The Lights

Seems to me that all the noodles withing my pro alphabet soup squirm evasively at the subject of my light psychosis. I most often believe the squirming is akin to asking them to discuss a Sunday sermon. See the light and never question. . . Light good. Dark bad.

It is hard for me to believe that my light trigger is purely psychosomatic. However much I treat it as psychosomatic, the physical components remain. One of those physical components is a kaliedescope of various colored lights which I see each and every time I close my eyes and/or close myself in a light-free chamber. My night sight is excellant. I am frequently amazed at what I hear called, "Darkness." You seriously can't see that rich array of night lights? I am so, so sorry. . . You are missing quite a show. Not all of God's lights are high intensity.

Lights figured mightily into my last hospital level breakdown in 1999. I attempted to discuss it with an array of professionals, including eye doctors. It was the last time I tried to discuss it with med/psych pros. It is a far easier discussion with astronomers and students of physical light, but . . . There are casual theories afloat that the med park inhabitants are blinded by their own lights, both electric and metaphorical. Don't expect objectivity there.

Over the course of this very long and obscure herstory, the lights I see when I close my eyes have become a part of my daily meditations and personal inventory. I don't much care what the noodles in the pro alphabet soup think of that. When those lights are chaotic and painful, I pay very close attention to my psych and physical inventories. I am in another round of feeling a gentle need to find words for when they coalesce into patterns and shapes. This mornings patterns and shapes were quite lovely.

Yesterday with K (my church friend) was good medicine. So was the professional courtesy and competance I received from the plumbers who dug the tree roots out of the sewer line yesterday morning. Praise be to a free flowing flush! I am feeling calm as I await the appointment I have this morning with the miscreant contractor. His 2.5 month performance record has my expectations dysfunctionally fluid. Letting God lead that dance. . .