Another long night. Every now and then, conditions are just right, just enough pouring rain hitting the window with just the right rhythm at just the right hours; the quiet small hours when it all stops and it feels safe. Last night was one of those nights - dark, quiet, safe. Precious moments, really, when I savor each second and can breathe, again.
I was reading, somewhere, that it is quite common when entering the envelope of spiritual enlightenment, for all hell to break loose. Why? Because as you experience the Truth, the other side, there is a heightened sensitivity to all thoughts, all emotions and that which used to serve as a calm protected harbor from the relentless storms of my mind, no longer welcome me and provide safe harbor. This, I think, is the fork in the road. Something feels all too familiar about this place. I sense being here before, this fork, this place in time, this choice.
On one fork, it appears, faintly to my senses, to be the safe path, protected and quiet, lulling me towards wrapping myself within it's cloak. No one can hurt me there. No one can see me there. I am invisible. I am safe. Yes, this place seems all too familiar to me. And it should. I know this place, well. I've chosen this path, often. And it also, appears to me, faintly as if a distant memory, that this path leads to no place, to no where, to darkness, to an endless maze that leads only to despair and anguish, a place of endless sighs, to self destruction of all that is good.
There is something different about this path, this place, this time. I can sense it's deadness, it's void, it’s emptiness, it's lie. And yet, this other path, it's so bright, so incredibly bright _ and loud, untried, un-trodden, so fresh and promising yet so open and unprotected.
I have arrived at this fork in the road once again.
This is where I am.
This is my choice.
I choose to walk towards the light.
This is where I am.
I guess it takes what it takes to grow up. I'm a little slower than some - OK, a lot slower (56 at the time of this writing) and may only be around 18 emotionally, but it's a good start. To be honest, I'm still not real keen on the idea of growing up, most days preferring to escape on grand adventures, in my head. And therin lies the difference - why Louie's finally growing up - today, these 'great escapes' are in my head and I'm not heading out the door with a backpack.This blog chronicles a lifetime of insanity, in the truest sense of the word - BiPolar disorder, manic depression it used to be called. I am an outspoken advocate for mental health, freely describing my experience, strength and hope with anyone that's interested.
Many of these blog posts are from people that have written to me, many suffering emotional distress. All of these writings come from the heart, most of which are raw and unedited. If you are of the overly sensitive disposition - you might want to steer clear.
If you really wannna have some fun ... check this out ... www.dailygooddog.com
I do hope you enjoy my rantings. This is therapy for me, and a journal that shows me that I am, in fact, maturing - proving at long last to ex-wives, that it is possible even though pigs don't fly.
Louie Rochon
Thursday, June 14, 2007
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