A transformative event

 

Just wish I could find a pre-emptive strategy for these sudden onset bouts of painful exhaustion, it’s not as if I can lay the blame on over exertion. I’d had a quite lazy restful day today, apart from an unduly early morning waking, from my fitful slumbers, as the hound expressed an urgent need to utilize the garden! I was able to get back into bed within ten minutes but, it seemed like an eternity before I was able to resume my slumbers. When I did finally emerge from the duvet realm there seemed little option other than a very restful day.

 

Around 18.30 hours, a painful tiredness enveloped me; it’s almost impossible to determine which came first, the weary tiredness or the pains in upper limbs and feet. A not unfamiliar gnawing discomfort from the armpits served to induce feelings of nausea and a few shouted expletives caught the snoozing hound quite unawares, although he did quite quickly proffer me his paw and snuggled up closer to me. The discomfort dissipated, of its own volition(?) as I listened to Sibelius ‘The Wood Nymph’, at the opening of tonight’s Prom broadcast on BBC4 before I was fully awakened by the vocal dexterity of soprano Anu Komsi in a newly commissioned piece, from Laura Poe, ‘Laulut maaseudulta’.  The soprano’s performance reminded me of the excitement I felt when I first discovered Cathy Berberian’s vocal gymnastics in the 1960s. A transformative moment.

Jesus and Me

originally published on my 'Mal's Murmurings' blog in September 2005

Jesus transformed my life but, perhaps, in turn I changed his. His

story has been transmitted to us via faith communities and, to

some extent, each believer adapts this person to their own needs.

The power of symbols is simply amazing. One time, I entered into

a personal relationship with Jesus and, my God, was it hard. It’s

strange how he expected me to take on the comfortable lower

middle-class lifestyle of my peers in the faith. Some of them knew

no better, they’d grown up with him as had I but, they’d never seen

the need to rebel.

Rebellion, now there’s a pain, one may even have to start asking

and, even worse, answering questions! Me and Jesus got along fine

for quite some time, we shared all these intimate conversations but,

no … he wasn’t prepared to back me whatever I chose to do; the

pastor knew best on that score. God, how I loved Jesus social

conscience and his love of the company of outsiders to the faith but,

according to the pastor, it was only because he was divine that he

couldn’t be tainted. It seems that somehow we poor fallen

creatures couldn’t take that risk so, we had to set ourselves apart.

It wasn’t long before we parted company, at least the church and

me; I don’t think the Jesus symbol ever let me go! My journey took

me a long way round after that, via Eastern religions, Trotskyist

politics, and experimentation with various substances, asking

uneasy questions and collapsing along the way.

All this time I remained under the spell of this divine symbol Jesus;

in him I found a voice and image of inclusivity, his demands may be

hard but ultimately that became part of the attraction. If no

demands were made how could one possibly grow? This time, the

demands weren’t to do with opposition to my working class status

but, more to do with caring about the people it was necessary to

challenge.

On my return to the fold, even in a transitional state of charismatic

fervour, I was far less inclined to “preach at” non-believers; the

most important thing was that they should realize that I was there

for them. For some time, strangers would turn up at my doorstep

or, I would be granted an insight into someone’s need to be

befriended.

It took so long for the realization to grow that, the most important

thing was quite simply to be there. Although full of doubts and

questions, regarding the Christian faith, the symbols of the faith

have well and truly grasped me. I am acceptable, tetchy human

that I may be.

Hopefully - just a little phase I'm going through!

I really hate that sudden feeling of confusion, an un-preparedness to pursue that task or goal which, only a few moments before, you knew you were fully capable of fulfilling. It's not even anything out of the usual, perhaps even part of a regular routine, that suddenly becomes daunting. Even one's thoughts seem to be jumbled up, impossible to decipher. 

Quite a while since I last experienced that but, yesterday, it suddenly hit me and I can't even remember what the task was that I either completed or cancelled. At lunch-time today it seemed more like a panic attack as I began preparation for this evenings meal; I'm rather pleased with myself that I was able to continue despite a sense of emotional exhaustion.

Glands, at side of my neck and under my chin, have been feeling a kind of sharp bruised tenderness for a couple of days now whilst my eyes have reacted with extreme sensitivity, spasmodically and hopefully very temporarily, towards any light source -  a kind of sensory overload. Sudden waves of overwhelming exhaustion, as if something's achingly gnawing through my bones as well as muscles, serve to remind me of my quite routine state of being for months at a time during the past decade.

The bright side is that it has made me feel most grateful for a fairly sustained run of reasonably good days. I'm just hoping and praying that I'm not heading for a total relapse.

AVOIDING an INCOMPETENCE PREMIUM rate call

How wonderful I thought, a delivery company that actually gives a one hour time slot in which the item will be delivered! The company in question is Interlink Express and, the sense of wonderment soon evaporated.

 

For the second time this week I removed myself from the duvet lair at an earlier hour than would be the normal requirement and sat, patiently and quietly, awaiting the aforementioned delivery. The delivery slot given online was 08.56 to 09.56, and I sat waiting from 08.30 until 10.56 but, the delivery failed to materialize!

 

At this point I went back online to be told that they attempted to deliver but there was no-one there to sign for the parcel. Adding insult to injury they gave an 0844 number to call and a card number to quote (needless to say no physical card appeared chez nous. Fortunately I went online to saynoto0870.com and found a normal number to phone and simply ask them to put me through to INTERLINK EXPRESS. It turned out that it’s just as well that I didn’t use the 0844 number as I was put on hold for a few minutes whilst the operative attempted to contact the driver on his mobile.

 

They eventually said that the driver was now 1½ hours away so wouldn’t be able to come back and, the operative wasn’t authorized to give instructions. He admitted that the driver had gone to the wrong address but “that’s only human error” to which I responded that they have a postcode and a satnav so that’s no excuse. He further said that he would contact the depot and ask them to get the delivery ready for me pronto; once again he added that he could only ask them not instruct. Why have a helpline if the operatives don’t have any authority?

 

In marked contrast, a parcel despatched yesterday from a different company in SE England, this time by ROYAL MAIL (the company the government intends to eviscerate) was received at 11.30am this morning. Excellent service from ROYAL MAIL. The only thing was, the major item from this order had accidentally been omitted but the company assure me that I should receive it tomorrow (I’d have been really worried if they were using Interlink Express).

TRYING TIMES

And suddenly I’m swamped, drowning in the muddy wastes of isolation. It’s not that I’m alone, nor am I not loved; the problem is the endless nagging of sundry aches and pains, the loss of contact with those I once considered friends as if it’s some kind of punishment for being exhaustingly unwell. Where once I was a social and political activist of a somewhat gregarious disposition, attending clubs, concerts, theatre, cinema, I’m now trying hard (although it often comes quite naturally) to be content with a lifestyle where all my entertainment has to be served at home, and campaigning becomes virtual via the internet.

I must admit to the blessings of TV, radio, CDs and mp3s but, they never fully compensate for the more participative experience of actually being present in the theatre, cinema, concert hall or jazz club. For much of the past ten years I’ve had neither sufficient stamina or confidence to think of attending / coping with the duration of a church service, although previously a regular attendee and house-group leader, especially if there’s a reasonably large congregation.

Much of the time I manage to accept these health imposed limitations without too much grieving, at others – such as today, a sense of frustration and despondency verges on despair. Perhaps the frustration really began when I didn’t feel really up to dining out with my beloved and her daughters; a sense of guilt swiftly ensued as I felt, albeit needlessly, that I was being anti-social. At times like this, I start to feel that I’m a burden on my beloved OH and family, although they reassure me that I’m not!

As I write my own report card the familiar words, “must try harder”, take on a marked significance. It’s so easy to be trying, even when it’s difficult to try.

Journeying On

The rather more upbeat days continued through to Tuesday of this week; I was even able to visit ‘Open Church’ on two successive days, Monday and Tuesday, for coffee and conversation. Admittedly, sundry medications still have their role to play as part of a general coping mechanism but, it really is great to feel rather more comfortable within my corporeal frame. At the conclusion of Tuesday’s visit I welcomed the prayers of Roy and Jacqueline that I may discern a readiness / preparedness for healing. As one who constantly strives to rationalize their faith, I have difficulty in accepting that simple spiritual gift.

Wednesday saw something of a setback in terms of muscular and joint pain but, more disconcertingly, painful intestinal grumblings (and hyper-activity) put paid to any notion of venturing beyond the confines of the house. Fortunately, recent positive activities have served to keep any acute sense of frustration at bay. By Thursday afternoon I was able to cautiously venture out to Café Culture and, I visited the café once again on Friday in the company of ma belle and Beth.

This evening I’ve prepared a casserole in readiness for Sunday dinner, a spiced chicken, mushroom and peppers casserole; even though I’ve had a healthy sufficiency of food during the day, this dish has certainly tantalized the tastebuds.