Coral’s Healing Room at Coralsblog.com 505-269-9242 iwritetohealmyself@gmail.com I rise early. I go to bed early. If you need me, I will make myself available to you.

Scattered all over this morning…

To be spun wildly by the inertia that is me, has me in a bit of panic and uncertainty as of late. Wiped out completely by waves of my unresolved thoughts and emotions. Knowing that when my mind finally stops that my body will follow, and yet being unable to calm my mind enough to experience the stillness. The taunting and teasing ceases as the carrot once dangling in front of me ceases to exist. There is nothing. Nothing anymore except the void of the space left in between, all of the people and places that mattered so much to me. Crashing and slamming and pounding and racing and ripping is this pain in my heart, attempting to ricochet it’s way out of the prison that holds us. The world keeps fading to black and I scurry towards the crack of light. My heart shatters and I scramble to gather her pieces in my arms. A scurvy elephant all of my life ( Thank you for that reference Wayne Dyer)…I break off to find my tribe.

The darkness consumes me and I claw and gnarl and tear to break free of her grip. My darkness is your darkness and your darkness mine. We are the only way out. When I am in my darkness, I reach for you. In your darkness, reach for me. We will break free…you and I. We will break free to see a sliver of darkness in the light. We will run and awaken her darkness to her beauty and bring her to our light. As long as I must, I shall stay here, enduring what remains of my darkness, while focusing ahead on the light. I am the light. You are the light. As surely as I am learning this, I am telling you…you are the light! I don’t know exactly how to begin with me. I am learning. I am failing a lot. I am getting back up a lot, and I am weary.

Depression hurts. Have you ever seen that commercial? The dog pans in and he is as depressed as his person? Depression hurts. Ask Baby Taos. Ask Rocky or Aliah or Prajna or Nahko Bear or Mala Bear. Depression hurts. Ask Tamara. How it must feel to be wanting only to get in. And how lonely it does feel to want nothing more than to get out. Open the door from the inside Coral…remember? I remember, and I cannot forget, and so depression has made the knob slippery and my hand loses her grasp. With my hand around the knob…too slippery to open the door, I am reminded that depression hurts. My hand is around the knob to the door that is my salvation…the door that sets me free, like a noose that hasn’t tightened to its limit yet. Depression hurts.

You know I just thought of something a little odd and probably blatantly obvious. I grew up listening to virtually nothing but country music. I see people struggling with video game addiction with their kids, and how it impacts them. The violence and the sexual assaults become normalized and kids mimic what they constantly engage with. My music auto-shuffled yesterday and country music was shuffled in with Nahko and Lady Gaga. As some of the songs played, I realize that some of all of this dysfunction that I am in right now must have something to do with being patterned in formative years by by music like that. I am not blaming Merle Haggard or Johnny Cash. I’m certainly not saying that Patsy Cline put the glock in my mouth in my 30s. I’m simply pondering the idea that listening over and over and over again to the woes of the alcoholic, as they normalize the exploitation and sexualization and demoralization of women might fuck a formative child up a bit in their thoughts and feelings. Constant drunken and disorderly conduct being repeatedly normalized must have had something to do with my having normalized those things in my own life. Johnny Cash and “Sunday Morning Coming Down” was my fucking life! I ate Merle Haggards “Rainbow Stew” for breakfast. I’m sure that Charley Pride and his song about when he stops leaving he’ll be gone, has nothing to do with my running from every good woman that came before me. I sat next to George Strait in “The Chair” and I listened to song after song after song about adultery and infidelity. I could go on for weeks…and please don’t get me wrong. These are some of my favorite songs. I’m just fucking sayin, as a kid, with her ear pressed to the speaker, it probably mattered what I was listening to. My opinion is that it does matter. I love county music and I probably always will. Those are my memories and my road trippin songs with a family long gone from me. Listening to those songs now is helping me to to put my own puzzle together, I wonder how significant it is that those were the messages I heard from the moment I was conceived. Again, I believe it matters. What messages do we want our kids to hear? We must be mindful what we play in front of them. I was the worst step-parent ever, as I had absolutely no concept of this what so ever. I thought it my duty to pass it on, in case it suits it serves you. As always, take what you need and leave the rest. We get what we get when we get it, as Tamara always reminds me.

I want my life narrated by my friend Wayne Dyer. I love Morgan Freeman. I just really feel Wayne is the one to narrate my life. He has been doing it in my head for years! Just throwing that out there. Anyway, Rough night last night, and a scattered blog this morning. Rough night last night, and so I write to heal us all.

Thank you for being here this morning. I really am glad you’re here! I love you and I hope you have a beautiful day!

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