Reports of mine imminent "rising to the next level" are greatly exaggerated.
As I sit in the is-ness of Oklahoma City - I feel, at last, rested
(see 'narrative of the voyage of the bloody, snake chariot' at
www.libbyhome.blogspot.com). And Oklahoma City is a beautiful,
engaging place of wonderful friends, synchronicity and music.
Through this illness I have been advised to decipher the message my
body is conveying in it's crisis, in it's congestive failure of the
heart.
The message I take is that the human circumstances are surrounded and
pervaded by mystery. The doctors have no clue about why my adrenal
glands will suddenly secrete large amounts of the hormone aldostrine,
raising my blood pressure to dangerously high levels, bringing on the
congestive failure of the heart, bringing the weeks of insomnia,
bringing the engagement of the existential perimeters of the human
condition, bringing the engagement of death.
And because the human circumstances are surrounded and pervaded by
mystery then it's about posture in the face of mystery. And in the
engagement, in the refusal to deny death, to engage dynamic
uncertainty is the promise of more life in life.
And yet the message is also about the wake-up call about being against
that final frontier - aging. And the necessity of taking care of diet,
exercise, the meditation on being - the common-sense treatment of
one's physicality.
No doubt, I am wounded.
Yet I feel my life force, my libedo, my will to in all ways engage the
world, rallying.
I will not go easy into the great, good night.
The doctors tell me that I should have died.
And yet I'm not dead, yet.
It's all gravy, all infinite sause/source, from here - on, from now - on.
And I'm going to the Wakarusa Music Festival at the Mulberry Mountain
in Arkansas.
[read blog-style -- first entry at bottom of page]