Heart 9, the terminal point on the Heart meridian is located just off the inside bottom corner of the pinky fingernail. it is classified as a jing-well point, and so clears heat, which can manifest as anxiety, racing thoughts, heart palpitations, or mania. because it is a Wood point, it nourishes the Fire of the Heart- when the Heart is low on fire, it can become deficient in qi. since the Heart stores the spirit, if it is deficient in qi, the spirit will grow restless because it's uncomfortable- like being too tired to sleep.

sticking a needle into Heart 9 is pretty painful, but it's a pretty fast way to clear the heart-pounding, breath-taking anxiety of a dark-too-early-wolves-are-coming-out November evening. it sure beats heating a knife on the stove til it glows and taking off a few layers of skin with it.

a friend from Back Home came in town a few days ago and we met up at the coffee shop for awhile. he's the exec chef at a lodge out in Big Sky, Montana and he's spending his off-season vacation cooking at a couple different places here. I'm a little jealous, honestly. I miss cooking, the bustle, the "stillness that underlay the din," the feeling of for once in my life being graceful as I pirouetted and sidestepped from salamander to deep-fryer to grill to my station and then over to the reach-in and around to plate a dessert a salad a special app ready to go on table 12 ok let's fire fire fire... still, my life is quieter now and I'm trying to be content with what I have.

comparing notes on friends from our high school, I realize that I am one of the only kids I know who went through Second Chance and is actually over being crazy. I was caught on that hook for years. it's hard to shake that label when you get it over and over from doctors and parents and friends. it's hard not to become what people expect you to be. I know I moved here to start over, 4 years ago, but it took me until last fall to really let go of that part of my identity. I mean, I'm plenty weird. I'm eccentric as hell, but I'm not afraid of myself anymore.

when the pain gets intense at the end of the day and I am alone I still look forward to this life being over, but I have so much more I want to do. I want to fix people with needles and herbs. I want to move someplace warm and raise goats. I want to learn to make love stay. I want to believe that the joy will outweigh the pain.

Today I listened to the new Lady Gaga song about 50 times. it seems to help.

so does remembering summer.

but am I?

I had a lovely summer. I learned to be happy, I pushed my limits, I made new friends. I was more than just my sickness; I was someone you'd want to be around. People started asking me for advice: how do I quit smoking, what vitamins should I take, how should I change my diet, can you cure my cold.

we're well into autumn, with just over a month left before the shortest day of the year. as the light begins to decline the respites from pain grow few and far between. I'm trying to come up with better coping mechanisms for Incipient Winter Doom. I got a light therapy box, a shit-ton of vitamin D, and I've been ingesting a ridiculous amount of anti-anxiety/depression/pain herbs, both Chinese and European.

I have a tendency to let myself slip too far down into the Black Dog hole. I have a tendency to let the physical anxiety from consistent high pain levels create mental obsessions over things that are out of my control. I confuse a desire to hurt less with a death wish. I forget how much better things are when it's warm outside.

Pain is a time warp. It's long-term memory damage. It's being forever stuck in the present. If I were more than just a lazy Buddhist, I'd be ok with it. instead I think maybe there's such a thing as too much mindfulness. sometimes I hurt so much that it gets hard to breathe.

Pain is an endless rick-rolling and I can't Force Quit.

Until April or May, then, the best I can do is turn on my light-box, take my vitamins, drink my potions, hope that Corydalis yanhusuo doesn't tolerate too rapidly, and try to fill my life with as many distractions as possible.

Until April or May, I'll dig my toes into the clay and keep pushing this heavy, heavy rock uphill.

(and keep watching House.)


It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. A face that toils so close to stones is already stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.

Poem for Monday, May 25, 2009

O Everything Goes Black


by Katie Ford


A pattern on the back of my eyelid coils like a fingerprint, I made
a mistake, it is not my own. The blood up between my eyes, I can’t see,
I sit between people, between pillars of the cathedral between
which the immaculate spreads her blue wing-sleeves into as much sky
as there is. Small blue lights edge the church and the eyeless Christ hangs,
his sockets darkening into shaded tombs. Darkness coiling,
my eyes coiling, a wind with sand in it scrolling up and down
a body, hiding that body until it could be anyone, and is.
Even whom I do not live with I live with now. Don’t say I don’t
speak to you: I speak to you.

nights like these, sad songs don't help

The last times I really remember being completely happy are when we lived in Menlo Park. I've had plenty of good times since then, but there's always an undercurrent of darkness. I've always been just barely keeping my head above water. there's times when I hit a warm spot, and I get a chance to float, but I'm exhausted.

We left when I was 9, and I have no way of saying whether I would still have gotten so low had we stayed, but I am inclined to blame the suburban South for the seeds of my problems, if not for their roots.

Sure, this past few years' state of perpetual exhaustion has put out a lot of my angry heart-fire, but
it's left me terribly and bitterly alone. I try to make peace with it, but I sure do miss the camaraderie of going out to a show with a roomful of kids I knew and getting hammered together, pressed up tight against the stage, getting sloshed with beer, singing along at the top of our lungs, feeling every word.



I miss wanting to live.

progress, not perfection. yeah, right.

School is significantly harder this term, and the only class I can really force myself to study for is Herbology. I've got the advantage of having taken pretty much every herb there is, and of having looked them all up when I got them. Still, I am proud of the A I have so far.

my Fundamentals of Chinese Medicine class seems insultingly easy to me, but that might be, again, because I have spent so much time researching my own symptoms. This is one of those ironic circumstances where it's actually been beneficial for me to have been sick for so long.

I'm struggling hard in Acupuncture Points and in Anatomy. it's draining enough just to be physically present in these classes, and it's rare for me to feel up to studying in my free time. I tend to want to engage in activities that pull my mind away from my body, like 30 Rock marathons or cuddling with my sweetheart.

being in a relationship with someone who is emotionally stable and physically healthy is much more difficult than I would have thought. I am constantly battling with feelings of low self-worth and even paranoia. I am terrified of the prospect of his leaving in the fall for graduate school. I think I rely on him far too much for comfort, but I am in so much pain and he makes me feel so happy, when I'm not battling with my own mind. there's just so little that makes me feel ok. even then, being around him is acutely painful sometimes. I worry that he will lose interest in me because of my physical limitations. I resent him sometimes for never really having been alone, for having had things so easy. I envy his health. I fear that if he does leave in the fall, I won't be strong enough to handle it. I find myself thinking that it will be easy for him, that I'm just another girl in a long string of girls, easily replaced.

I'll be relieved when it's May and he hears back from the school's he's applied to. I'm steeling myself for him to leave, but until I actually know, this limbo is killing me.

I want to believe that the universe has sent me everything that is in my life right now for a reason, but I can't. I just look back at the constant up and down of my life and then I look forward and all I see is more pain. there's no horizon, just an endless sea of churning waves, and I am so tired of treading water.

Poem for Monday, February 16, 2009

The Years

by Gary Snyder

The years seem to tumble
faster and faster
I work harder
the boys get larger
planting apple and cherry.

In summer barefoot,
in winter rubber boots.

Little boys bodies
soft bellies, tiny nipples,
dirty hands

New grass coming
through oakleaf and pine needle
we'll plant a few more trees
and watch the night sky turn.

Burke's Book Store
936 South Cooper
Memphis, TN 38104
(901) 278-7484
www.burkesbooks.com

lately I seem to be barely keeping my head above water. my body is steadily falling apart. one health problem after another. I'm losing faith that it will ever be better.

I don't want to say I'm suicidal. let's just say I'm getting tired of living like this. school is so interesting, I have so many kind and loving friends, and I have the most wonderful boyfriend I could imagine. it's all tainted by the incessant pain. I look in the mirror and don't understand why I even have any skin left. I feel like I've been flayed.

I don't know how I go on.