Through these Eyes Part 47

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Chapter 29 Self Imposed Barriers

"I am nature, and like all aspects of nature I, too, must respect the pa.s.sing of seasons within my life."

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Self Imposed Barriers

I too, was capable of erecting quite formidable barriers to my health, happiness and general desire for peace. The initial days of my last semester at Black Hawk College had me floundering desperately for sanity; I had talked myself into attempting 17 hours of credit so I would receive a degree rather than merely transferring my hours to the next college if, indeed, there would be a "next college." Had I not so enjoyed sanity, I might have allowed myself to entertain this wretched state of turmoil; as it was, reason soon came to my rescue and I was able to fling one enormous subject back into the sea of college courses. Having discarded the excess weight, I was perfectly capable of continuing my other subjects with ease and enjoyment, and accommodate my tendency toward perfectionistic behavior through my attainment of an A average.

Perfectionism is a behavioral pattern which is not easily discarded, yet when one fostering this destructive mode of thought is able to control it, and reach the irrevocable conclusion that perfectionism is a desperately counterproductive personality, he is able to substantially reduce his mental anxiety. One ruled by perfectionism finds no happiness, and must also face the future in a similarly uncompromising light. Since no one is perfect an endless struggle continues throughout one's existence.

One course which deserves mention if only for its intrinsic quality of humor was called "biofeedback." Of many options, a student was required to choose a course under a certain category despite its utter worthlessness regarding his degree. These were often regarded with contempt, as students felt them to be a sheer waste of time; nevertheless the courses were an easy "A" for those who applied a modest degree of interest and effort.

My elected cla.s.s centered on controlling and tempering one's emotions through the relaxation of individual body parts, and eventually slowing one's involuntary functions such as heart rate and breathing. These various forms of relaxation were monitored by electric devices attached to pulse points on the head and arms.

More interesting than the machine, however, was the teacher who lectured to us. Apparently her method of relaxation worked incredibly well, for she would stand in front of the cla.s.s and speak so calmly, so slowly, that she nearly fell asleep mid-sentence. As the cla.s.s wore on, those seated about the room would either begin to fidget uncontrollably or gradually transcend earthly consciousness into a vast ocean of dreams. I often found my mind wandering aimlessly, far from the room in which my body was confined, yet I fostered a benevolent sympathy for the dreamy instructor and tried to concentrate upon the content of her messages, though like a flower in tight bud, they took forever to unfold. When it was finally time to depart, and we all dashed toward our cars, I could not help but wonder whether it was safe for her to drive thus relaxed.

In addition to discovering new methods of relaxation, I desired to hear other opinions which dealt with emotions and the control thereof; I fought a battle with depression a year earlier, and won; thus my interest stemmed from former conflicts which, resolved, inhabited my memory only, yet stood as steadfast reminders to listen to my mind's plea for rest.

The a.s.signments in the cla.s.s were not in the least rigorous and usually consisted of merely reading books of the "self-help" variety. With the exception of one book, those which I read were generally "compatible"

with readers, meaning that they took all stands in general but none in particular. The book with which I had extreme difficulty was based upon the premise "If it feels good, do it," for which I have little regard.

1982: "I have decided that, although Dr. D's speech within the book denies it, he is also an insecure person; or perhaps he is simply vain.

My reason for so stating this was due to my observance that Dr. D's cover photo is purposely cut in such a manner that his unquestionably bald head is concealed from the general public. Baldness is certainly not uncommon in our society, nor is it something which should be looked upon in shame. After all, you are what you are... body and mind are a unit!

Moreover, if his photo was so ingeniously cut for the purpose of vanity, he needed not "grace" us with his countenance on both the front and back covers of his book.

I further noted that his t.i.tle and choice of attire coincide in such a manner that one is led to believe the book is of a different content.

To more clearly explain myself, "erroneous" is much too easily confused with "erogenous" especially when teamed with D's low-cut knit shirt revealing a sparsity of chest hairs!

An individual seeking guidance toward finding his own beliefs and personality is quite vulnerable; suggestions made by self-a.s.sured, confident people will create a vivid color in his mind. Therefore, it is important that one who is easily persuaded guards against such flagrant and opinionated views of personal conduct, lest he be drawn into a mode of behavior which is worth less than he merits.

I do not believe that a person housing a low self-image should be told to feel free to exercise his wishes as long as they please only him; while no one respects a person who compromises all of his beliefs to please or "be liked" by others, one who succ.u.mbs to his every whim despite the ill consequences toward others also gains nothing. It is beneficial for the uncertain individual to ingest each successive suggestion, and choose which is his desired path toward improvement.

Reading self-improvement books was often a disappointment as I found the content to be disagreeable in ethical terms or some startling and conclusive evidence which I had already concluded on my own. I also pitied the individual who needed to read such books before realizing that he fostered depression or another debilitating emotion; yet hoped that once his repressed emotions were brought to the fore, he would find the altruistic guidance needed to become an emotionally balanced individual, rather than a monster begotten of the misguided advocates of selfishness. If everyone abided by the "philosophies" stated in the latter books, the world could not be a tolerable place to exist; lacking concern for one's fellow man, society would fall into disarray and collapse altogether.

Mon. Mar. 15 1982... On this 15th night of March, the heavens once again proclaim that spring indeed will come. Beneath the shroud of haze one is able to catch fleeting glimpses of lightning, followed by the inevitable and distant roar of thunder. Each day possesses a unique beauty; I am happy that I did not miss this event. Perhaps the steady beat of rain upon the roof-top will lull me to sleep a sound, contented sleep. . . the thunder again claps the listening ear while lightning sears the gray sky to the realization that a new season is close at hand. I sleep... with peace of mind and body... and rejoice in nature's splendor and complexity which man cannot begin to understand. Is not mystery the food which keeps one alive?

It is spring once again. Here I sit feeling at once happy and sad toward the coming of another season. A balmy and gentle breeze now whispers through the budding trees, taking the place of winter's harsh, relentless chill. With each rain, with every ray of sunlight, the gra.s.s hurries to be lush and green. Nothing can hold back the pa.s.sage of time. . . of the seasons.

I am flooded with an almost uncontrollable urge to cry. . . to loosen all my burdens upon this strong and vital earth. Yet one cannot unleash from himself that which is his part in nature's unceasing life cycle. I am as essential, or nonessential, as every living organism; it must follow then, that I make no demands which cannot possibly be fulfilled. I am nature, and like all aspects of nature I, too, must respect the pa.s.sing of seasons within my life.

Things change rapidly; still others remain relatively the same; across the ravine, the graveyard stands as a solid marker of the past, and a constant reminder that no one leaves the earth alive.

Forget it. I cannot write. It seems that one's inner thoughts happen to be the most difficult to express. Writing used to be easier. But then, perhaps, the more one (experiences) the harder it is to write it down. The nearer one is to death, the less words can express one's true feelings. Words would not do justice to my feelings. Perhaps I am only pa.s.sing off my inability to write... but I think not. However, I shall try again... Am I at the end of the road? Have I nothing left to say?

Spring soon descended on the earth, and though I tried to envelope myself in its many splendors, I felt them spinning dizzily away, with summer following close behind like a shadow which remains hidden due to the dimness of the sun. The forthcoming season was recognized as one of rest and relaxation, but viewing the month which lay before me brought no inner comfort, for my time had already been reserved by the desires of others, gazing apprehensively at the calendar, months were swallowed by demands which I felt I could not impede, so concerned were those who wished to "see me," the rarity which would soon disappear from the face of the earth. "How shall I withstand the whirlwind?"

I asked myself. "When am I to live?"

For one who is essentially a loner, not only wanting, but needing, time alone, enjoyment of life decreases as social activities increase.

Initially, I plunged bravely into summer, hoping that if I met its demands head-on, I could more easily manipulate my necessity for quiet interludes; I further supposed that significant hints would prove sufficient impetus under which to situate free time. Alas, I was wrong, and to my dismay, found myself on the edge of thorough emotional duress. Rather than risking a relationship due to a brash, beseeching plea for peace on my behalf, I allowed myself to rend internally, leaving a tattered remnant of myself at the summer's end. There is only one respite to that a.s.sertion, that was time spent with Norm on the week-ends or on the trip to Colorado...

It is a rather strange sensation one encounters when he fosters dreams and desires and yet, simultaneously, knows that those dreams are that which, in all probability, will never materialize; and while one deeply feels the disappointment of this unattainable goal, he also accepts the situation blandly as a matter of course.

Toward the mountains I felt just this emotion. . . desire and inability mottled with the acceptance that had already developed within my mind.

Coupled with the internal disappointment of the "now" was the realization of that which I was capable of mastering the former year.

Despite these physical limitations, however, I am still able to thoroughly enjoy the mere sensations of the mountains by way of my eyes, ears, and touch. Here I can still derive a satisfaction... a feeling of solitude... which no other type of atmosphere can fulfill.

It is my opinion that only a brash fool could not love this atmosphere.

...this is no place for hate... it is for life, emotion, and death and for the celebration thereof.

Sept. 2, 1982:

Here I sit, casually observing the transformation of summer into the cloak of early fall. It is slightly unbelievable that summer is now slipping away as smoothly as the wind shuffles my hair. I enjoyed the summer, but the time has elapsed from one day to the next until the days themselves are lost in a hazy dream. Had I only the chance, I would rearrange time to include the serenity which I now possess. I feel that my early summer was washed away in a blur of nervous, albeit necessary, activities; I remained uncharacteristically surrounded by petty occupations to retain a shred of sanity. . . so reved up was my emotional stability that I neglected, unconsciously, to step out of the race. I felt cheated. . . having so little time and yet so much I desired to accomplish.

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