find some needed respite from our pain, and the combined disappointments of the day?

And so, the tile of this piece might well be called: “

‘ Why Is That Singular Happy, Edifying Good Dream, Now Seems More Rare Than Sight Of Purple Swans, While The Ebon’d,, Blue-Black Evil, of flapping, Raven’s Wings, and Nightmare Would Oft Cover Us Like Clouds, To Steal Our Very Breaths. ‘

There now are occasions—with counting, my dear, sweet friends— at the inevitable close of day, when in exhaustion I can hardly keep my eyes open, and—in medicating for the night-- retire reluctantly to a cool, soft bed that wants me not, in which I have no choice but to climb in, say my confused, and hurried prayers, and, thus, prepare myself for some much-needed rest.

The remained, still-conscious thought prevents my ease, but, do—in time—unravel, coming to a confused and weird ending, as sleep, as such claims my recumbent form.  I know the night will stretch before me, not with some blessed and much hoped-for benison of recuperative sleep, but broken into pieces by either nightmare so horrific as to drag me to the surface of a wanted rest, or wake me—instead—by assorted bathroom calls, or on occasion to be waked by Daisy, who—at fourteen—has bathroom calls that know no clock time, but are just as insistent as my own.

And, so, dear friends, it is not unusual in a nine-hour period to have been awakened nearly every hour.

This is, in no way, restorative sleep, which is why, so often, I require an afternoon’s nap, to  just survive the evenings, without being further overcome by a ‘mind fog’ that makes me slurry, forgetful, and silly.

One might think that, because of illnesses, and the advent of agonizing pain, along with the responsibilities of the day, that day’s end would be given gratefully over to some bodily craving for an endless sleep, full of healing, and delight, and the hoped-for waft of angels’ wings, that in such a sleep, would find full respite from the day, its confusions, and its despair.  Not as some ‘reward’ for being good, but as some necessary adjunct to health,

But…how many times have you, have I, have we, waked more tired than when we went to bed?

Now, ancient Man knew nightmare as a survival tool; 1) to dream-perhaps, of predators, or, of hunts that were unsuccessful; 2) as some, subconscious warning, that the sleeping body was somehow in peril, and needed immediate wakening.

In these parlous times, we still are warned, say, should the house be on fire; or that we may drown, or be attacked by rogue predators.

Think of the more harmless times, when the body was awakened by nightmares of burning up, only to find oneself too tangled up in blankets, limbs trapped by overheated coverlets; in pre-history, such warmness and confinement were unacceptable.

Our modern predators, today, consist of bills that must be paid; the demand for money by others, and the monthly fear that our incomes will not nearly be enough. Or that we may not have food-enough to last, and live from check to check.

Our illness cause us worry, as do our medications, and we feel to the weight of guilt in being less able to protect, and to provide for our families, or, to spend time with them, when we think they need us most.

Thus, the accumulated pain and anxieties of the day, keep the subconscious well fed with misery, and uncertainty; and so the nocturnal stage is set for a variety of broken sleep, and dreams that only seem to torture us.

Oh, one in a while, our dreams prove to be pleasant, happy, unencumbered by either worry of fear.  And it is ‘these’ dreams I so wish I had more often; like some brief, but wonderful vacation from the ills of every day.

But, I cannot, nor you cannot legislate our parade of nightly dreams, so that, in having them, we can—perhaps—wake with a smile; a momentary peace; a new and gathered strength to face the day.

But, as in so many other things, we can but live in hope; that somehow in our fevered prayers, a more kind, and gracious Creator will full listen to our nightly pleas, for sweeter dreams, and solid sleep.

And so, my dear, dear friends, and loyal readers, both for whom I give my thanks and gratitude, I would ever wish for you joyous days of lessened, or of ‘no pain; incomes that will keep you comfortable through the month; pantries full, with plenty to have…and share; the vigilance to report abuse; the strength to enjoy your families ( as you have them such a shortened time ); pleasant evenings free from worry; nights of balmy, and untroubled sleep, full of dreams that cause you a gladdened wonder; and ALWAYS watched over, protected, and comforted by sweet angels, so that you and your loved ones will be ever kept safe, and secure.

And, I would further wish for you all the happiness that your kind hearts can hold.

Please always know,

I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’

‘ Why Is That Singular, Happy, Edifying ‘Good Dream’, Seems Now More Rare Than Sight of Purple Swans…?’’

03/25/12

Oh, my dearest, kind, and joyous friends, and constant, loyal readers, how often have we given up the day as somehow lost, and tired to  exhaustion’s sake, and finally gone to bed full knowing that our uncomfortable, and all-over sweatedness, will be assailed—not by wondrous dreams, but—more likely, by toss and turning, with frequent wakefulness-- our hearts pounding--lost in some evil nightmare of other; why can’t we find some needed respite from our pain, and the combined disappointments of the day?

And so, the tile of this piece might well be called: “

‘ Why Is That Singular Happy, Edifying Good Dream, Now Seems More Rare Than Sight Of Purple Swans, While The Ebon’d,, Blue-Black Evil, of flapping, Raven’s Wings, and Nightmare Would Oft Cover Us Like Clouds, To Steal Our Very Breaths. ‘

There now are occasions—with counting, my dear, sweet friends— at the inevitable close of day, when in exhaustion I can hardly keep my eyes open, and—in medicating for the night-- retire reluctantly to a cool, soft bed that wants me not, in which I have no choice but to climb in, say my confused, and hurried prayers, and, thus, prepare myself for some much-needed rest.

The remained, still-conscious thought prevents my ease, but, do—in time—unravel, coming to a confused and weird ending, as sleep, as such claims my recumbent form.  I know the night will stretch before me, not with some blessed and much hoped-for benison of recuperative sleep, but broken into pieces by either nightmare so horrific as to drag me to the surface of a wanted rest, or wake me—instead—by assorted bathroom calls, or on occasion to be waked by Daisy, who—at fourteen—has bathroom calls that know no clock time, but are just as insistent as my own.

And, so, dear friends, it is not unusual in a nine-hour period to have been awakened nearly every hour.

This is, in no way, restorative sleep, which is why, so often, I require an afternoon’s nap, to  just survive the evenings, without being further overcome by a ‘mind fog’ that makes me slurry, forgetful, and silly.

One might think that, because of illnesses, and the advent of agonizing pain, along with the responsibilities of the day, that day’s end would be given gratefully over to some bodily craving for an endless sleep, full of healing, and delight, and the hoped-for waft of angels’ wings, that in such a sleep, would find full respite from the day, its confusions, and its despair.  Not as some ‘reward’ for being good, but as some necessary adjunct to health,

But…how many times have you, have I, have we, waked more tired than when we went to bed?

Now, ancient Man knew nightmare as a survival tool; 1) to dream-perhaps, of predators, or, of hunts that were unsuccessful; 2) as some, subconscious warning, that the sleeping body was somehow in peril, and needed immediate wakening.

In these parlous times, we still are warned, say, should the house be on fire; or that we may drown, or be attacked by rogue predators.

Think of the more harmless times, when the body was awakened by nightmares of burning up, only to find oneself too tangled up in blankets, limbs trapped by overheated coverlets; in pre-history, such warmness and confinement were unacceptable.

Our modern predators, today, consist of bills that must be paid; the demand for money by others, and the monthly fear that our incomes will not nearly be enough. Or that we may not have food-enough to last, and live from check to check.

Our illness cause us worry, as do our medications, and we feel to the weight of guilt in being less able to protect, and to provide for our families, or, to spend time with them, when we think they need us most.

Thus, the accumulated pain and anxieties of the day, keep the subconscious well fed with misery, and uncertainty; and so the nocturnal stage is set for a variety of broken sleep, and dreams that only seem to torture us.

Oh, one in a while, our dreams prove to be pleasant, happy, unencumbered by either worry of fear.  And it is ‘these’ dreams I so wish I had more often; like some brief, but wonderful vacation from the ills of every day.

But, I cannot, nor you cannot legislate our parade of nightly dreams, so that, in having them, we can—perhaps—wake with a smile; a momentary peace; a new and gathered strength to face the day.

But, as in so many other things, we can but live in hope; that somehow in our fevered prayers, a more kind, and gracious Creator will full listen to our nightly pleas, for sweeter dreams, and solid sleep.

And so, my dear, dear friends, and loyal readers, both for whom I give my thanks and gratitude, I would ever wish for you joyous days of lessened, or of ‘no pain; incomes that will keep you comfortable through the month; pantries full, with plenty to have…and share; the vigilance to report abuse; the strength to enjoy your families ( as you have them such a shortened time ); pleasant evenings free from worry; nights of balmy, and untroubled sleep, full of dreams that cause you a gladdened wonder; and ALWAYS watched over, protected, and comforted by sweet angels, so that you and your loved ones will be ever kept safe, and secure.

And, I would further wish for you all the happiness that your kind hearts can hold.

Please always know,

I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’

‘ Why Is That Singular, Happy, Edifying ‘Good Dream’, Seems Now More Rare Than Sight of Purple Swans…?’’

03/25/12

Oh, my dearest, kind, and joyous friends, and constant, loyal readers, how often have we given up the day as somehow lost, and tired to  exhaustion’s sake, and finally gone to bed full knowing that our uncomfortable, and all-over sweatedness, will be assailed—not by wondrous dreams, but—more likely, by toss and turning, with frequent wakefulness-- our hearts pounding--lost in some evil nightmare of other; why can’t we find some needed respite from our pain, and the combined disappointments of the day?

And so, the tile of this piece might well be called: “

‘ Why Is That Singular Happy, Edifying Good Dream, Now Seems More Rare Than Sight Of Purple Swans, While The Ebon’d,, Blue-Black Evil, of flapping, Raven’s Wings, and Nightmare Would Oft Cover Us Like Clouds, To Steal Our Very Breaths. ‘

There now are occasions—with counting, my dear, sweet friends— at the inevitable close of day, when in exhaustion I can hardly keep my eyes open, and—in medicating for the night-- retire reluctantly to a cool, soft bed that wants me not, in which I have no choice but to climb in, say my confused, and hurried prayers, and, thus, prepare myself for some much-needed rest.

The remained, still-conscious thought prevents my ease, but, do—in time—unravel, coming to a confused and weird ending, as sleep, as such claims my recumbent form.  I know the night will stretch before me, not with some blessed and much hoped-for benison of recuperative sleep, but broken into pieces by either nightmare so horrific as to drag me to the surface of a wanted rest, or wake me—instead—by assorted bathroom calls, or on occasion to be waked by Daisy, who—at fourteen—has bathroom calls that know no clock time, but are just as insistent as my own.

And, so, dear friends, it is not unusual in a nine-hour period to have been awakened nearly every hour.

This is, in no way, restorative sleep, which is why, so often, I require an afternoon’s nap, to  just survive the evenings, without being further overcome by a ‘mind fog’ that makes me slurry, forgetful, and silly.

One might think that, because of illnesses, and the advent of agonizing pain, along with the responsibilities of the day, that day’s end would be given gratefully over to some bodily craving for an endless sleep, full of healing, and delight, and the hoped-for waft of angels’ wings, that in such a sleep, would find full respite from the day, its confusions, and its despair.  Not as some ‘reward’ for being good, but as some necessary adjunct to health,

But…how many times have you, have I, have we, waked more tired than when we went to bed?

Now, ancient Man knew nightmare as a survival tool; 1) to dream-perhaps, of predators, or, of hunts that were unsuccessful; 2) as some, subconscious warning, that the sleeping body was somehow in peril, and needed immediate wakening.

In these parlous times, we still are warned, say, should the house be on fire; or that we may drown, or be attacked by rogue predators.

Think of the more harmless times, when the body was awakened by nightmares of burning up, only to find oneself too tangled up in blankets, limbs trapped by overheated coverlets; in pre-history, such warmness and confinement were unacceptable.

Our modern predators, today, consist of bills that must be paid; the demand for money by others, and the monthly fear that our incomes will not nearly be enough. Or that we may not have food-enough to last, and live from check to check.

Our illness cause us worry, as do our medications, and we feel to the weight of guilt in being less able to protect, and to provide for our families, or, to spend time with them, when we think they need us most.

Thus, the accumulated pain and anxieties of the day, keep the subconscious well fed with misery, and uncertainty; and so the nocturnal stage is set for a variety of broken sleep, and dreams that only seem to torture us.

Oh, one in a while, our dreams prove to be pleasant, happy, unencumbered by either worry of fear.  And it is ‘these’ dreams I so wish I had more often; like some brief, but wonderful vacation from the ills of every day.

But, I cannot, nor you cannot legislate our parade of nightly dreams, so that, in having them, we can—perhaps—wake with a smile; a momentary peace; a new and gathered strength to face the day.

But, as in so many other things, we can but live in hope; that somehow in our fevered prayers, a more kind, and gracious Creator will full listen to our nightly pleas, for sweeter dreams, and solid sleep.

And so, my dear, dear friends, and loyal readers, both for whom I give my thanks and gratitude, I would ever wish for you joyous days of lessened, or of ‘no pain; incomes that will keep you comfortable through the month; pantries full, with plenty to have…and share; the vigilance to report abuse; the strength to enjoy your families ( as you have them such a shortened time ); pleasant evenings free from worry; nights of balmy, and untroubled sleep, full of dreams that cause you a gladdened wonder; and ALWAYS watched over, protected, and comforted by sweet angels, so that you and your loved ones will be ever kept safe, and secure.

And, I would further wish for you all the happiness that your kind hearts can hold.

Please always know,

I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’

Why Is That Singular, Happy, Edifying 'Good Dream, Seem Now More Rare...;

‘ Why Is That Singular, Happy, Edifying ‘Good Dream’, Seems Now More Rare Than Sight of Purple Swans…?’’

03/25/12

Oh, my dearest, kind, and joyous friends, and constant, loyal readers, how often have we given up the day as somehow lost, and tired to  exhaustion’s sake, and finally gone to bed full knowing that our uncomfortable, and all-over sweatedness, will be assailed—not by wondrous dreams, but—more likely, by toss and turning, with frequent wakefulness-- our hearts pounding--lost in some evil nightmare of other; why can’t we find some needed respite from our pain, and the combined disappointments of the day?

And so, the tile of this piece might well be called: “

‘ Why Is That Singular Happy, Edifying Good Dream, Now Seems More Rare Than Sight Of Purple Swans, While The Ebon’d,, Blue-Black Evil, of flapping, Raven’s Wings, and Nightmare Would Oft Cover Us Like Clouds, To Steal Our Very Breaths. ‘

There now are occasions—with counting, my dear, sweet friends—ont ,the inevitable close of day, when in exhaustion I can hardly keep my eyes open, and—in medicating for the night-- retire reluctantly to a cool, soft bed that wants me not, in which I have no choice but to climb in, say my confused, and hurried prayers, and, thus, prepare myself for some much-needed rest.

The remains, still-conscious thought that does prevent my ease, but, do—in time—unravel, coming to a confused and weird ending, as sleep, as such claims my recumbent form.  I know the night will stretch before me, not with some blessed and much hoped-for benison of recuperative sleep, but broken into pieces by either nightmare so horrific as to drag me to the surface of a wanted rest, or wake me—instead—by assorted bathroom calls, or on occasion to be waked by Daisy, who—at fourteen—has bathroom calls that know no clock time, but are just as insistent as my own.

And, so, dear friends, it is not unusual in a nine-hour period to have been awakened nearly every hour.

This is, in no way, restorative sleep, which is why, so often, I require an afternoon’s nap, to  just survive the evenings, without being further overcome by a ‘mind fog’ that makes me slurry, forgetful, and silly.

One might think that, because-- of illnesses, and the advent of agonizing pain, along with the responsibilities of the day-- that day’s end would be given gratefully over to some bodily craving for an endless sleep, full of healing, and delight, and the hoped-for waft of angels’ wings, that in such a sleep, would find full respite from the day, its confusions, and its despair.  Not as some ‘reward’ for being good, but as some necessary adjunct to health,

But…how many times have you, have I, have we, waked more tired than when we went to bed?

Now, ancient Man knew nightmare as a survival tool; 1) to dream-perhaps, of predators, or, of hunts that were unsuccessful; 2) as some, subconscious warning, that the sleeping body was somehow in peril, and needed immediate wakening.

In these parlous times, we still are warned, say, should the house be on fire; or that we may drown, or be attacked by rogue predators.

Think of the more harmless times, when the body was awakened by nightmares of burning up, only to find oneself too tangled up in blankets, limbs trapped by overheated coverlets; in pre-history, such warmness and confinement were unacceptable.

Our modern predators, today, consist of bills that must be paid; the demand for money by others, and the monthly fear that our incomes will not nearly be enough. Or that we may not have food-enough to last, and live from check to check.

Our illness cause us worry, as do our medications, and we feel to the weight of guilt in being less able to protect, and to provide for our families, or, to spend time with them, when we think they need us most.

Thus, the accumulated pain and anxieties of the day, keep the subconscious well fed with misery, and uncertainty; and so the nocturnal stage is set for a variety of broken sleep, and dreams that only seem to torture us.

Oh, one in a while, our dreams prove to be pleasant, happy, unencumbered by either worry of fear.  And it is ‘these’ dreams I so wish I had more often; like some brief, but wonderful vacation from the ills of every day.

But, I cannot, nor you cannot legislate our parade of nightly dreams, so that, in having them, we can—perhaps—wake with a smile; a momentary peace; a new and gathered strength to face the day.

But, as in so many other things, we can but live in hope; that somehow in our fevered prayers, a more kind, and gracious Creator will full listen to our nightly pleas, for sweeter dreams, and solid sleep.

And so, my dear, dear friends, and loyal readers, both for whom I give my thanks and gratitude, I would ever wish for you joyous days of lessened, or of ‘no pain; incomes that will keep you comfortable through the month; pantries full, with plenty to have…and share; the vigilance to report abuse; the strength to enjoy your families ( as you have them such a shortened time ); pleasant evenings free from worry; nights of balmy, and untroubled sleep, full of dreams that cause you a gladdened wonder; and ALWAYS watched over, protected, and comforted by sweet angels, so that you and your loved ones will be ever kept safe, and secure.

And, I would further wish for you all the happiness that your kind hearts can hold.

Please always know,

I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’/Charles

' The Waiting, Oh THe Waiting...ALways The Waiting '

‘The Waiting, Oh The Waiting…Always The Waiting  ‘

03/24/12

To my most wonderful, dear, dear friends, and ever constant loyal reads, I often think of you, even when my pain—too often piled upon pain, upon pain has even lessened slightly; my headache in some gladdened abeyance; waiting for that inevitable time when I am again a- grip with agony, and mind fog, I wonder how you are, and how you may be feeling, and somehow managing to survive.

I think of you during  long, and darkened night, when no chance of sleep will come, whether you may be sleeping softly, gently; I think of you at ‘bill-paying-times’, and whether you will have enough to last ‘till month’s end, with some degree of comfort, until payday, or paycheck day, the money is at last available to you.  Sometimes, I sit and think of you, while waiting for my $1.29 dinner to microwave, wondering if your pantries are sufficiently full; rather than mine, which has become the unnatural home of spiders and moths that burrow in the dog food.

I pray and ever hope for you that you be full-surrounded by the care of those who truly love you.

I often think and pray for you, my dearest friends, that somehow, some way you will be spared a leveling pain, and the suspicion—often by even professionals—that your illnesses are imaginary, and so, are scarce worth the time for a full assessment in at least some semblance of medical humanity.

I ask you to recall the hours wasted at emergency rooms; the hacking and coughing of other would-be patients; exposure to their sneezing, and to THEIR ailments, quite in addition to your own.

For, even as you may panic, or think you are having a heart attack, or dying, this is where, my dearest friends. That pure, and, and undistilled, and tortuous waiting begins; until at last your name is called to come back to Triage; there to be questioned often by a sick nurse (too often exposed—themselves—to incalculable bacteria, and viruses) no better treated than some criminal, who immediately thinks your symptoms to be falsely dreamed up.  And should your visit warrant further care, to be show to a cubicle, there to wait for hours, while all manner of insurance is taken up, copied and tallied, until some faceless, tired, and out-of-patience doctor can at last swing by, only to discharge you with a prescription for Tylenol.

For those of us who do have such illnesses as Lupus, Fibromyalgia, Chronic Pain, Chronic fatigue, and who seek a cause for such things (and more), the Emergency Room may well be your first stop, while to many of you whose formerly reliable Primaries admitted confusion, and/or lack of familiarity with ‘your kinds of pain’, too often shuttle you to Specialists.  For us, the ‘waiting game’ begins in earnest, as we must—perforce—wait o the results of test or scans or x-ray results, only to have to have them repeated as is thought necessary.

Providers and Specialists have no empathy and rarer sense of caring, making us wait, and wait, and wait in overcrowded waiting rooms, despite our pain, our weariness, our debilitation, or our fear,, until we—as a number in a Deli—is finally called behind that locked door, and placed again in some cubicle to wait.

And while I realize that other patients in the waiting room, have—themselves pain and agony as great as mine-- still I resent this ‘cattle call’, wherein the physician who has overbooked appointments so as to not miss a single chance to make money; it always seems the odds unfair, while we—as patients---sit back, with eyes closed, and try to block out the office noise.

I suppose, too, in our ravening need, and constant, endless and profound pain, despair and search for answers and treatment that we readily assign to these Specialists the contents of our very souls in willing exchange, that we—in such desperate need, forget that Specialists are not saints; neither are their practices a charity or public service, and that—to them—we are a but a calculable resource, no matter how much we may believe that our own distress may take precedence.

And so, in that part of pain that rises until it is beyond bearing we seek, and hope, and secretly demand bespoke answers and effective treatment.

When—in fact—the lamentable truths are; while our Providers, Specialists and the like, to us, are separate individuals, separate personalities, to them, and to their clinics, we are faceless, almost nameless, in our massed hundreds.  And so it is quite natural (with few exceptions), that a ‘conveyer belt ‘mentality exists.

Why the, do you think that, after a nurse has placed you records I that rack near the exam rom door, which is shut, there is a several moment’s long pause after they’ve been picked up by the Specialist, before he or she comes launching through the door?  It is to give them time to remember our names, with a brief glance at our complaints, and subsequent results of testing, of or current treatment,

Are nor our complaints as valid as other’s; for it would seem that if we have the ‘illnesses that have no face; we appear almost too well to warrant treatment?  And so, to better make my case (besides my truthfulness, or word of honor, which is quite unrealistic in these days of rampant lies, for regrettably, the medication that provides some relief, is the kind most abused out on the street), the preponderance of evidence must also fall on us, further taking time for scans, lab work, and any more convincing test results which to better obtain for us those medications that make life a little more bearable.

And while I think I understand all this: the waiting, waiting, waiting, while often I am doubled-up in pain, the waiting room seems to me to be some greater instance of imagined torture, especially when my Pain Doctor’s reception staff do not give us a second glance, but can be heard gossiping about their boyfriends, while audibly sucking on giant, super-sodas.

Actually, the shortest part of every visit is the time spent with the doctor, who sees me for maybe all of ten minutes, to finally give to me those life-sustaining prescriptions, which is the sole reason for my visit, anyway.   I know that; He knows that.  We both know that.  It is like the childhood game to see who could refrain from blinking first.

Meanwhile, from the lateness of my visit, the heat outside, the grindingly-full waiting room, filled with too many patient’s voices, and two televisions whose volume is set to high, the exhaustion, the inevitable pain, that over-loud ticking of an internal clock that signals that the day has somehow been thrown away.  In fact, I find it both ironic and regrettably hilarious that we are called ‘patients’, as, in those circumstances (and others), I am not willing to be made more patient.

What about—for example-Wal-Mart, wherein each ‘super store’ there’s perhaps fifty registers, but only ever four open?  Or, the wait, and wait for prescriptions?  Or, the repairman, who promises to come out somewhere between eight AM to five PM, and then still does not make an appearance until another day? Or, of any time we are made to dandle upon someone else’s convenience, not our own?

When did OUR time cease to be meaningful?  When was the very last time a human, or an agency, or a business attempt to establish, or change an appointment time, to, “Whatever time best suits you?” Or to have return telephones calls made to establish or change an appointment made at other than an ungodly hour, well-before one’s first coffee of the day?

I know that I am disabled.  I know my days are largely free of obligation, being full—instead—by trial, pain, and weariness.

Whenever possible, we NEED to reject the whole, ‘patient’ mentality, in trying to make things more convenient for US.  For even now, if I should make an appointment for 2PM, and, in truth, it would matter not if it were indeed 1PM, or 3PM, nevertheless, that is the time I have allotted to myself for that activity.  And in in doing so, mold time more specific to my needs, or whims.

For I want them to acknowledge my needs are as great, as everyone else’s is to them.  I want my migraines to be attended to; my nightmare and my exhaustion addressed, and this limiting, devouring pain to be successfully treated, returning to me some welcomed sense of normal life.

To Social Workers, so eager, knowing exactly how to make my life so much better, I ask them please do not annoy me with the promise of County programs that now are out of funding; or in some woven ballad, promise me the sun, and moon, an stars, when I cannot even manage to even go across the street!  And so, even Social Work becomes a game, wherein the workers/players are mandated to cast a jaded eye upon all that is no different from the former visit. Much like points checked off upon a list to ensure a paycheck for themselves.

For I think of you often, my very dearest friends and gentle readers, and, as always, wish for you days of lessened, or of ‘no pain’; quiet days, in which your most unfortunate ‘waiting times’ are filled—instead by quiet prayer, and hushed contemplation during which with both clock and calendar reclaim some better sense of Self; evenings spent, surrounded by ones who truly love you, and who genuinely care for you; and nights of naturally tired, and unencumbered, balmy sleep, made blissful, and kept safe by watchful and protective angels.

I love you dearly,

‘Zahc’