Hallway to Nowhere

  • Choose Life-Some Thoughts On Yom Kippur

    On Yom Kippur, we are told:

    I have put before you blessing and curse. Choose life-so that you and your children may live!

    I’ve been reflecting on what this means for me, as a Jew, as a Buddhist, but very much as a person who struggles on a daily basis with clinical depression and occasional suiciality. This phrase is NOT one I can utter lightly or undertake with any sort of facile means. For me, it is indeed fraught, and a vow I must take with most solemn intent.

    A bit of personal history: I have more than one suicide in my background. This makes suicide as an option imminently real, as these were both past very close relationships. One was a partner; one was a best friend. I have another ATTEMPTED suicide that I talked down from the ledge. So this is not a theoretical exercise for me. I know what it means; the reverberations it sends throughout the lives it touches, as well the sheer physical mess it leaves to be cleaned up for the unfortunate chosen ones to find your remains. I’m not working on some romanticized ideal gotten from poetry books and bad movies. This knowledge has been one of the things keeping me from it-I didn’t want to inflict this damage on anyone else. I do take personal responsibility pretty seriously, yeah? But then when I’m fighting the suicidal voice, it is saying: “But YOU’LL be dead, what will you care?” That’s when being both a Jew AND a Buddhist kicks in (good for me and the rest of you) and replies: IT MATTERS! I have a responsibility to others b/c I am in community (as a Jew) and also I am acting in a fundamentally deluded manner that will have definite negative karmic results (as a Buddhist).

    So how DO I choose life? I do so by attending services and thereby being in community. (Thank you to my good friend G.S. for enabling me to join TWO shuls in this brave new connected world!) I do so by deepening my Buddhist practice. (Thank you to the two wonderful sites I use online.) I have an excellent pdoc without whom I would flounder. A therapist would be nice, but at this point is cake, thanks to my less-than-helpful insurance coverage for such things. And of course I must mention the companionship of my whippet, Miss P. Her faithful and patient love has truly changed my life, and I will be forever grateful.

  • What We Can Do When All The News Is Bad (Poem)

    Lay me down some clean licks;

    We all need some cool kicks-

    A sick beat or a slow jam,

    We’ll take what we can.

    Every day is so hard.

    This is why we need to dance

    And sing, though we are crying.

    Let our hearts and bodies move.

    Our troubles, our troubles are many, yeah,

    But they will not throw us down.

    We have known joys, too.

    Joys to hold in the air

    And toss to each other as we dance

    In the midst of our mourning.

    We have known greatness

    And will again, for we are strong.

    Strong enough to move on

    To do the work that need to be done

    With gladness in our hearts

    And resolution in our steps.

    Sing, dance, cry, move, mourn,

    Work hard and finally, brothers and sisters and all kindred,

    Oh, yes, V>O>T>E.

  • End Of The Year (Poem)

    How did I number my days and nights this year past?

    They sometimes seem to stretch so agonizingly into forever

    Yet indeed they flee so razor-sharp fast.

    I have found myself lost in memories , immersed in songs,

    Even given to dancing, and tried to help right some wrongs.

    Like all , I’m weighed in the balance, the scales will be set.

    I’ll not ask nor expect mercy. Just Accept what I get.

  • Social Life? What’s THAT?

    Before Covid-19 hit, I was a facsimile of a functional human. I attended meetings of all kinds, frequent protests, and…actually had a SOCIAL LIFE. GASP! Yes, for pretty much the first time in my freaking life, I was doing things that I had always read about: I visited other people on a regular basis; friends came to hang out with me; and I even occasionally-can you believe it-had dinner parties! I went to restaurants, a play every now and then, shopped at the farmers market for produce for great produce AND to catch up on all the local haps, and loved to browse in all the downtown shops (spent a fair amount of change there, too.)

    Now this has all come to an abrupt and full stop. All meetings are done via Zoom. I did attend ONE protest for BLM in Abingdon after the shooting of George Floyd; most participants wore masks and social-distanced, EXCEPT for the police present. (My first and last in-person event. Unless the election goes badly. Then I’ll figure F-it. And join others. Democracy being at stake is worth it, yeah?) But other than ONE steadfast friend who has remarkably wonderfully decided that I shouldn’t be subjected to transit during this time, I see no-one. And really wouldn’t HEAR from anyone, except for this friend and one other friend who calls every day. Everyone else has dropped away, unless I call them. Which I try NOT to do anymore, really. Because one, it feels intrusive now. And two, it gets exhausting having to be the one always doing this. And I’m getting tired of trying when the effort doesn’t seem to be returned. It takes me awhile to learn, y’all, but eventually I DO learn what you are trying to tell me without actually telling me, yeah? So I’ll stop. Sorry for the bother.

    It’s all digital now (for me, at least), folks! Friends are electric! Since I don’t DRIVE and don’t have a YARD, I don’t get to participate in the new version of what social life is now. Friends tell me about dinner parties held outdoors and trips to the new Barter-at-the -Moonlite. This all sounds delightful. I’m happy folks are finding ways to cope. But another friend who lives in an apartment, who doesn’t drive, and who makes minimum wage and I were discussing this. Society seems to be drawing even more lines right now, and the stark differences between those who are privileged and those who aren’t get made clearer and clearer. (As if we couldn’t see them before!)

    I appreciate everyone who has reached out via text or on FB to inquire about the well-being of Miss P! As you know, SHE is more important to me than me. So that means more than I can say. So thank you all for caring about the well-being of this beautiful whippet! I love you all for that. And for the tangible gifts as well: the St. Francis medal (and a whole order nuns to pray for her!); the mishaberachs; a snuggly sheepskin rug; home-cooked meals; and an in-person priestly blessing!

    https://youtu.be/22Z4Tv1zn-shttps://youtu.be/22Z4Tv1zn-s

  • Sunday Evening

    This is the hard time.

    The time when I think about my friends.

    Some drink, smoke or do other more questionable things.

    I don’t have any such refuge.

    I face this onslaught by holding on as I can

    (By letting go of holding on).

    I pace the floors, consider making a sound but no,

    And breathe into the pain.

    Step; inhale; step; exhale….

    I remind myself when I pause

    The worst that could happen would be the best outcome.

    Eventually, thankfully, this WILL end.

    One way or another. Nothing lasts forever.

    Walk; breathe; walk; breathe.

  • Grief-root

    This grief twists around me,

    A primordial root connected to the fundamental wailing

    Pulled from the the soul of the earth.

    My tears are the salt of the sea and the stream of the rain;

    They are water itself and life-

    Bitter and burning and flow.

    I scream so loud it swallows the universe.

    My laments echo down time’s corridors

    Like fell black-winged horses running a doomed apocalyptic race.

    My words are forever etched on the very pillars of creation itself.

    I am done.

  • What’s In A Name

    By now everyone knows that Kamala Harris is Biden’s pick for Veep. What everyone doesn’t know and can’t seem to get right and in some cases REFUSES TO CARE ABOUT (I’m looking hard at Tucker Carson here, among others) is how to pronounce her name. It’s Comma-la Harris. Like the punctuation mark with a la added. Just to make this clear, k? She has explained this in her memoir (The Truths We Hold: An American Journey); she’s explained time and time again in public interviews; and OTHER people have now made helpful Tik Tok videos to instruct the clueless. Look, folks, this should not be that difficult. UNLESS you have a political WALL that forbids it.

    Why am I writing about this? Because I share her story. I live in rural Southwest Virginia. Appalachia. And my name is Kel BasAvraham. Yeah. You can imagine what folks here do with THAT. I sometimes get asked (on the phone) if this is Indian (no); Muslim (no); Arabic (no); Indian (meaning Native American-again no); and very occasionally Jewish (YES). Usually, it’s “Sorry for mangling your name.” But rarely does anyone ask the logical followup: HOW IS IT SUPPOSED TO BE PRONOUNCED? Sometimes I can feel the waves of “you’re not from around here, are you?” coming through the phone line or in modern parlance, bouncing off the cell tower. I now have a practised response: a laugh and a reply that I realize my name gives SW Virginians fits and, no, I’m NOT from around here. Then we get on with with our phone call. Sigh.

  • Brisance (Poem)

    Three words, one death.

    A shattered world.

    It revealed the wreckage

    And ruination of lives

    That always comprised the kaleidoscope base

    That upheld the white edifice of power.

    Time for that fraudulent wedding cake to be seen

    As filled with mold and baked with hate.

    Throw it out into the trash where it belongs.

    Let it burn away.

    We need real food that feeds Black people.

    Brown people. First Nations. White people.

    No more useless fake white cake.

  • Invisible Disabilities

    When you’ve lived with any sort of neuro or mental health diagnosis, you start to really question your perception of things and second, third, and fourth guess yourself. At least I do. I ask myself, “Am I seeing this clearly? How much is depression talking? Is this a medication reaction? Did I forget something important b/c of a seizure?” Life gets complicated. I have to remind myself that I DO have several disabilities that I cope with fairly well that others don’t see. They are invisible but nevertheless very real. But b/c maybe I do manage, I feel like I expect myself to function like I’m normal, i.e., don’t have these things, and thereby others act as if I am also.

    I’m not, okay? I’m not okay. I function WHILE depressed. I function WHILE having seizures. I function while having migraines. I function WHILE having occasional bouts of neuropathic pain that are excruciating. I function WHILE having Stage 1 Chronic Kidney Disease. I function while having debilitating fatigue of unknown origin. I function well sometimes. And sometimes I crash.

    So. I really want to do a better job here for myself. I want to continue to do my tasks, b/c I believe in the causes for which I’ve signed up. But I also need to realize that I need to ask for help when I can use it; space when I’m being crowded; time when I’m being pushed; and to know when I’ve reached my limits. This does not seem like an unreasonable agenda, but it is not an easy one when every day get filled so quickly. Sigh. Time to write another MEMO TO SELF and post it PROMINENTLY.

  • End Of The Day (Poem)

    There is no magic here.

    No-one will come to save you

    With a wave of their wand

    Or with fiery breath and beating wings.

    Not in this poem.

    You’ll have to save yourself,

    And however you do that is up to you.

    I write these days of desiccation and dearth,

    With arid phrase and acrid wit.

    Seek no comfort;

    I have none to offer.

    Other than: I am here.

    The road not taken…..