This has nothing to do with anything. I just like it a lot. So there.

Hipstamatic. Lens: John S Film: Kodot Verichrome Flash: Off

I am on my way soon to a memorial for a family member who committed suicide. This is of course a somber occasion, and we all have the challenge of the shadow that suicide casts when it is the cause of death. Suicide is a classic elephant-in-the-living-room, right.

An additional dimension to this shadow is that some people believe that the suicide was preventable, and are blaming others or themselves for not seeing this demise on the horizon, and intercepting it.

I’m not an expert in suicide, or suicide prevention. I’m not an expert in people, by any means. But I have been in that black hole that can suck a person in, down to depths that make death seem the only way out. And I know that no one else—even my closest allies—knew how dark I was feeling.

Depression and despair are wily, willful creatures, with well-honed talents of elusion and deceit.

See, depression carries a stigma greater than alcoholism or drug addiction. Feeling depressed is on par with having an abortion; they happen, but are not discussed. They are weaknesses, embarrassments, flaws. I mean really, can you imagine the equivalent of an AA meeting for a group of depressed people? No, really, think about it for a moment . . .

It would be wonderful actually if such a network existed. An alcoholic can pick up the phone at any time day or night, and talk to an understanding human—get help or advice or just a wee bit of whatever to stave off another submission to the disease.

With depression, not so much. There are hotlines that can be dialed when one feels suicide encroaching, but that’s kind of “last straw” you know.

But my lecture today is really more about the ruse of the belief that any of us could have intercepted and intervened with this suicide. Even the “professional” (therapist) of the family didn’t—and based on my direct experience with the wily ways of depression, I argue that even being a “professional” gives no inherent blame for this death.

But there is a lesson for everyone here. Sure, there’s the typical, life-is-precious stuff—and that’s true. But what’s more on my mind is:

Slow down. Look around. Inhale.

And, as much as we can muster, forgive ourselves, and each other.

Peace out.

Artwork: Despair underwater . . . by Miss Cartier and used with Creative Commons license.

This evening we talked of things we did as kids. Something in the conversation got me to remembering a time when I was about eight and my family was out on Puget Sound in our old Chris-Craft cabin cruiser for one of our weekend wanderings through the waterways. We’d stopped at some little cove and my younger brother and I had rowed in the dinghy to play on the beach. The boat stayed anchored a little ways away, and we just played, until the tide started changing and it was time to return to the boat.

I remember rowing the boat with all my eight-year-old strength and courage, trying to be stronger than the tide that was pushing us in. I remember looking over the edge of the boat and seeing not too far below us the sea bottom, and, starfish. And I remember freaking out when I couldn’t get my brother and me any closer to the boat our parents were standing in. My father was yelling instructions and encouragement across the gap between us.

Today I don’t know how far it really was, that gap. But that day it seemed like 100s of yards and worse, that there was no way for my parents to come and rescue me. Today, I do know that my dad could have dove in and come to our aid. But he didn’t; he made me work on through in my terror and get my brother and me to the boat.

I haven’t saved many tangible objects from my childhood. A little diary, some jewelry that I gave my mother. But I do have these memories.

Didn’t feel too energized for a walk, so Tiberio swung by and drove us to Golden Gardens, so we could just park and look out at the water. Ended up going for a little stroll anyway, talking about what do we want to be when we grow up. Middle-aged angst; you’ve heard of that, right?

iPhone Hipstamatic app with John S lens and Kodat Verichrome film

There were scads of people at the Hiram M. Chittenden Locks today with their big-a*s SLR cameras, and not a one of them was pointing a lens toward the same subjects as I. I wonder why that was. (A click on the image will enlarge it.)

iPhone Hipstamatic app with John S lens and Kodat Verichrome film

It’s been awhile since I have added bits of very ordinary beauty. Found these on my walk tonight with Elke.

These are ribbons of pollen, gathered at the edge of a pool in a park. Elke wasn’t too convinced of the beauty in the slime, but I saw it as floating tapestries. I bet she changes her mind when she sees it here in 2D.

The exercise is to stream-of-consciousness write down my dreams.

The premise is that my un-edited self knows what I truly want.

The goal is to unleash and unfurl.

In case I didn’t get you the memo, speaking up for myself, asking for what I want—not my forte. So, dreaming, really big dreaming—difficult!

Here are my lists. The first was a ten minute “warm-up”. The second, another ten minutes, after the “warm-up” and with the hope to unleash those even bigger (mondo beyondo) dreams.

❦ Drive across the country with an Airstream and blog and write the entire trip
❦ Have dinner parties along the way with locals and local cuisine
❦ Publish a series of best selling books that become an online community
❦ Appear on the cover of Time, 100 most influential people issue
❦ Befriend Oprah and Madonna
❦ Rearrange how people in the U.S. think about sex, love, the erotic
❦ Pervade sex ed in schools
❦ Make waves
❦ Have a home on a warm beach where splendid and charming people come to visit
❦ Have the home I dream of
❦ Pilot a plane across the country
❦ Land a plane on a river
❦ Dress in sparkles every day
❦ Teach girls a new way of “Princess” that is powerful, yet pure girl
❦ Do all this w/o a “real” job
❦ Grow the garden of my dreams
❦ Drive with the top down on the car 80% of the time
❦ Have a party palace
❦ Have a letterpress studio
❦ Have an art studio and share it
❦ Print and bind books of erotic works that are best sellers
❦ Fly on a dragon
❦ Be friends with animals
❦ Travel with a brave companion
❦ Love
❦ Sail in a chain of islands in a warm sea
❦ Bring joy
❦ Have a home in Paris, Provence, Florence, Seattle
❦ Be Alice
❦ Wear pink
❦ Grow roses.

With some duplication and the intention to be completely “outrageous” (more mondo), here’s list two:

❦ I dream of a home by the warm sea, where friends and friends of friends, and even famous people, come to play, learn, love.
❦ I dream of swimming in a warm sea every day and making love under the stars every night.
❦ I dream of living without restrictive fears.
❦ I dream of a partner who brings out the best in me and who helps me evolve beyond my short comings.
❦ I dream of having more self discipline, and of loving myself through and through.
❦ I dream of my home, my studio.
❦ I dream of being a very good friend.
❦ I dream of seeing fairies and pixies and sprites and such, and of communicating with them—learning from and with them.
❦ I dream of being influential on a nationwide scale, and of being comfortable with it.
❦ I dream of having a Good Hair Day every day.
❦ I dream of building my circus, and of being an aerialist in it.
❦ I dream of recovering my memory, and my sense of smell.
❦ I dream of being secure—emotionally, financially—or perhaps it’s just a sense of security.
❦ I dream of having an open heart and an open intuition at all but the inappropriate times.
❦ I dream of always being authentic and loving.
❦ I dream of a mentor of the ilk of my parents or my dear departed friend, Stan.
❦ I dream of remembering my sleeptime dreams.
❦ I dream of having a circus/gypsy wagon.
❦ I dream of being mesmerizing.
❦ I dream of having faith.
❦ I dream of being beauty and love.

And now, on with the unfurling!

I entered a pool. It was cold and dark and deep. There was a large sheet of blank, white paper involved somehow, and I descended into the water.

I was not sinking, but was being pulled deeper and deeper. I knew there was mud beneath me and I was being pulled to it.

But the pull stopped short of the mud, and I began ascending without difficulty. Without effort, really.

I surfaced at the edge of the pool, it was like a swimming pool edge–solid, finished. I held onto the edge and called for help. And called again.

Then I pulled myself from the water–of my own volition.

Photo: Whoosh by me. Taken on an iPhone with a Hipstamatic application

I had a rough night last night, did not get much sleep, and so I ended up napping about 4 o’clock. My last dream of the nap was vivid. It was nighttime and a woman (my mother I think) had thrown a baby into the lake. A friend and I stood there on the dock in shock. Then we realized that he would go find assistance and I would go into the dark water.

First, we stood and looked for the rings left from the baby’s plunge into the water, and I aimed in that direction. I opened my eyes underwater, but of course there was nothing to be seen in the dark. I still, however, immediately found the baby, sort of floating near the surface.

And then I began rescue. I pounded heartily on the baby’s back to cause vomiting of lake waters (all over me). And then some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Cold baby.

And then I woke.

Looking back of course my first-aid technique was all wrong (I may have sensed that even in my sleep), but what a marvel that I had plunged right in the cold, dark waters, and then actually found the infant and started revival efforts.

Weird, and interesting.

∞ ∞ ∞

On another note entirely, a little bit ago a friend sent me a link to a poem. It is pretty heavy, but some messages are.

The Dream

I dreamed that you had ceased to love me—
not that you had come from other beds
back to mine, or gone from mine to others,
just that something in your heart had stopped.

I willed myself awake to find you still
beside me. It was just a dream, I thought,
yet when I turned to kiss you, in your eyes
I saw that you had ceased to love me.

I willed myself awake a second time
to find myself alone, as I have been
these many months, but did not know if it
was terror or relief I felt, and whether

dreams unfold the past or make the future
plain. I dreamed that you had ceased to love me,
and know when I see nothing in your eyes
I can’t dream myself awake a third time.

—David Solway