"YOU Are The Wonder, YOU Are The Light !"

 

 

“YOU Are The Wonder, YOU Are The Light !”

 

 

05/09/13

 

 

 

To my dearest and ever supportive friends, and constant loyal readers,

 

 

Upon due consideration, I found that the majority of my diary entries were nothing more-really—than an over-wrought mosaic of monstrous  pain, loneliness, and despair, disappointments in life,  Often I have written of need, of isolation, and the mindless subjugation of both mind and body by unending illness seemingly immune to lashers of medication.

 

Frequently, I have touched-upon the vagaries of, mind fog’, panic, depression combined with severe agoraphobia has—for the most part—caused me to feel trapped; a prisoner within my own home.

 

Then there are the nightmare, sleepless nights, bone-weary fatigue and the complete lack of energy or volition  that make the nights seem cold and long, and the days to be empty even of promise.

 

When I now speak of Daisy, it is with a palpable sense of grief and impending loss; I do try to keep her as comfortable and as pain-free as possible.  And—as you well know by now—she has been my faithful and loving companion for over thirteen years.

 

My precious friends, I have often written about financial insufficiency, of doubt, and of religious uncertainty.

 

All the while—dear friends—I realize that you suffer too; that your lives are full of pain and despair, fully as great, or greater than my own.

 

You, too, have been further hurt by the inconstancy of family members and friends; of not being understood, nor loved for who you are.

 

Doubtlessly, you have struggled-through my uncertain poetry or tortured prose.

 

Yet—my very special friends—you have remained so wonderfully supportive, understanding, and kind.  Forgiving too, especially when I should need that above all.

 

For all these things, and for so very much more, I can never—in near-full measure—convey to you my most grateful thanks.

 

I must confess that few things bring me any sort of happiness, something special and real that genuinely makes my heart happy.

 

My diary entries help me to establish a voice so difficult to find and sustain; your friendship, and your patience in reading them and so kindly commenting on them helps me to find some sense of purpose.

 

I cannot tell you how very much this means to me.

 

On occasion, I go back to read entries (and their attending comments) I submitted months and months ago to try to find some continuity and meaning.

 

And—in reading your most thoughtful comments, particularly if you may have found something of use, or of help therein—that—too—makes my heart so very happy.

 

I am so grateful to you for your abiding friendship, and for your understanding, care and concern.

 

And…whenever you may have a good day, or are in much lessened pain, or have accomplished something by way of personal triumph, my heart sings with quiet joy!

 

You cannot imagine just how important and wonderful you are to me, and I sincerely apologize that I do not thank you enough.

 

I would—therefore—hope to put before you a poem written just for you and dedicated to you only which—in its interpretation may engender some kindred sense of delight which I hope may make your heart happy too!

 

You occupy a pace of refuge within my heart.

For all these things and for so very much more…I thank you.

 

 

 

“YOU Are The Wonder, YOU Are The Light !”

 

 

 

You are the wonder, you are the light

that chases the gloom of each lonely night.

 

 

You are the matches that light as they burn.

You are the porch light that waits my return.

 

 

You are the beacon that shines through a storm.

You are a fireplace, welcoming, warm.

 

 

You are the flashlight that lights up the dark,

Or, like the glow from a fireflies’ spark.

 

 

You are the nightlight, whose glow reassures

that no, dreaded nightmare will ever endure.

 

 

You are the neon that lights up a sign;

or lights up a clock, to tell me the time.

 

 

You are the streetlights that brighten the alleys.

You are the traffic light, when traffic rallies.

 

 

You are the window lamp, seen through a curtain; YOU light the pathway, lest I fall, for certain.

 

 

You are the sunrise that heralds the day.

You are the candle we light when we pray.

 

 

Yours is the beam that shines through the night.

Yes…YOU are the wonder, YOU are the light.

 

 

End

 

 

 

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

 

 

‘Zahc’

 

“Hurting...Hopeless…Helpless…Hollow”

 

 

 

05/03/13

 

 

As always to my very friends and constant, patient loyal readers,

 

 

 

 

I

 

 

Hurting…Hopeless…Helpless…Hollow.

Illness adds to constant pain uncaring,

until the soul cries out past all despairing.

Suspicious of the many pills that I must swallow

waiting—always waiting—for some benefit to follow.

 

 

 

II

 

 

 

Wanting...Won’dring...Worried...Waiting

for a medication that will dry my tears,

calm a fevered mind and soothe all fevered fears;

ever hoping against hope that illnesses and searing pain will be soon abating.

 

 

 

III

 

 

Sleepless…Sweating…Suff’ring…Shamed.

Too familiar is that old man’s sweated smell

that makes my clothes and linens stink as well.

I no longer know what should be blamed;

Some lapse of character—perhaps--or the savaging of agonies, untamed?

 

 

 

 

IV

 

 

Silence…Sleepless…Saddened…Stressed.

My poor, poor Daisy’s sick as well, and suffers too.

Exhausted, neither of us know what to do.

In pain and chills, I hardly have the strength now just to shower, and to get dressed.

I pray—Oh Lord—to heal us all, and grant us rest.

 

 

V

 

 

Pardon…Prayers…Petitioned…Peace,

oh Lord, for dreaded pain, and panic’s end.

Please send Your blessed angels to attend;

protect, defend, and ever grant us ease.

Oh please oh Lord let joy and happiness in full return,

I pray make all pain and illness cease.

 

 

 

End

 

 

Please know, my very precious friends that I think of you so very often, and that your pain and distress and sense of loss truly hurts my heart.

Conversely, whenever you may have a good day, are in lessened or no pain, I welcome it with gladness.

Further, I wish for you safety, security, and that you need never know want, and can better enjoy life.

I wish so much for you easy, and untroubled days, peaceful afternoons, and nights of blissful and restorative sleep.

Most of all, my dearest friends, I wish you be in full surrounded by family, friends (and pets!), who love you for the amazing and special person that you are (and…have always been!)

And please always know that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’

"Nocturnal,'Omissions', And Other Ironies"

 

“Nocturnal Omissions And Other Ironies”

 

 

 

03/30/13

 

 

 

As always to my very, very dearest friends, and constant, loyal readers,

 

Beginning some three years ago, I found myself most willingly giving up any possible hope of maintaining any semblance of a regular schedule.

 

This did not happen overnight, but by hours lost, confused, or mislaid here and there, and, why not?

 

Neither my father nor my mother are still alive to care for.  In becoming disabled, I no longer had a job, nor any need to keep, ‘business’, hours. 

 

When I could no longer drive, and gave up my car, daytime and nighttime hours gradually blurred into one.  With the exception—still—of my having to keep doctor’s appointments (which I must mark upon my calendar lest I forget them!), what remaining, ‘schedule’, I had—in dosing times for my medications—slipped into a kind of twenty-four hour/seven day existence.

 

I ate when I could no longer ignore the distraction of hunger; I went to the bathroom whenever I felt compelled to do so.  Of course, I do not smoke in bed, but do anytime I am awake and roaming the house.

 

Yes, I tried very hard, to retain a, ‘sleep-at-night’, pattern, as I did not want to drift-into sleeping all the day long, and then lying in bed—uselessly—sweating-through my clean pajamas, tossing and turning making a complete disarray of my bed linens.  And all the while preoccupied by silly, stupid, ranging thoughts as the hands on the clock moved as slowly as did the glaciers.

 

All this does—my dearest friends—is to make me fretful, uncomfortable, and quite unpleasant to be around.

 

During these endless, sleepless nights, I would find myself sitting out in my office chair at the kitchen counter, too fatigued to make any kind of plans, and—of course—smoking cigarette after cigarette until—finally, somewhere around 6:00 a.m., both blurry-eyed, and wuzzle-headed—I decided that the night had been killed deader-n-hell, and that I might as well make a pot of coffee or two, my face as grey as the dawn.

 

 

Living alone—as I do—doesn’t help, either, as I have no one around me with regular hours to keep.

 

I try—now—to avoid taking naps altogether, lest they manage—in some way—to despoil any chance at nighttime repose.

 

 

But this has proven to be a failure as well.

 

 

March has been an awful month.  After having been wearily ill from—really—the middle of February, my Primary finally diagnosed me with chronic, bronchial pneumonia, Lupus set on overdrive, 3+pitting edema in both calves from knees to toes (imagine looking down at your legs to find your calves and feet easily three times their normal size, bright red, and with feet that look like misshapen blobs.

 

Not only is this horrifically painful in itself, but is an agony and a refusal to want to bear weight (which means I fall…once, on the second step down the back deck, which threw me into a grand arc out into the backyard, covering me with dirt and leaves).

 

I simply cannot afford to lose my ability to stand, and to walk; the consequences are absolutely unacceptable. Even if I have to crawl to a chair or table to gain my balance, ANYTHING is preferably to being placed in some shithole of a nursing home.

 

A side-effect of all the medications I must take is that they—singly, or together—have markedly altered the taste of food…there goes one pleasure left to me. I really hate having to try to cook for myself, anyway.

 

I have become too unable to withstand the pain, and so double-dose the opiates that I have, plus the ones prescribed for me by my Primary; and, is it enough?  It HAS to be enough, dearest friends.

 

Often, I have considered the awful and unrelieved symptoms of fibromyalgia, with its associated pain, and terrible vacuity and absence of contemplation, and any higher thought processes.

 

And so, this, ‘mind fog’, troubles me throughout the day, but is especially severe at night; somehow, I find the hours from 8:00p.m. to midnight are almost completely lost to me, until I can no longer recall when (or if) I have retired to bed, nor whether I have slept, until I usually find myself out in the kitchen—again—there dozing on and off until I can make myself go back to bed, or to stay awake until morning.

 

 

And my poor, poor Daisy seems to be alive at the cellular level only; I keep her medicated for pain, and—at nightfall—give her just enough tranquilizer to help her drift off into some kind of peaceful, canine realm.  Still, when I slowly, and agonizingly get down to the floor to hold her, give her, ‘little, doggie kisses’, and scratch her ears, telling her just how beautiful she is, and just how very much I love her, still, she will look up at me, and slowly wag her tail. And that—alone, my precious friends makes my heart both happy and sad.

 

We both are in some hell of a state: Daisy can no longer much control her bowels, and neither of us can without difficulty go down the steps of the deck into the yard.  I am afraid that she will fall, or that I will fall (unless I sit down upon the steps, and push-myself down, one step at a time).

 

 

And as I have mentioned so many times before, my S.S.D.I. is no longer able to take us through the month.  Have you ever had a credit card with an available balance of only $25.00 before being maxed-out?

 

 

About three weeks ago, during an appointment to see my, ‘Shrink’, even though it was still morning, I had had a shit day all the way around, was angry and frustrated, and—frankly—had had quite enough.

 

I was incautious, and let slip the, ‘S’, word (that rhymes with, ‘try-and hide’). I knew he had perked-up his ears when he asked me if I had a, ‘plan’?

 

Oops, my friends…time to backpedal like hell, for with scarce a blink of an eye—and with one, telephone call—he could have had me shipped post haste to the nearest loony bin.  Like THAT would help, sweet Jesus!

 

When I told him my, ‘plan’, was to jump out the first floor windows, only to find myself entangled and swearing into the shrubbery below, he sat back, and actually laughed, telling me it was the best joke he had heard all week.  And truth be told—my very dearest friends—it is a joke, all of it is a joke, a joke from start to finish.

 

 

No hospital on earth can mend a broken heart.

 

 

Of course we all have fantasies; that usually begin, “If I only won the Lottery…”

 

Even still, with tax-free millions at my disposal, I have never thought of being—somehow—younger, better looking, or…well.  Those are the miracles that reduce the chances of winning the Lottery to those less the toss of a coin.

 

For nothing can wash away the sorrow, refresh the tired mind, or ease-away incalculable rage.

 

 

What will take away those cold, empty, and forgotten hours from eight ‘til midnight, and—instead—restore some sense of meaning, or of purpose, or of joy?

 

 

I think that what I miss most (in its most innocent, and untroubled sense) is someone to kiss me goodnight.

 

 

 

 

Oh, my dearest, sweetest friends, and constant readers, please, please forgive me for the absence of my posts.  I think of you so very often, and wish so much for you no pain, no lasting or lingering pain, or certainly much lessened pain. 

 

I wish no never need know want, but have more than enough to enjoy what life has to offer.  I wish you freedom from despair, or loneliness; I wish you calm and pleasant days, and quiet, serene nights of blissful sleep.

 

I wish you full—surrounded by family members, dearest friends (and, pets, too!), who love you for the most wonderful person you are!

 

And most of all, I wish you all the joy and happiness that your kind, and thoughtful hearts can hold!

 

Please know that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"Its Two: Three-Four A.M...."

“Its Two: Three-Four A.M….”

 

 

03/10/13

 

 

To my very, dearest friends, and constant readers here at MDJunction,

 

 

 

 

I

 

 

 

“Its two: three-four a.m., and I could use a friend

to—perhaps—sit quiet with me here

until my shaking stops, and all of my most recent nightmares end;

and pause, to wipe-away a tear.

Or, was it just a leg cramp and a migraine that drove me out of bed

to find my way out to my kitchen chair, instead?

For I could use a kind, devoted friend to help calm every fear

until, whatever bleak angels I could summon-up, attend.

 

 

 

II

 

 

 

It’s two: five-six a.m., and I could use an arm

to hold me up when I cannot find my way;

one whose steady strength would keep me safe from harm ( or, to help me don my socks to keep me warm ! ).

As untold, ‘Fibro-flare’s’ unutterable agony blurs the sight, and makes all stationary objects sway.

To help me to the bathroom down the hall,

when a tired unsteadiness might make me fall.

That arm ( and hand ) so gently touch the crying pain away

and somehow reassures from all alarm.

 

 

 

III

 

 

 

It’s four: one-eight a.m., and I could use a voice

that—patiently—would ever speak to me in quiet tones:

“Your illness never was your choice…

You have nothing to atone.”

Although its very late, and, both of us still up,

please light my trembling cigarettes, and share my mug of coffee, heated up.

“Although you may feel so lonely, yet you have never been alone.

You didn’t realize that others love you too?  For that, alone, rejoice.”

 

 

 

IV

 

 

 

It’s five: two-six a.m., and I could use a prayer;

some whispered words of hope, from an ever-gentle heart,

to cause some lasting comfort to be visited there.

Oh, kind, enduring friend, please stay with me until the dawn…its greying light impart.

The medication—by itself—can never chase away all pain, all fear.

Instead…a grateful prayer, while said with growing sigh, is answered back, that God is always near,

and that—despite my often tortured, lonely pain—He will always keep us in his loving care.

 

 

 

V

 

 

 

It’s eight: one-five, a.m., and I could use some sense of ease.

Oh, dearest friend, how can I near in full thank you for keeping quiet vigil with me, ‘til the accumulated medications take effect?

For who else would—without question—ruin their day from lack of sleep, to tend to my desires?

For your unselfish kindness in my frequent hours of need, helped keep my monsters far away; I cannot help but offer you my love, and my respect.

The house and street—less quiet now—moves into another day, the twin to all the others.

While dear Daisy sleeps most fitfully on the rug, at fourteen, she—too—has pain, not unlike my own, which—unchecked—leeches life away, and smothers.

Remorse, regret, and sorrowed pain, will repeat an infinity of times I suspect,

but in your greater good, my caring friend, please know I wish you joy, true happiness…and peace.

 

 

 

 

End

 

 

 

Please know that I think of you so very often, and that I can never thank you enough for your having befriended me.

 

And, please always know that I love you dearly!

 

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles

"A Walk Along A Mostly Silent Shore Beside An Endless Sea

“A Walk Along A Mostly Silent Shore Beside An Endless Sea”

 

‘Impressions Of An Alien Landscape’

 

 

 

03/06/13

 

 

 

To my ever-dearest friends, and always kind and steadfast readers,

 

 

 

Behind me, a length of misshapen footprints already made vague and indistinct in the wet and sinking sands that fill and empty, fill and empty with a soft and relentless tide; soon this record of my passing will be erased so that no one—save myself—will ever know that I was here.

 

 

Ahead—at an unmeasureable distance is an over-large, lambent, setting sun that dimly lights the grey green air.

 

The waves hardly make a sound; in the distance gulls and other raucous sea birds echo in the sky as they dart with no apparent plan. Theirs is a lonely sound, but then, you already knew that.

 

 

My cane, in the mire of gritty sands makes me unsteady, and I have torn my clothes…bleeding from a myriad of tiny cuts upon the sharp rocks, which glisten with a sleek blue/blackness in that fading light.

 

But, what is the purpose of this singular and sad journey? In feeling the gathering coolness into blackening sky, where only now, faint tiny stars give stark evidence of the coldness of night; my insubstantial coat ruffles as the night descends.

 

 

I am no stranger to this place where land and sea are seamlessly joined.  What is the meaning of this walking dream state?  And why must I stumble onward?

 

Too many opiates cloud the mind, and ready thought eludes my grasp.  Could this be a kind of death?  This lonely place where pain follows pain, and none are in even saddened measure relieved.

 

And yet, I feel compelled to walk on and on; I fear to hesitate.  Somehow, I know I dare not even stop an instant, for the winding gulls and sweeping sea birds fly ever just ahead. And with a great—though insincere—insistence mock me,

 

I have no compass.  No recourse but to pursue this jagged bank until I find that place where sun meets sea.  And there, find some respite, no, not respite, but a more permanent sense of peace.

 

Meanwhile, the sea offers no reassurance; who—then—will go with me?  Who will patiently guide me, and comfort me?  Who can—with greater strength--authorize my rest, and in some kindness, steady my cane?  Who will protect me from the ravening of sea birds, and relentless gulls should they obscure my path? Who will offer gifts to me of brightened coral and silvery shells?

 

 

I am so tired.  And too weary of this place; I want to lie down upon some stretch of drier sand, perhaps some guarded place among the rocks, protected from the now measurable coldness. Upon a hastily-made bed of piquant and decaying kelp, conveniently washed up upon the shore just for that purpose.

 

Who will willingly stay with me through the long night? Who will whisper to me ancient secrets that the sea—itself—keeps secret?

 

 

 

For now, an end.

 

 

 

Oh, my very, very dearest friends, even in some great distress I think of you so often, and wish for you no pain, nor sorrow, nor sense of need or want.

 

Your comfort and your happiness resound in me a consonant joy; yes…I can truthfully say that.  And further, that you need never feel alone, but are surrounded by family, true friends (and, devoted pets!) who love you and care for you!

And that you be able to enjoy the goodness of life, and—of course—I would gladly wish for you all the happiness that your kind hearts can hold!

 

 

And—as always—please know that I love you so very dearly.

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles