It wasn't my intention to write about this type of subject right off when I started my blog. Perhaps later as my blog grows I will put this all over in a section of its own with some other self-help / motivation material. In starting this blog I was thinking more about honing my satire, humor skills, but shortly thereafter I found myself reading so many blogs where people seem to be suffering from some form of anxiety, panic attacks or depression, and occasionally all three. Realizing that I had past experience along those lines I have decided to offer the story of how I fought my way back from the depths of darkness and despair back into the light of day. This continues that story from the "Learning to Shine" entries:

So I was beginning to examine my thoughts, feelings and memories very closely. What did it mean when those good memories of my life, when remembered in a focused meditative way, became there own brilliant point of focus in my life? How was I able to have these ecstatic religious experiences and yet be in a state of not really believing in anything? I continued to do my visualization experiments / exercises and to think about what I was experiencing. There was no doubt that it was having a healing effect upon me. It was giving me a angle, a lamp to help me find my way out of the cave in which I had become lost.

At this point my story needs to fast forward over a few years. Over that time I gradually healed the damage that I had done to myself and I only very infrequently experienced the hair raising panic of those flash back deja vu events. I was now married and attending Art School at the Corcoran School of Art in Washington D.C. I was finding a real focus in my artwork. Oil painting and sculpture classes filled my days. This was very enjoyable and completely engaging for me and it truly thrilled me to the bottom of my mystic soul. Ironically it was also some of the most painful work that I had ever experienced. Art was indeed a dark and powerful god.

All of these memories where bright and full of light, love and joy. I could remember them clearly. And as I did so I could again feel the love, joy and shining brilliance of those moments. Being of a philosophical inclination, I found it interesting to think about what I was feeling. What it meant to remember those feelings. Even as I was remembering moments of light, joy and love, I was actually creating new memories of joy and love. There was both the past event, and the new event of my remembering it. If anything, I found that as I focused on the details of the joy of those memories, excluding many of the details of the actual event, sometimes the new experience of the memory was even more intense and longer in duration.

At this point I was feeling somewhat stabilised, in my damaged but coping state. I found that I had to become aware of certain thoughts or feelings that might upset my equilibrium. Sometimes it would be take nothing more than noticing the sun shining on an object in a certain way, or an odd noise that would trigger a feeling of deja-vu and I would again begin to feel the hair standing up all over my body - a flashback that would trigger the panic and fear. When this would occur I would become immobile and desperately try not to lose it completely. If I could get control of my breathing it would eventually pass. Now that I had done my basic assessment of the history of my memories I also had a new tool to help me in these situations-- I could bring in a memory of light.

After I realized the value of these positive memories, I came to the conclusion that I had to willfully hold myself in these mental areas of light and joy. I understood this to be like a splint or cast on a broken limb. By holding a splint or template of joy and light over my mind I could gradually heal this negative focus of my mind. The negative experience was like a scratch in a record that held the record head skipping in the groove. By holding myself in this positive state I could heal that groove.

Now this may seem easy to say, but it did take a real effort many days to take my own advice and follow my plan. I had always been very inspired by music, but now I found that I had to keep that positive focus in my music as well. I went through my collection and found music that made me feel charged up and positive and I listened to my tapes throughout the day and night as I drove about town delivering pizza.

The other really key idea that I had at that time in regards to healing myself was in how I decided to look at other people. I don't remember where I got the idea. It probably was inspired by seeing people that really depressed me or who upset or angered me in some way. That would have put me into a real funk and so I had to find another way to deal with these situations. Somehow I came upon the thought of imagining people as very young children or babies even, whatever it took to look at them and see them in the way you would look at a baby held in it's mothers arms. It always put a warm feeling into my heart to see that basic innocence and beauty that just about everyone recognizes in a baby, but that we somehow lose along the way somewhere.

So, as I say, it wasn't easy, and it took some creativity. But, with this idea I had given myself a sort of mental game to play as I went about my days. I would drive along and look at the people walking down the street, imagining them as the innocent children, joyful beings of light. It was a secret pleasure to practice it on the scowling customer who gruffly took his pizza and maybe even forgot to tip. I didn't let it phase me, but held on to my inner joyful feeling. This was a gradual process, however, and there were many times when I would forget and lose my focus. Then I would start again and put on an uplifting tune on my stereo.

Somewhere about that time, probably soon after my return from college as I was figuring out what to do next, I dropped in to one of the catholic churches that I had attended as a child. I was what would be called a fallen catholic and I hadn't been to service for a couple of years. It was during the week and the church was open but empty. I went in and sat at one of the pews and breathed in the somber air.

As a child, my experience of church, or rather God had been a fairly mystical, personal affair. That is probably why I managed to get through the indoctrination with fairly minimal effect upon my mind - I took most of the words and talk of the catholic doctrine as so many words and talk of other people. I had my own inner experience that was much more real and which needed no explanation from other people. As I hit puberty and became enmeshed in the teenage life and mindset I had almost forgotten about this connection, which I still connected in a way with the church. I connected it with feelings of faith and belief in God. But somewhere along the way I had thrown all of that away. At that moment I don't think that I believed in anything. But as I sat there I eventually felt compelled to lower myself onto the kneeler. I clasped my hands together on the back of the pew in front of me, resting my head forward onto my hands, closing my eyes. I just knelt there quietly and was still. I remembered memories of ecstasy from my childhood. I remembered the glowing feeling of being held in a warm ball of Love and Light and I felt it again as I knelt there.

The curious thing was that it didn't matter that at that moment I didn't really believe in anything. I it almost funny to say it, but at that moment of complete religious vacuume in my life, I was having a transcendant religious experience. If it was from God, He really didn't seem to mind what I believed in. In any case, I realized that I could draw on this healing memory and feeling as I could focus my mind into it. This left me with much to think about.

Continuing from yesterday's blog entry...So there I was, hiding under the covers, teeth rattling, skin crawling, every hair on my body standing on it's very own goosebump, a psychic wreck. I was continually haunted by the thought that I would never get out of the grip of this terror. What was I going to do? What would I do if this agonizing psychic pain didn't stop? And the real heart stopper-- what if it got worse?

I had never before personally considered the possibility of suicide. But, at that moment I came face to face with the grim reality of the answer to my question. If the pain wouldn't stop, if it got worse, then I would have to end it. This realization did little to comfort me. If anything, it drove me further into the grips of the terror that held me. I felt the tug of a vortex of blackness draw me in. I had to get out. I had to get to the light.

My survival instinct inspired, I abruptly pulled the sheets off of myself. I tried not to notice what was at that moment a sickening intensity of colors, the hollow tin-like quality of the sounds of the world around me. I scrambled through my apartment outside onto the deck of the dormitory apartment building where I was living at the university. The mid-day sun of spring shone down on me in all of it's intensity. I latched onto the railing of deck with the intensity of a drowning person scrabbling for a life buoy. I was terrified that some impulse within me might overwhelm my resistance to the pain, and I would cast myself headlong over the edge. I closed my eyes and let the warmth of the sun engulf me. The red intensity of the light easily overcame the thin layer of my eyelids. I breathed in an out and let the sun hold me, and gradually the terror left me.

Slowly I opened my eyes. I was still feeling very badly, but for the moment I was coping. I had to get out of there, classes or exams be damned. I had to get back home to my close friends, to a real place of comfort. I had to regroup and nurse my wounds and assess the dammage done.

I don't really remember packing my things into my VW bug. I think I threw everything that I could into a huge army duffle bag, got in my car and drove straight to a good friends apartment in my hometown, which luckily was only a bit over two hours away. My friend who had recently married his highschool sweetheart took me in and let me sleep on his couch. And I slept. I slept. And I slept some more, trying to put as much distance as I could between myself and that terror. Finally I resolved into a compact state of instability. That is I was like an old barn that is ready to collapse, and yet I was still standing. I was able to go about regular activities, talk with my friends and family, not about IT, but I was able to let them know that I wasn't feeling well and that I just needed some time.

I got a job with a pizza shop as a delivery person and my father let me stay in a townhome that he owned that was vacant. I buried myself in the job and drove my car. Pick up the next batch of pizzas, drive the car, watch the price of gas, fill up the car, and drive some more. The Tips weren't bad, but the real key to it all was that I was keeping myself busy and moving, focused on getting to my next delivery in the shortest time.

At this point in my story I have to back track so that you might understand exactly where I stood at that moment. It was true that my time of experimentation had given me some major scars, but it wasn't all negative. During my self-assessment I realized that while I was presently caught in the groove of a very bad experience, but I did have some major assets in some of the really positive experiences of my life. How could I use these to my benefit?

I went through my memories of positive experiences in my life. Most recently, earlier in my first year of college, during a certain psychedelic experience, my eyes had been opened to our connection to the planet, to nature, and to each other. This had been a very positive, beautiful, life changing experience. It was my strongest and freshest memory on the bright side of things. I recalled deep feelings and memories of love for my family and friends. I recalled sitting on my grandfather's lap as a small child, literally basking in the warmth of the love that he shed on me. I remembered all of the fallings in love and crushes of my childhood. I remembered the exhilaration of joy as I sped, wind whipping my hair, down a steep sidewalk on my Big Wheel as a four year old.

All of these memories where bright and full of light, love and joy. I could remember them clearly. And as I did so I could again feel the love, joy and shining brilliance of those moments. Being of a philosophical inclination, I found it interesting to think about and observe what I was feeling. What did it mean to remember those feelings? Even as I was remembering moments of light, joy and love, I was actually creating new memories of joy and love. There was both the past event, and the new event of my remembering it. If anything, I found that as I focused on the details of the joy of those memories, excluding many of the details of the actual event, sometimes the new experience of the memory was even more intense and longer in duration.

Today, I find myself addressing a very serious topic: life and it's meaning or lack there of. I realize that I can only speak for myself and I am no authority on the subject in general, but specifically in regard to myself I am the only expert witness. So if you can find anything here that you can use here in your search for meaning, fine. But, if it doesn't suit you, then completely disregard it.

This just may be the definitive quote of our times:

"Be professional, be polite, and be prepared to kill anyone that you meet."

I am sure that you have all heard the saying, "every vote counts". But, in America, at least when we are electing our presidents, does every vote really count? I think that the majority of the people would like to think so, but this is not the case in our system. Clearly there is a real disconnect here. For a system that is supposed to be "by the people for the people", isn't it odd that we "the people" are using a system where our vote literally doesn't count.