Atrophy

Overnight, the kaleidoscope of early Fall colors in the forest surrounding the house seemed to change. Trees that had been full of yellow and red and bright orange leaves changed into a nearly-uniform palate of brown and muted orange. More light now filters through the canopy, thanks to fallen dead leaves forming a thick coating on the ground. I am reminded of a place I have never been, except in my mind; a forest refuge hidden deep in a distant, almost inaccessible, part of the rural upper mid-west or New England. But I am here, in a spot I do not have to let my mind create. My mind need not conjure an imaginary place in a previous time. Yet I allow myself to use this real experience to invoke artificial memories of others that have never taken place. I wonder why that is? Does it suggest a longing to be somewhere else—somewhere like this but in another place or another time? Or is it simply a natural reaction; a response not unlike anyone else in my position, in my circumstances, might have?

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Soon the bright red berries on the bushes outside my windows’ study will attract birds, especially cedar waxwings. The birds seem to get drunk after they start eating the berries. Their speed when they fly increases and their flight patterns become irregular. My assessment—that their behavior suggests that they are inebriated—may well be an illegitimate anthropomorphic attribution, though. God, I love those big words!  🙂

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My visit to the podiatrist this morning was far less unpleasant than I expected. I barely felt the numbing injections in my big toe. After the toe became numb, I did not feel anything when the doctor cut the offending ingrown nail. Whether I will feel pain later, when the local anesthetic wears off is yet to be known. I suspect, though, the pain I have long-endured as a result of that nail soon will be just a memory. I will return to see the doctor in about two weeks, when he will apply some sort of chemical to the edge of my toe with the intent to prevent the nail from growing back in that area. I should have had this procedure done years ago. Unjustified fear can interfere with positive progress. That is true of physical as well as political and social matters.

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I just lit another cone of incense, the scent of this one called “forest.” Some of the cones with other scents—patchouli, cinnamon, sandalwood, aloe vera, dragon blood, full moon—have been mostly or completely used up, signaling the need for another purchase. My favorite, still, is patchouli, I think. Variety, though, keeps us from stagnating; getting stuck in a ritualistic rut. The potential for allowing one’s existence to become too routine and too predictable is one of the reasons I try to vary my activities, both physical and mental, at least slightly. I do not burn incense every day, partly for that reason. While following rituals can help anchor us to reality, overreliance on rituals can blind us to changing circumstances, leaving us struggling to adapt to the realities of a changing world.

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Last night, a character in a Netflix series we are watching (The Beast In Me) expressed concern about an urge to jump when she is in a high place. I identified with that fear; it has arisen in me many times over the years when I have stood at the railing of a tall bridge or near the edge of a high building. This morning, I searched for information on that phenomenon. An article in the February 2012 issue of the Journal of Affective Disorders calls it The High Place Phenomenon. The authors say it is a common phenomenon among people who are suicidal and those who are not. In fact, it “may reflect their sensitivity to internal cues and actually affirm their will to live.”

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Confronted with—and acknowledging—the inevitability of death changes one’s perspective on life. Gut acceptance of the reality that one’s own life will end can make taking existential risks less appealing; less thrilling. Many of the more mundane aspects of life that once may have bordered on boring can become intensely appealing. The attraction of broad social engagement can decline considerably, leaving one more interested in spending time with a smaller cluster of people with whom one is, or want to be, extremely close. But people being who and what they are, some people have the opposite experiences. They become more gregarious, more outgoing, more open to risk, and more interested in seeking new adventures. Then there are those who vacillate between personalities;

• The gregarious misanthropic hermits who refuse to stay inside shark cages while seeking opportunities to swim with great white sharks.
• The unsocial extroverted socialites who shy away from the dangers of gambling more than $2 in a poker game.

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Where do you go to avoid being crushed when the building blocks of civilization crumble around you? How do you escape the outcome when empires fall? Who do you turn to for comfort when the whole world abandons you? When do you acknowledge defeat when clocks and calendars no longer have meaning?  Why did the sinking ship invite passengers to board?  Is the atrophy of hope a communicable disease?