Sunday, October 06, 2013

Little Crisis of Faith

I've been in a little crisis of faith for some weeks now, and think that yesterday brought it to a head but am a long way from really out of it. What crisis of faith? The crisis of not being sure that I can do anything. I mean not being sure I can make a meal, not being sure I can wash dishes. Not sure I have the strength, energy or drive to do a laundry or make the calls necessary to get the story done. Things I live for and love to do look and feel like insurmountable barriers meant to hamper me in every way.
    People depend on me to 'sing' for them in the mornings. It's just what I do to say hello to the world, to the medicines, to the colors of the universe, to the spirits, to friends, family, to strangers who ask for help. I love to do my sing--something based on Peruvian ceremony but modified to be strong for me outside of traditional ceremony. But I have avoided it for a month. I say a nodding hello to the spirits who help me and otherwise ignore them.
    I have not called my friends or family for weeks. Too much effort and I don't have the oomph, the pizazz, the joie de vivre, the pump, the push, the oh la la to force myself to do it.
    Part of it is that I hurt. I hurt all over every minute of every day. My knees, my leg, my toes. Standing is a pain, walking is a pain, mowing lawn a pain--though after I'm doing any of those things for more than a few minutes, I'm okay. So the start is slow because of the physical--a lot of which is the side effet of nearly four months of 1500 mgs of antibiotic a day--and that's after the other three antibiotics were cut out of the program. Part of it is just not believing that I can really get anything done. And when I do there is no feeling of reward. It all has seemed pointless. Yes, I've done what needs to be done. But where I normally do things with joy and thunder I'm just getting them done.
    I am not happy about it. I do not want to be this person. Yesterday was very very low. Today my son Marco came over to talk about a similar situation he's been in, so it might be running through the Gormans right now. But I want out of this. I want the spark back, I want the fire. I want the insane joy of living every second no matter what I'm doing. Washing dishes? Scrub those babies!!!!! Doing laundry? Toss each piece of clothing into the washer from 10 feet! Doing lawn? Burn it, baby! Calling friends? Get ready for an hour of good conversation. And writing a story? In the zone. Disappear into the place where Peter Gorman doesn't exist, where walls melt and information I've researched for the story come to me in such a way that I have a hard time typing it fast enough! Sing in the morning? YES! Heal those people or try to heal them. Send out the most positive, deep, worthwhile courage and love I've got to share and then share even more!
      I've never lost an ounce of strength in giving and giving. But this sitting around, getting things done as chores and physically hurting all the time, well, this is sucking the freaking live and love out of me. So universe, give me a hand here, cause I'm about done with this nonsense. If this leg and all the attendant shit is a test, well, tell me my grade and lets get on with living. If I'm just sorry for myself, well, then, self, you really are a sorry muthafugga, so quit it. If it's the weather? No excuse. Time to find those bootstraps and rip it up again in a joyful and meaningful way. It's the same job, the same life, the same work. And I'd rather be doing with while I'm exploding with energy than doing it while dragging my behind.


Anonymous said...

I believe this dark state of mind has a very simple cause: the antibiotics destroyed your ( as happens to each of us...) already compromised gut flora. The Flora is very important ALSO for the emotions and the mental heath.
Kambò could help you to overcome this panema ? i think yes, but it is not enough, because to restore the bacterial symbiosis is not simple, normal probiotics do almost nothing.
I have an idea to do that job, but not verified personally even if one can find some encouraging references googling Fecal Transplant. I'm not jocking.
A three old baby not vaccinated would be the best donator, in my view.
All the best, my dear Peter.

dman3513 said...

For the many people that write to you and say you are an inspiration, there are many many more that are still inspired, they just don't write to tell you. Your work is amazing. You inspire me more than you know!

Have you ever watched "What About Bob". With Bill Murray? Baby Steps. Little bit at a time. Overcome the small things.And in time you will be as you were, and better for having overcome such an ordeal. Get well Mr. Gorman!!!
Love light and blessing from Florida!


Piers Alder said...

I completely agree with the previous commenter. Hang in there Peter and things will get better, if only that pain would go away. I will try and send some blessings.


Bill Freimuth said...

You can't live the big highs without some big lows, Peter. I don't say that flippantly or as some sort of platitude. I mean that you're blessed with a broad range that--for better and worse--takes you soaring beyond where nearly anyone else has gone then feels the need to balance it out by planting your face in the shit for awhile.

Otherwise, you've got to come to terms with the fact that you've experienced extreme physical trauma and that, thankfully if painfully, you're now healing. Don't let the time and effort that this recovery is taking feel wasted. While I can't expect you to enjoy it in any way, you know how strong you are and how much stronger you'll feel again soon.

You've got a lot of people rooting for you, Peter. Take strength from us--in just the way that you've given it to so many over the years.

Makebeliever said...

cardamon tea

XS said...

Oh, Peter! I'm so grateful you've found the strength to share this! It echoes the song of my heart right now. I've been going through similar issues due to completely debilitating back pain caused by growths on my spine. The only differences being: it gets worse the more I do, seems to be progressing in a negative way, all of my material resources were long ago depleted trying to resolve it, I have NO source of income, have been either shunned or politely put at a distance from nearly all of my friends, been derided by those I would have expected to offer support, receive only the minimal medical care and a few dollars in food stamps (which are being cut, but that doesn't matter much because I can rarely find anyone to take me to the store and typically only have the strength to cook or eat once a day), and am very soon facing the possibility of having to live in my car which has no battery, registration or insurance (which doesn't matter much either because my license just expired and I can't afford to renew it). There's more, but you get the point.

I often find myself asking the same questions you have in this post. What happened to the guy that used to inspire people by just walking into the room? The guy who did everything with joy and could easily tackle what others found to be impossible problems? The guy who spent every moment of the day communing with the spirits of nature, hiking, surfing, helping people move, improve their fitness, find their spirituality and become their best? Why can he now seldom find the strength to answer the phone, let alone offer much service to the person on the other end? (Good thing it hardly rings anymore.) What happened to all the energy he invested in the physical and spiritual health of himself and his community? Where did that guy go?

The answer is, he's dead. He's dead because it's time for something new—a whole new, previously unimaginable paradigm. It's time for the caterpillar to grow wings, and that inevitably means some time in a dark cocoon.

A lot of people don't know what goes on in there. The caterpillar doesn't just transform. It literally dissolves into butterfly soup before the new creature takes form and emerges, and I don't think that's a very comfortable process. Yet it's inevitable. And for me, it seems that when I'm too stubborn or stupid to get into the cocoon myself, Ayahuasca somehow creates the circumstances that give me no choice but to dissolve. It's a little scary, but I know from experience that looking back is pointless. I know that once everything in the old paradigm is shattered and there's nothing left to grasp, it's only a matter of time before some sparkling new opportunity that my old mind could not have even conceived will make itself available, and I'll only be able to reach it because of the wings that grew out of that butterfly soup.

So, rejoice in the current darkness, my friend. It's the harbinger of unimaginable joy. Long before you took your first sip of that precious sacrament, you, like me, signed up for the kind of adventure that most people wouldn't have the courage undertake. I can assure you that there are those of us who are growing through periods that seem much worse than the one you're in. I wish I still had a lawn to mow. I wish I could just fold my laundry or vacuum my floor without throwing up from or being paralyzed by the pain. I wish there was a doctor saying "There's this procedure that may suck, but it's gonna mean you'll eventually get better." But we all have one commonality. We can only go right if we let the Vine be our guide and keep focusing on what our experiences allow us to give the world around us. You are loved, Peter, and it seems you're right where you're supposed to be.