"A Slow Return From The Edge Of The Earth

“A Slow Return From The Edge Of The Earth”

 

 

01/25/14

 

To my kind and dearest friends, and always loyal readers,

 

This is one of the most difficult entries that I have ever made, but I solemnly promised that I would never lie to you, nor bend the truth to suit my own agendas.

 

But the elusiveness of truth, and of warranted trust are never easy to establish, but can be readily destroyed by even one, ill-composed remark.

 

And so I ask—please—for your most kind forgiveness, and my heart of hearts silently hopes to be welcomed back once again, and to merit your most thoughtful comments below.

 

‘Andropause: A Terrible And Terrifying Reality”

 

Shortly after my last MDJ diary post, November 4^th of last year, I found myself becoming more detached, more self-isolative, and mentally and physically withdrawing from the coming holidays, which rushed—inexorably—ever closer, like trains cars hooked-together, but of a train that was completely out of control. And I felt as if I had been tied-down to the tracks, unable to escape, able only to hear that far-off whistle, and feel the ever so gentle rumbling of the rails as the train approached and gathered speed.

 

For probably the last twenty-one years, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s and…,my birthday had long ceased to have much meaning for me other than I knew that on those days, the banks would be closed, and no mail delivered.

 

There was my father’s lingering illness and pain, and then my mother’s, and the holidays seemed—in particular—to be marked by illness, pain, disaster, embarrassment, loss of dignity and an overwhelming sadness

 

In those days—when I was still employed—I would give the holiday, ‘eves’, to this of that coworker who had children, and, with the, could still capture some of the magic (amid the mayhem of Black Friday shopping) with their young families.

 

With Daisy gone, I was fully resigned to spend the holidays by myself in perhaps a quiet, and reflective meditation regarding the unpredictable vagaries of ‘Life’.

 

 

As is my habit, my sense of plangent loneliness, and, ‘alone-ness’ (there is a difference) caused me to become even more depressed, and in often unutterable pain that made me cry.

 

I now have ‘new’ neighbors across the street for me who have been inordinately kind and considerate of me.

It was they who invited me over to their house for Thanksgiving Day lunch.

And for once, I put on my best clothes, and with cane and oxygen, was helped across the street.

 

Though my agoraphobia prevented me from dawdling-away the afternoon, still, I viewed it as nothing less than miracle.

 

 

It was just before this time, that my cousin finally was able to figure out that Microsoft had sent an update that completely blocked my access to my diary at MDJ, and—in fact—treated the site as spam, or a ‘pop up’, ot be blocked.

So it will be interesting to see whether I can somehow slip this diary entry in.

 

 

My therapist—meanwhile—had switched my antidepressant medication from Cymbalta to Pristiq (a new ‘kid’ on the market; one that augured better results, with little side effects).

But, after taking it for a month 9with no apparent good effect, my therapist increased the dosage from 50 mg. to 100 mg.  And still I continued to be massively depressed.

 

 

Slowly, other symptoms began to emerge; I would have bone-chattering chills in which my hands and feet froze, to hot flashes that drenched me in waves of perspiration, with sweat soaking though all of my clothes, and bed linens.

 

 

And while I almost thought it impossible, I began to have whole body pain that eclipsed even my usual incapacitating agony.

Before I had a pain that often made me cry.

Now, I had all-over body pains that caused me to become afraid.

Imagine, if you will, having strapped to one’s back, a tortoise shell lined with jagged and rusty knives.

 

 

Of, of an abdomen that hurt from hip to hip.

 

This was a new level of pain that—finally—I could not bear.  I over-took my pain medications, and—indeed—anything that might promise some analgesic relief: ibuprophen, tramadol, xanaflex…whatever I could lay my shaking hands to.

 

Despite taking melatonin, Benadryl, and two sleeping pills, my sleep was broken up in passages lasting only minutes long.  I had every nightmare I thought imaginable, and I was exhausted all of the time, wanting only to ever stay in bed.

 

My gums and teeth become so sore that chewing induced pain.  Even the taste of food lost its flavor, and I became quite indifferent to meals.

Were it not for my again kind neighbor bring a little supper to me (for which I am still grateful!), I would have lost more weight than I suppose I did.

 

 

Gradually I weakened, and everything just seemed too, too much to do.

 

 

Then…the cognitive problems began.

 

I lost words; their spellings and meanings.  My short-term memory dropped out from under me, and in a conversation with my cousin—for example—he would have completed his third or fourth sentence before I could remember the vague contents of sentence one.

I would enter a room looking for something; but by the time I had crossed the threshold, I would forget why I was there.

Granted, some of these things may be silly, but when profound, are most frightening.

 

 

Actually, it was those intolerable hot flashes that provided an answer.

Surely, I thought, this sound almost exactly like ‘menopause’, and so, I requested information on male, testosterone depletion.

 

 

 

When I read it, I was flabbergasted, as I met almost every single sign of testosterone depletion.

 

When I asked my Primary to have the assay done, she told me to not expect too much, but that something else was causing my distress.

 

The results (when they finally came in) were startling; for males ages 45-60, the ‘normal’ scale of the hormone was 380-1,000.  Mine was 27.  Which meant that for some time, my body had been making no free testosterone.

Thankfully my Primary is quick to act, and for the past, two weeks, I have been taking testosterone replacement therapy every morning, at about the same time each morning (which is important). My therapy consists of a transdermal gel I apply to both shoulders and upper arms.

It has to be rubbed in until it is dry.  Then one should wash one’s hands as the transdermal gel will seep-through the skin on the hands.

I then don a clean T-shirt with short sleeves to cover the applied area.  Ostensibly, this is to keep it from exposure to sun, and other elements.

 

And while my Primary said that I should notice a positive effect within a month, I noticed a change in my pain level after the very first application; as a caveat, some of this pain relief might be also attributed to wishful thinking, or, to a placebo effect.

 

Frankly, my dearest friends, I don’t care.  Considering the pain that I am in, if standing on my head for ten minutes a day would help, I’d be trying to stand on my head for twenty minutes every day.

Yet, I do believe that it is the replacement gel that has caused me to feel a great deal better.

 

In males, here are some of the sings of Testosterone deficiency:

1. Extreme chills, followed by hot flashes that soak one in sweat.
2. Appetite loss
3. Alteration in food taste.
4. Pain in gums and teeth.
5. Marked increase in all over body pain and discomfort.
6. Inability to sleep, or to stay asleep.
7. Mental cloudiness; memory loss.
8. Mood swings
9. Increased abdominal fat, or fat in male breast tissues (gynomasty) Also, a subsequent increase in the chance of male breast cancer.
10. Loss of muscle strength and muscular tissue loss.
11. Decreased bone density that can lead to osteoporosis, broken bones, or later rheumatoid arthritis.
12. Loss of sexual interest or desire.
13. A possible decrease in genital size.

 

While some Testosterone loss is normal in aging males, a value as low as mine is critically symptomatic.

 

 

If you are a male reader, or have males in your lives who are 45 years old or older, and who evidence ANY of these warning symptoms, I urge you to please, please have the Testosterone Assay done.  The replacement therapy—while it can be costly, depending upon one’s insurance—works well, and has helped me to feel much, much better, and to develop new interests such as container gardening for my back deck!

 

As I hope to continue to feel better (and my compute allows it!), I want to resume posting diary entries here in hopes of reading your ever kind and thoughtful comments.

 

Please know—despite my absence—that I do think of you often, and that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’

“A Slow Return From The Edge Of The Earth”

 

 

01/25/14

 

To my kind and dearest friends, and always loyal readers,

 

This is one of the most difficult entries that I have ever made, but I solemnly promised that I would never lie to you, nor bend the truth to suit my own agendas.

 

But the elusiveness of truth, and of warranted trust are never easy to establish, but can be readily destroyed by even one, ill-composed remark.

 

And so I ask—please—for your most kind forgiveness, and my heart of hearts silently hopes to be welcomed back once again, and to merit your most thoughtful comments below.

 

‘Andropause: A Terrible And Terrifying Reality”

 

Shortly after my last MDJ diary post, November 4^th of last year, I found myself becoming more detached, more self-isolative, and mentally and physically withdrawing from the coming holidays, which rushed—inexorably—ever closer, like trains cars hooked-together, but of a train that was completely out of control. And I felt as if I had been tied-down to the tracks, unable to escape, able only to hear that far-off whistle, and feel the ever so gentle rumbling of the rails as the train approached and gathered speed.

 

For probably the last twenty-one years, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s and…,my birthday had long ceased to have much meaning for me other than I knew that on those days, the banks would be closed, and no mail delivered.

 

There was my father’s lingering illness and pain, and then my mother’s, and the holidays seemed—in particular—to be marked by illness, pain, disaster, embarrassment, loss of dignity and an overwhelming sadness

 

In those days—when I was still employed—I would give the holiday, ‘eves’, to this of that coworker who had children, and, with the, could still capture some of the magic (amid the mayhem of Black Friday shopping) with their young families.

 

With Daisy gone, I was fully resigned to spend the holidays by myself in perhaps a quiet, and reflective meditation regarding the unpredictable vagaries of ‘Life’.

 

 

As is my habit, my sense of plangent loneliness, and, ‘alone-ness’ (there is a difference) caused me to become even more depressed, and in often unutterable pain that made me cry.

 

I now have ‘new’ neighbors across the street for me who have been inordinately kind and considerate of me.

It was they who invited me over to their house for Thanksgiving Day lunch.

And for once, I put on my best clothes, and with cane and oxygen, was helped across the street.

 

Though my agoraphobia prevented me from dawdling-away the afternoon, still, I viewed it as nothing less than miracle.

 

 

It was just before this time, that my cousin finally was able to figure out that Microsoft had sent an update that completely blocked my access to my diary at MDJ, and—in fact—treated the site as spam, or a ‘pop up’, ot be blocked.

So it will be interesting to see whether I can somehow slip this diary entry in.

 

 

My therapist—meanwhile—had switched my antidepressant medication from Cymbalta to Pristiq (a new ‘kid’ on the market; one that augured better results, with little side effects).

But, after taking it for a month 9with no apparent good effect, my therapist increased the dosage from 50 mg. to 100 mg.  And still I continued to be massively depressed.

 

 

Slowly, other symptoms began to emerge; I would have bone-chattering chills in which my hands and feet froze, to hot flashes that drenched me in waves of perspiration, with sweat soaking though all of my clothes, and bed linens.

 

 

And while I almost thought it impossible, I began to have whole body pain that eclipsed even my usual incapacitating agony.

Before I had a pain that often made me cry.

Now, I had all-over body pains that caused me to become afraid.

Imagine, if you will, having strapped to one’s back, a tortoise shell lined with jagged and rusty knives.

 

 

Of, of an abdomen that hurt from hip to hip.

 

This was a new level of pain that—finally—I could not bear.  I over-took my pain medications, and—indeed—anything that might promise some analgesic relief: ibuprophen, tramadol, xanaflex…whatever I could lay my shaking hands to.

 

Despite taking melatonin, Benadryl, and two sleeping pills, my sleep was broken up in passages lasting only minutes long.  I had every nightmare I thought imaginable, and I was exhausted all of the time, wanting only to ever stay in bed.

 

My gums and teeth become so sore that chewing induced pain.  Even the taste of food lost its flavor, and I became quite indifferent to meals.

Were it not for my again kind neighbor bring a little supper to me (for which I am still grateful!), I would have lost more weight than I suppose I did.

 

 

Gradually I weakened, and everything just seemed too, too much to do.

 

 

Then…the cognitive problems began.

 

I lost words; their spellings and meanings.  My short-term memory dropped out from under me, and in a conversation with my cousin—for example—he would have completed his third or fourth sentence before I could remember the vague contents of sentence one.

I would enter a room looking for something; but by the time I had crossed the threshold, I would forget why I was there.

Granted, some of these things may be silly, but when profound, are most frightening.

 

 

Actually, it was those intolerable hot flashes that provided an answer.

Surely, I thought, this sound almost exactly like ‘menopause’, and so, I requested information on male, testosterone depletion.

 

 

 

When I read it, I was flabbergasted, as I met almost every single sign of testosterone depletion.

 

When I asked my Primary to have the assay done, she told me to not expect too much, but that something else was causing my distress.

 

The results (when they finally came in) were startling; for males ages 45-60, the ‘normal’ scale of the hormone was 380-1,000.  Mine was 27.  Which meant that for some time, my body had been making no free testosterone.

Thankfully my Primary is quick to act, and for the past, two weeks, I have been taking testosterone replacement therapy every morning, at about the same time each morning (which is important). My therapy consists of a transdermal gel I apply to both shoulders and upper arms.

It has to be rubbed in until it is dry.  Then one should wash one’s hands as the transdermal gel will seep-through the skin on the hands.

I then don a clean T-shirt with short sleeves to cover the applied area.  Ostensibly, this is to keep it from exposure to sun, and other elements.

 

And while my Primary said that I should notice a positive effect within a month, I noticed a change in my pain level after the very first application; as a caveat, some of this pain relief might be also attributed to wishful thinking, or, to a placebo effect.

 

Frankly, my dearest friends, I don’t care.  Considering the pain that I am in, if standing on my head for ten minutes a day would help, I’d be trying to stand on my head for twenty minutes every day.

Yet, I do believe that it is the replacement gel that has caused me to feel a great deal better.

 

In males, here are some of the sings of Testosterone deficiency:

1. Extreme chills, followed by hot flashes that soak one in sweat.
2. Appetite loss
3. Alteration in food taste.
4. Pain in gums and teeth.
5. Marked increase in all over body pain and discomfort.
6. Inability to sleep, or to stay asleep.
7. Mental cloudiness; memory loss.
8. Mood swings
9. Increased abdominal fat, or fat in male breast tissues (gynomasty) Also, a subsequent increase in the chance of male breast cancer.
10. Loss of muscle strength and muscular tissue loss.
11. Decreased bone density that can lead to osteoporosis, broken bones, or later rheumatoid arthritis.
12. Loss of sexual interest or desire.
13. A possible decrease in genital size.

 

While some Testosterone loss is normal in aging males, a value as low as mine is critically symptomatic.

 

 

If you are a male reader, or have males in your lives who are 45 years old or older, and who evidence ANY of these warning symptoms, I urge you to please, please have the Testosterone Assay done.  The replacement therapy—while it can be costly, depending upon one’s insurance—works well, and has helped me to feel much, much better, and to develop new interests such as container gardening for my back deck!

 

As I hope to continue to feel better (and my compute allows it!), I want to resume posting diary entries here in hopes of reading your ever kind and thoughtful comments.

 

Please know—despite my absence—that I do think of you often, and that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’

“A Slow Return From The Edge Of The Earth”

 

 

01/25/14

 

To my kind and dearest friends, and always loyal readers,

 

This is one of the most difficult entries that I have ever made, but I solemnly promised that I would never lie to you, nor bend the truth to suit my own agendas.

 

But the elusiveness of truth, and of warranted trust are never easy to establish, but can be readily destroyed by even one, ill-composed remark.

 

And so I ask—please—for your most kind forgiveness, and my heart of hearts silently hopes to be welcomed back once again, and to merit your most thoughtful comments below.

 

‘Andropause: A Terrible And Terrifying Reality”

 

Shortly after my last MDJ diary post, November 4^th of last year, I found myself becoming more detached, more self-isolative, and mentally and physically withdrawing from the coming holidays, which rushed—inexorably—ever closer, like trains cars hooked-together, but of a train that was completely out of control. And I felt as if I had been tied-down to the tracks, unable to escape, able only to hear that far-off whistle, and feel the ever so gentle rumbling of the rails as the train approached and gathered speed.

 

For probably the last twenty-one years, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s and…,my birthday had long ceased to have much meaning for me other than I knew that on those days, the banks would be closed, and no mail delivered.

 

There was my father’s lingering illness and pain, and then my mother’s, and the holidays seemed—in particular—to be marked by illness, pain, disaster, embarrassment, loss of dignity and an overwhelming sadness

 

In those days—when I was still employed—I would give the holiday, ‘eves’, to this of that coworker who had children, and, with the, could still capture some of the magic (amid the mayhem of Black Friday shopping) with their young families.

 

With Daisy gone, I was fully resigned to spend the holidays by myself in perhaps a quiet, and reflective meditation regarding the unpredictable vagaries of ‘Life’.

 

 

As is my habit, my sense of plangent loneliness, and, ‘alone-ness’ (there is a difference) caused me to become even more depressed, and in often unutterable pain that made me cry.

 

I now have ‘new’ neighbors across the street for me who have been inordinately kind and considerate of me.

It was they who invited me over to their house for Thanksgiving Day lunch.

And for once, I put on my best clothes, and with cane and oxygen, was helped across the street.

 

Though my agoraphobia prevented me from dawdling-away the afternoon, still, I viewed it as nothing less than miracle.

 

 

It was just before this time, that my cousin finally was able to figure out that Microsoft had sent an update that completely blocked my access to my diary at MDJ, and—in fact—treated the site as spam, or a ‘pop up’, ot be blocked.

So it will be interesting to see whether I can somehow slip this diary entry in.

 

 

My therapist—meanwhile—had switched my antidepressant medication from Cymbalta to Pristiq (a new ‘kid’ on the market; one that augured better results, with little side effects).

But, after taking it for a month 9with no apparent good effect, my therapist increased the dosage from 50 mg. to 100 mg.  And still I continued to be massively depressed.

 

 

Slowly, other symptoms began to emerge; I would have bone-chattering chills in which my hands and feet froze, to hot flashes that drenched me in waves of perspiration, with sweat soaking though all of my clothes, and bed linens.

 

 

And while I almost thought it impossible, I began to have whole body pain that eclipsed even my usual incapacitating agony.

Before I had a pain that often made me cry.

Now, I had all-over body pains that caused me to become afraid.

Imagine, if you will, having strapped to one’s back, a tortoise shell lined with jagged and rusty knives.

 

 

Of, of an abdomen that hurt from hip to hip.

 

This was a new level of pain that—finally—I could not bear.  I over-took my pain medications, and—indeed—anything that might promise some analgesic relief: ibuprophen, tramadol, xanaflex…whatever I could lay my shaking hands to.

 

Despite taking melatonin, Benadryl, and two sleeping pills, my sleep was broken up in passages lasting only minutes long.  I had every nightmare I thought imaginable, and I was exhausted all of the time, wanting only to ever stay in bed.

 

My gums and teeth become so sore that chewing induced pain.  Even the taste of food lost its flavor, and I became quite indifferent to meals.

Were it not for my again kind neighbor bring a little supper to me (for which I am still grateful!), I would have lost more weight than I suppose I did.

 

 

Gradually I weakened, and everything just seemed too, too much to do.

 

 

Then…the cognitive problems began.

 

I lost words; their spellings and meanings.  My short-term memory dropped out from under me, and in a conversation with my cousin—for example—he would have completed his third or fourth sentence before I could remember the vague contents of sentence one.

I would enter a room looking for something; but by the time I had crossed the threshold, I would forget why I was there.

Granted, some of these things may be silly, but when profound, are most frightening.

 

 

Actually, it was those intolerable hot flashes that provided an answer.

Surely, I thought, this sound almost exactly like ‘menopause’, and so, I requested information on male, testosterone depletion.

 

 

 

When I read it, I was flabbergasted, as I met almost every single sign of testosterone depletion.

 

When I asked my Primary to have the assay done, she told me to not expect too much, but that something else was causing my distress.

 

The results (when they finally came in) were startling; for males ages 45-60, the ‘normal’ scale of the hormone was 380-1,000.  Mine was 27.  Which meant that for some time, my body had been making no free testosterone.

Thankfully my Primary is quick to act, and for the past, two weeks, I have been taking testosterone replacement therapy every morning, at about the same time each morning (which is important). My therapy consists of a transdermal gel I apply to both shoulders and upper arms.

It has to be rubbed in until it is dry.  Then one should wash one’s hands as the transdermal gel will seep-through the skin on the hands.

I then don a clean T-shirt with short sleeves to cover the applied area.  Ostensibly, this is to keep it from exposure to sun, and other elements.

 

And while my Primary said that I should notice a positive effect within a month, I noticed a change in my pain level after the very first application; as a caveat, some of this pain relief might be also attributed to wishful thinking, or, to a placebo effect.

 

Frankly, my dearest friends, I don’t care.  Considering the pain that I am in, if standing on my head for ten minutes a day would help, I’d be trying to stand on my head for twenty minutes every day.

Yet, I do believe that it is the replacement gel that has caused me to feel a great deal better.

 

In males, here are some of the sings of Testosterone deficiency:

1. Extreme chills, followed by hot flashes that soak one in sweat.
2. Appetite loss
3. Alteration in food taste.
4. Pain in gums and teeth.
5. Marked increase in all over body pain and discomfort.
6. Inability to sleep, or to stay asleep.
7. Mental cloudiness; memory loss.
8. Mood swings
9. Increased abdominal fat, or fat in male breast tissues (gynomasty) Also, a subsequent increase in the chance of male breast cancer.
10. Loss of muscle strength and muscular tissue loss.
11. Decreased bone density that can lead to osteoporosis, broken bones, or later rheumatoid arthritis.
12. Loss of sexual interest or desire.
13. A possible decrease in genital size.

 

While some Testosterone loss is normal in aging males, a value as low as mine is critically symptomatic.

 

 

If you are a male reader, or have males in your lives who are 45 years old or older, and who evidence ANY of these warning symptoms, I urge you to please, please have the Testosterone Assay done.  The replacement therapy—while it can be costly, depending upon one’s insurance—works well, and has helped me to feel much, much better, and to develop new interests such as container gardening for my back deck!

 

As I hope to continue to feel better (and my compute allows it!), I want to resume posting diary entries here in hopes of reading your ever kind and thoughtful comments.

 

Please know—despite my absence—that I do think of you often, and that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’

 

”An Innocence Of Days: A Fibro-Flare”

10/04/13

 

 

To my wonderfully dear friends, and…ever-kind and loyal readers,

 

 

 

 

To you, my dear friends, companions in this Journey we all take; foregathered and assembled, pledged in concert to fight the evilness of our illnesses, and to all whose most loyal, and encouraging readership ever gladdens me.  I owe to you so much; for comforting me; for listening to my oft repeated whining.

 

For your soft, and gentle understanding I could--in truth--find NO where else; or to such complete and ready acceptance of me without pause, nor censure, nor complaint, my offered thanks and gratitude seems not enough.

 

 

Especially in those, ‘awful', hours, which would want to sweep away my mind and soul.

 

Perhaps as limned in my portrait of my pain, along with yours, I've found a special place for you within my heart. There, I would ever hope to keep you safe, and far-away from any pain, or lasting distress or despair.

 

I think so often of you, my dear friends, and wish should I control all base elements, and existence rife with turmoil, days of misery times infinity; of honest tears shed in that recoil from an horror of too--routine agony; of useless, seeming endless nights of broken rest, denying any hope of restoration for the next day.

 

   
I know that look of dumbstruck pain; of red-rimmed eyes; of avoiding any mirror-glass to avoid that terror'd view of suffering, without apparent end, nor any hope of cure; that makes the passing clock a hated judge, the verdict: life-long pain.

 

And yet, you have named me a friend, and so, as such, I would wish you all blessed respite, and a joyed-return to ‘normalness', to be as others: ever unaffected, ever unafraid.

 

 

 

 “An Innocent Of Days; A ‘Fibro Flare’...”

 

I

 

An innocent of days, a ‘fibro flare' collided with some sudden fury, everywhere was-once again-despoiled as soon the pain destroyed the softness of the day, without mind, or care.

 

II

 

The promised, warming sunshine soon clouded with an haze, so that every, blessed hour was made a bright mockery in varied, tortured ways excised what gladness I did have, and made me frail, uncaring, and afraid.

 

III

 

While gentle breezes passed my opened door; they tantalized a body wracked by chills, ‘mid rampant headache trembled me, so that I must beware my coffee lest it spills.

 

IV

 

I did not, could not play with my happy pet, now long deceased; and yet, I think she knew my suffering made me cold, and, she knew these ‘fibro flares' often made me cry. She knew, even as I—in time—knew her aged pain. I feel SO old

 

V

 

with all my body's cells as if on fire, with blurry eyes that cannot see the way. These greater ‘fibro' pains in all its hellishness conspire to ruin yet another gilded, precious day:

 

VI

 

A gift from God, although I fought for it, but lost. Two, hand-fulls of pills I offered it; could off ‘ring more, pay dreaded, ‘fibro's' cost? Must I--in grief and sorrow--finally admit?,

 

VII

 

That ‘fibro flares' will always, always win, to trump another blissful afternoon; in searching, praying find no relief within. It sacrificed my happiness, my sense of peace, and soon

 

VIII

 

A nap was needed, and into a colder bed I crawled, grateful for some little, hoped for sleep. The coming night is--too soon--upon us, as now, instead, the house lamps are lit bright, their welcome keep.

 

IX

 

Oh! But could I tear this anguished pain from me and from my all my friends, for I would wish them some ‘pain-free', and peaceful place: where reigns a joyous ‘normalcy'; to triumph over ‘fibro flare': the agony that has NO face.

 

End

 

Oh, my dearest, precious friends, please know that I think of you so very often, and that I love you dearly,

 

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"What Should Our Dreams--To Us--Convey"

 

 

 

 

 

“What Should Our Dreams--To Us--Convey”

10/29/13

 

To my always dear and valued friends, and ever kind, and loyal readers,

 

 

It is now near 11:49 a.m. on an otherwise quiet and unremarkable Tuesday. 

 

As usual, I woke to pain, and a general dull-wittedness.  I just want a quiet, and ordinary day, relatively free from, ‘boojums’, or, ‘whammies’. And—of course—a day without bills in the mail would be nice, too!

 

 In my thoughts of you, my dearest friends, and always loyal readers, that I wish to spend (if you will but allow) with you, some thought out reverie, or perhaps some little bit of quiet news.

 

Presently I hurt with the lingering shadows of, ‘global (nowhere, and yet, everywhere) pain’ that clouds my thoughts, and a bad left eye that obscures my computer screen, so that I must view my tired and jaded world with but one eye, and compromised sight; believe me, it is sufficient to my needs, as who needs 20/20 vision to feel such pain, and cry.

 

Gamely, I try with many cigarettes and coffee to ignore it full, though--as an afterthought--some lingering distress remains.

 

All of us need our sleep, especially those of us who daily suffer from pain, mental distress, depression or despair.  We need to retire to our beds at night, finding first that singularly comfortable spot among the cool linens and covers.

 

Gradually (it is hoped), we relax, and as our sleep deepens, we enter that phase of sleep from which dreams arise.

 

Too often—though—these, ‘dreams’, are troublesome, annoying, scary or terrifying.  It seems quite unfair, after a day of hurting, our dreams should lead us into Hell’s playpen!

 

These awful, and horrible dreams cause us to startle-awake, to get up for a drink of water while the, ‘nerves’, settle down.  And then, return to bed to begin the cycle anew.

 

Personally, I don’t seem to have any, ‘control’, over my dreams; while I have heard of, ‘lucid’, dreaming, during which time the person sleeping can control the content, direction, and implied meanings of their dreams.

 

But to all my dear friends whom I freely love, and who never stray far from my heart of hearts,   this, perhaps, explains why I, in some quiet poetic frame, might ever hope to move you to a place far from your pains.

 

 

 

 

 “What Should Our Dreams, To Us, Convey...?”

 

I

 

What should our dreams, to us, convey...? Something no worse
than sight of dewy petals, as from some rosebud burst;
or, some happy, half-remembered bit of childhood verse.
Or like some wind-up circus where-at first-
is seen a pretty lady on a horse, while acrobats and painted clowns rehearse.
Of princely hoards of candies, rare, surrounded with sufficient icy lemonade to quench one's thirst.

 

II

 

Conveyed should be the views of fabled past
Where dashing, charging knights slay all monstrous dragons to the last;
of banquets in a castle hall, where noble knights and princesses dance a slow pavane ‘neath roped, candled chandeliers that hang bright overhead, each tied, held fast;
where heavy, ancient, oakened doors creek on ironed hasp.

The tales of Quest, and rightfully boastful songs by morning's awakening, too quickly fade and pass.

 

III

 

Our dreams should reveal the wayward path to a secret garden shown;
with scent of brilliant flowers all unknown,
to mingle with the gentle smell of grass new mown.
A quiet place to which the rancors of a pained, and half-resented day have flown.
A most delightful place, a tonic for all previous sins; a chance to redeem, and to atone.
And...thus forgived, to lie in this magic place, alone.

 

IV

 

This gardened spot should with its sheer evanescence sway.
All through the night, all pain forgot, as are the trials of a pain-filled day.
Those mossed, and twisting paths would surly find a way
To some safe pace, where even tired adults can play
To their delight, with unicorns, and other such-like mythic creatures stay;
and, all can as joyous, happy dance through a bright, and cloudless day.

 

V

 

Our dreams should be as sacred as an hymn
heard in some vast, and cloistered stained-glassed cathedral, when
choruses of angels lift up their voices, with a merciful and joyous theme within,
that would enthrall a tired, and weary soul, and then
lift it as well to such an holy place, to which a loving God would descend,
to offer soothing, healing touch, and to all would beckon…” Enter In.”

 

VI

 

Our dreams thus revealed, should in a voice...a quiet sigh
explain to all who walk but painfully, while though, in shuttered dreams can fly!!!
And rise like gilded birds, who, soaring ever high
Can hardly see the earth, below, nor indeed anything beneath a brighted sky;
that we--perhaps--could do all things, if only we but try;
could we but overcome our foes, our fears, our pains that, daily, would confront us with their dissembling lies?

 

VII

 

Our fever'd dreams should nightly take us to a place wherein all past and present ailments race;
far flung from despairing or repressed horror to that space
that knows no limit, off'ring cure to that disease which ‘has no face.'
Instead, forgive us, and the mockery of those who cannot understand our souls is banished, ‘till just a trace
of it remains. And we awake, thus chastened, with drying tears upon our face.

 

VII

 

Must we awake, instead, garlanded with pain, despair, and longing full arrayed? For we, too, were young once, and fearless, thinking ourselves invulnerable, unafraid;
ignoring future ills and sorrows as they came, to leave us reeling and dismayed?
In base reality, we now awake to find, again, our faces lined with age, with load of care displayed;
Again, the daily loneliness, and dreadful, whoresome pain, is trotted out upon the stage: a one-act scene of misery and deprivation played;
when, in some peaceful, guarded, healing dream, ALL tortures can be waived.

 

End

 

But, what are the contents of your dreams, my friends?  Are they repetitive, or seem to follow a particular theme?  Do your dreams ever frighten you, sufficiently to drive you out of bed to some place of greater, or more reassuringly, ‘safe’, part of the house?  Or…can you—through, ‘lucid’, dreaming control the content and subject matter of your dreams.  Please reply in the, ‘comment section’, below. Thank you!

 

Oh, my very, very dearest friends, I wish for you no pain, or, very much-lessened pain.

Quiet, peaceful days.  Wonderful days. Days of financial sufficiency, free from want or care.

Days of wistful recollections; of letting soft memories play-about the mind.  Days of happiness, and of being valued and loved.

I wish for you pleasant evenings, free from the shackles of pain or despairing; a gradual and natural tiredness, and of retiring to comfortably soft beds, there, as my dear, late father used to say:

“Kept safe in the arms of Morpheus”, the ancient Greek God of dreams.

And there, to seek true rest, restorative and blissful until morning’s first light.

 

Please, please know that I think of you so very often, and that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc'/Charles