Summer 2011. Elizabeth and I spent as much free time as we could together. Her best friend from Skidmore, Lauren , probably had hung out with me more than Elizabeth had. Our usual haunt for going out was the Dupont Circle area. Public Bar was a place familiar to me in name only. Lauren and Elizabeth wanted to go and the three of us made our way on a Friday night. The bar was three levels of a different atmosphere. I don't really remember anything but the first floor what we walked into, where I bought the ladies a round of drinks. The music was loud and I felt intimidated by the DC crowd yelling to each other over drinks. Lauren's boyfriend, Mark, was out of town for something and I remember her coaxing Elizabeth and I up the stairs to get to a different scene. Two floors above, we made it to a blue-hued dance floor with VIP booths lining the walls, with a bar alongside big windows that faced what I guess must have been 18th and Connecticut Streets.

Along our slow way up we consumed our drinks, and I recall us getting to the bar where Lauren said she would get us the next round. I remember looking down at her to my right...she was short...she was bouncing slightly up and down to the rhythm of the music. I never saw her anything but Mark's girlfriend, but she looked suddenly adorable. As I think about it, she was pretty, but I must have been so entranced by Elizabeth, I never noticed. We got out drinks...I don't know how things happened next, but the three of us were suddenly on the dance floor, stupidly dancing away to whatever heavy beat was on. Lauren seemed liberated, she was dancing...grinding, in front of me. I was surprised because I wasn't hers and Elizabeth was there. Elizabeth didn't seem to mind and was dancing with her and me. I didn't ask questions. The three of us were dancing so much that it was practically a workout of squats and awkward cardio. My legs were burning. I wasn't going to stop with these two pretty women who trusted me enough to be Ryan.

Another drink later, a young man around my age waved me over to his VIP booth. He removed his stupid velvet rope that separated his small party from the dance floor and asked if I wanted to bring the three of us to his area. I don't think I said anything. I remember looking at Elizabeth and seeing her smile, her move forward towards the booth, past the rope. The guy handed us a bottle of belvedere vodka with a few glasses and we poured ourselves a drink. I said "Thank you" and immediately the three of us went back into our world of dancing together. I remember after a couple of songs, feeling obligated to spent some attention on the guy and his party that let us into their VIP section. I remember briefly talking about nothing with him, as Elizabeth and Lauren now danced together in front of us to another song. I remember doing a shot with the guy and his friends. I remember going back to dancing with Elizabeth and Lauren.

Eventually the young man and his party left. I have no idea when. We danced so much that nothing else existed but the music. We were sweaty. We made it back to the bar for another drink, I feel like the night was getting late, and again I saw Lauren bobbing to the music, sweaty and careless as she ordered three vodka and water. Elizabeth always had a smile for me then. I couldn't understand how lucky I had become.

Some dork, with barely a burgeoning job in DC after a leap-of-faith move, found himself only a month in, on a Friday night, in the company of two lovely young women drinking and dancing the night away.

A Gift

For a couple of years in college, I was the Treasurer of the American Indian Student Association. Each year, we would raise funds for our organization by hosting a pow-wow and craft fair. For 3 days, tribes from all over the country would come to dance, share stories, and sell their works. There were usually around 70 tables and booths to visit, and I would make several rounds to talk to the traveling artisans and tribe members. 

There was an old Zuni man with a small table of jewelry and figurines. He carved semi-precious gemstones into animals, shapes, and insets for rings, bangles, necklaces, and bracelets. I browsed his selection of turquoise works in particular because my girlfriend at the time loved the color. One item in particular caught my eye: an equilateral cross about the size of a silver dollar. After 3 visits to this man's table, I decided to buy it. I wanted the cross to be the pendant of a necklace, so I asked the man if he could put a hole in it for that purpose. He said that he would be glad to if I came by the next day.

At the end of the following day, I came by to the man's table again to purchase the cross. He smiled and handed it to me in a paper bag. Before I could say anything else, he said, "Open it." The cross had been threaded into a durable, black fabric cord with a clasp. I told him that he had done too much, and that I would pay him extra for his work. He shook his head and said simply "No, take it." Pulling out my wallet, I thanked him and handed him the money that was owed for the price of the cross. The man remained seated with his hands folded in his lap and said "It does not belong to me. It is yours." I stood there with the money extended in my hand, and pleaded with him to take it out of gratitude. The man said, "You're not listening. It is yours. It is a gift. It wouldn't be a gift if you paid for it." I reluctantly pulled the money back and said that it was too generous and I would feel bad not paying for it. The man replied, "You need to let me be generous. Do not take that away from me. When people give things out of generosity, you must accept them. I am giving this as a gift for you, and I hope that you will like it. It will please me if you accept my gift."

I thanked the man again and walked away, deep in thought. Before I gave the necklace to my girlfriend, I told her this story. I hope that it had as profound of an effect on her as it has me. When I think of giving gifts and generosity, I think of this old man and the lesson that he taught me. 

Melancholia

Depression still comes. I think it's genetic. I think it's fixable. I think it's beatable with the right mental exercises. 

I'm not sure what triggers it. I don't really care. Maybe I don't care because right now is one of those events. I call them "grey". 

This morning I feel like I woke up with it. It's rare for me to experience the grey the last few years. My wonderful wife, I have to thank for that. I am guilty of being not my best self when I am grey, especially to her. She deserves the best from her husband. 

The pull of the grey is seductive. I can see the way out sometimes. I can feel that I'm almost out of the emotion and that I am past it. However, something about the feeling of being down makes me want to stay that way. It's pathetic. I let myself be grey for longer than I need to sometimes.

Like most negatives that I experience, I go back to my stoic philosophy. I level myself. I ignore the grey. Soon it is gone. But not today. I am still swimming in it. 

Sleep Paralysis

Sleep paralysis is the medical term. For years I didn't know what to call it, and at one time I think I wrote a post about it...6 years ago maybe? It felt good to have a name for it. I felt like it gave me more control to have a name of whatever it was that I was experiencing, because if you know anything about this event, you understand that you have zero control of anything. Knowing the name also gave me something to google, which to this day I still do because it makes me feel better to know that I am not alone.

Why am I writing again about sleep paralysis? I just watched a movie/documentary called The Nightmare. It wasn't too great, but affected me enough to recall my experiences and want to write one of my stories about it. After all, it is estimated that only 8% of the population experiences this, so I am among a small number of experts!

What is sleep paralysis? It's an experience a person usually gets during their rapid-eye movement cycle of sleep. This is the period of time after you have fallen asleep, but your brain has not fallen into a deep slumber. It's kind of what I like to think of the the "nap phase" because that's always when I have had the experiences. During this time your brain is working on shutting down your body, cutting off your mind's ability to control your nerve endings in your spine and move things like your arms and legs. The brilliant design behind that is so that you don't physically act out what you are doing in your dreams. Lord. Can you imagine? If you physically were doing all of the things in your dream while in your bed...what a show.

So during this phase of sleeping, the person wakes up to find that they are paralyzed. The brain is lucid, and the only thing that the person can control is their vision. This is where things become terrifying. Being awake and not being able to move is not something most people experience, ever. Because of this new sensation of being unable to control anything, the individual may start to panic. Now, what I've read and seen in ALL testimonies of this event, is that people proceed to suffer confusion and fear. This can last for a dozen or so seconds, or minutes if you can't wrestle back control to awaken. This experience is well documented in history throughout the world. Most cultures tie these events to spiritual encounters, and why not? I prefer to find scientific answers to all things, and while they have explained what I mentioned above, they can't exactly explain the hallucinations and dark, psychological direction that the mind takes when in this state. It is no wonder that people around the world have tied sleep paralysis to visiting or seeing something paranormal or spiritual.

Now, on to my story. This sleep paralysis episode is the first that I can remember. It may not be the very first experience that I had, but because it was so powerful, I can recall it vividly.

I was 21 years old and late one afternoon I sought a nap in my apartment. I'll note that I've usually kept my bedroom door opened wherever I have lived, even when sleeping, and this was the case for this nap. I was laying on my right side facing the wall, my back was to the door. My eyes focused on the wall and I could immediately sense that something was wrong. My conscience told me that I need to roll over. I don't know why, but it was clear that if I didn't something bad was going to happen. My brain was accepting that I was seeing the wall of my room, so it was questioning why, if I was awake, that I would need to roll over. Soon I felt why. The room began to darken, and the soft glow from the door began to seem like the only light in existence. I tried to move but I couldn't. I felt bound somehow. I could sense my arms, hands, legs, feet, and neck, but couldn't make them work. I panicked. I thought that I was having a stroke or had some strange medical abnormality that paralyzed me. The idea, then the reality of being paralyzed started to terrify me. How could I get help? Suddenly I felt aware of something at the door of my room. I couldn't look, no matter how far I strained my eyes up to the left to look over my shoulder, I couldn't see this thing at the door...but I somehow knew it was there. Seeing the light dim on the wall, I realized that it was blocking the light of the door. I wanted more than anything to roll over and face this presence. A buzzing noise filled my ears. It seemed like a machine at first, but then sounded more like layers of an inaudible, rasping voice sucking or breathing out air. I believed that the noise was coming from the presence in the doorway. For a split second I was suspended from my body. I could see myself lying on the side and see my room. It was very blurry, but I could see a dark figure in the door. It seemed to be growing and moving towards me, but at the same time not moving at all. The next instant I was back in my body and fear was gripping me like never in my life. I thought I was going to die, and this thing in the room was going to be what killed me. For some reason, I believed that somehow this thing was going to take my life away, but worse. The best way I can express it is that I understood that there was something worse than death. This death, from this being, was unfathomable. I strained and strained to throw my weight over to move. I thought that if I could merely roll over that I could snap out of this. It was at this moment that I wondered if this dark figure was suspending me in this "state" and using my helplessness to get to me. I tried again and again to yell, scream, jump--anything to force myself back into normality but I grew exhausted. It became harder and harder to build up the will to fight and grasp rational thought. The being in the door pulsed closer, and the noise grew louder. I felt it come up to the bed, right behind my back. My mattress began to rise up behind my back, folding in half over my shoulder. The being didn't resemble so much a person but a mass, a large, force that started pushing down through the mattress onto me. It became hard to breathe, and I had to use everything I had to keep taking breaths. I knew I couldn't fight forever. This darkness was going to envelop me and slowly suffocate the life out of me. I started to cry. I never felt more alone, more helpless, more lost, more agony at the thought of how this passing was worse than anything that I could imagine. The tears began to stream down my face. The sensation of my tears on my skin literally sparked the nerves in me. I suddenly found some strength and pulled everything that I had together into a massive convulsion. I pushed. It worked. I woke up, gently, lying still on my right side facing the wall, tears in my eyes.

To this day, I have never been more afraid than I was in that event. The words "fear" and "terror" have a different meaning for me. I have had countless other sleep paralysis states. In fact, I paused in writing this story one evening because I ran out of time, and continued the next morning. Early this morning, hours before writing these words, I had another experience. It was my first in probably a year or so. I have read and heard a bit about "letting it in", meaning that if one is talking or hearing about it, the sleep paralysis can begin to occur for that individual, or return for folks that have been rid of it for a time.

This morning's event was very brief, but I awoke, paralyzed. I knew immediately what was going to happen. To a person who has had these experiences a few times, I think that there is an understanding when we open our eyes. There's this feeling of "Oh no, not again, move move move move move move, oh no, what is it saying? move move move move move, there's its shadow! move move move move!" It's like a reoccurring torture, and our instigator has come back, and we must fight it off. This recent state happened while I was on my side facing the wall, and shortly after I opened my eyes to find myself unable to move, I felt the blankets and sheets be pulled from behind me, tightening over my body. I could even hear the sound of the covers quickly slide into place. While staring at the covers, I decided to close my eyes. I remember reading, just yesterday, that some people try to move something simple, like just a few toes or a hand to get movement started. I tried that, felt a little movement in my feet, but not enough to snap out of it. Then, a man's voice in front of my face said gently, "Excuse me?" I pushed again at my feet and I felt a kick, waking up entirely.

Another comment that I have about sleep paralysis is that one gets the feeling that the longer the state lasts, the harder it becomes to pull out. While in this dark place, the fear is palpable to the point that it feels like it is being fed to whatever evil is in the room. The more that your fear grows, the stronger the dark presence gets. It then starts to feel like a battle of will between you and this thing.

I know that this is a hallucination. I know that my brain is showing me this thing, or making be believe that I can feel its weight near me in the room. I know that it's my brain that is not letting me move. I know this, science tells me so. However, what if the science is actually explaining the paranormal? Why does everyone who experiences this--no matter the background, location, or time in history--have their mind go to such a dark and evil place in sleep paralysis? Why do we all feel something evil? Why do we feel fear like nothing else that we have experienced in our life? Why, when we have been through this and our brain records these events and remembers, do we still go back and face this thing? In my experiences, this dark presence has never done anything that specifically is evil, it just...feels evil. Why do I feel this unwarranted fear of it?

I don't know if I believe it or not, but I am open to the idea that in such a state, that people are briefly stepping into seeing and feeling what is right here in our reality, but inaccessible in our waking lives. I believe that science explains divine mechanics in all things. So it makes sense to me that perhaps my sleep paralysis is a manifestation of something getting into my head and manipulating my sleep pattern. It makes sense to me that my hallucination could be the work of something supernatural, though we would still call it a hallucination.


Again, I'm not sure. It could just be how our species is wired. Perhaps all of us that experience sleep paralysis have this reaction of terror and of something suffocating us because the human brain goes down this path when held helpless. The brain then creates some weird, scary details like voices, buzzing, and darkness. But when this happens, for us experienced sleep paralysis folks, we are always aware of what is going on. We know more or less what is coming. We don't know what hallucinations that we will see, but we know, from the moment that we wake up unable to move, that things are about to get frightening.

I would say that in a way, I have grown used to it sleep paralysis. When it happens, I try to throw myself at the evil and sometimes try to be scary in my own way. Fight fire with fire I guess?

Him

I contemplate God and the teachings of Christ now, more than anytime in my life. I don't think that this was intentional on my part. I've  been drawn to His love and the need to reflect on my life and how I have and currently live it. I'm not an old man yet, but I can't help but think about how short human life is on this planet. I find myself asking more and more "Is this how I want to spend this gift?" 

I suppose that I have always believed in heaven, and a union of the soul with the creator after our bodily passing. However, now I think about what Christ said about that kingdom. What does it take to get there? He told us. I think deep down, we all have a general idea of what it takes to be united with Him. Most of us are afraid to do those things on this material plane. Give up our luxury? Love those whom we hate? Forgive those who have wronged us? Share what we have worked so hard to earn to strangers? It's easy when the notion of Eternal Life is in the balance. But we are pulled by the security of what we know and observe here in the now. 

I seek to be Christ-like. I fail miserably at it, but I am trying. It's hard to ignore what my mind, society, family, and culture tells me that I need. The ideals conflict often, but they also coincide in some surprising ways...but that's another topic. 

I feel good when I think about God. I feel moved to infinite gratitude. Sometimes I feel bad when I think about God. I feel that I'm not doing enough. Will He forgive me?

Welcome Home

We moved to the farm when in September when I was 9, and our first house that our family had was a mobile home. I remember the first day that my siblings and I came home from our new school, and saw the house sitting in a field, situated between a pear and persimmon tree. The house looked like it didn't belong there on the farm. The land had a life of its own, pastures, creeks, hills, and forests. It seemed confused by the sudden structure propped on blocks, disrupting the wild harmony of the country. Homes are usually built over a period of time in the country, like the growth of a gradual relationship between man and wild. 

But not our home. It was just there one day, without water, plumbing, or electricity. We used candles and kerosene lamps for our first couple of days. For our family, it was like we were reenacting the pioneer stories, and I can't recall any complaints to using the portable toilets and lack of TV. The newly disturbed earth from our habitation created encounters with snakes, spiders, scorpions, and wasps. Electricity came the first week, and we had plenty of light to see our new neighbors. 

Water took a long time to come to us because we had to dig a well. Our weekend routine was to load up the truck with water bags and buckets and drive to family who lived 40 minutes away. We went to their bathtubs and filled up with as much water as we could carry, in order to be able to wash, eat, and dispose of waste during the coming week on the farm. My brother, sister, and I were ordered to bring all of our clothes so that they could be washed, and to take a bath while we had the chance in the city. 

This went on for 3 months. One day, when again my siblings and I came home from school, we saw something out of place. As we got off the bus and stepped onto dirt path that led to our house, we looked up to see a towering metal structure roaring away the fall afternoon. It was a couple of hours before we even stepped foot into the house, as we watched with fascination as the drill rig churned away at the earth in search of water. Eventually the men working for the drilling company called it a day and gave up, finding no source of water down to 80 ft. The next day, in another spot, they found water at only 15 ft, and built a well 30 yards to the south of our house. 

The water was-and still is sandy, but it's the best water I have ever tasted in my life. The underground spring that our well used was naturally cool and clean. I remember my dad saying that he rarely had to change filters on the pump because it was so pure. 

Within the next month, we built septic tanks, plumbing fixtures, and a well-house. At the age of 9, I learned just how much work was need for the basic utilities that you take for granted living in the city. It was nearly winter by the time that we could take showers and flush toilets. I can't remember if it was a relief. Probably because the work was just getting started...

In some years

In some years, I don't write a lot. I was looking through this 11-year-old blog and noticed that in some years I wrote a lot and others that I wrote little. I also noticed that I am the only one who sees the blog, which makes sense because I keep it pretty anonymous and don't share it with most of the people in my life. This blog is really just for me. But back to my first note (both issues are related actually), I wondered why I didn't write as much in some years, and more often than once a month in others. This is my second post of the year, and it is coming with only 25 days left of it. So, what happened? I conclude that I wasn't any more busy than I was in other years, which is what I initially thought, but rather that my writing depends on my emotional state. I tend to write when I am feeling more melancholy. Perhaps this is my outlet. Perhaps this is why the blog is only for me? It's a therapy of sorts. 

Does Blogger have an app? I'll have to look into that. I think that will get me to write more. Why do I want to write more? No one is really reading this except for myself. Ah, there it is again. I want to write for myself. I want to keep a journal. But why? What does it all matter? Why did you start this blog in the first place? Why are you here typing these words? Why are you reading them? 

Goodness, I must remember that I started this blog for a different reason. I even deleted some of those initial posts that I made a decade or so ago. I shared this blog on my Facebook page. When I had a Facebook. I wanted people to read it. But then my writing became more honest, more into my personality...more into ideas and characteristics about myself that I didn't want people to know. 

Something occurred to me just now. A reason that I write on this blog is because it helps me feel less alone. Not that I feel particularly lonely, but because I don't want to lose a piece of myself. If I forget how I felt during a time, then I lose who I was at that time. I need this to echo back to my contemporary self that "Hey, I was here writing these things, spurred on by these thoughts that YOU had. Guy." And I would say to myself, "Ah, yes. I remember that. I remember that feeling. I can try to remember what was going on in my life at that time. Yes, I see now who I was."

That is important to me. It's as simple as that. Now now. What should I be writing about, now that I have recommitted to posting more to this glorious blog of mine? I believe that I will write more stories.