There are moments, sometimes hours, as has been the case today, when birds talk to me. That sounds so spiritual, so Zen. It’s not what you might be thinking. Today, 6:06 a.m., “cheater, cheater, cheater.” It stays until another bird overpowers the sound with “Judy, Judy, Judy”, then, “save a seat, save a seat, save a seat.” It is maddening and I cannot stop it. Well, I can stop it if the docs would give me my preferred prescription**. That’ll stop everything. The only thing past drugs that will stop this now is listening. The birds are actually answering my questions. I know that sounds ridiculous and it’s not. My mind flies pictures in between their calls. Now they are saying, “hello, hello, hello”.
** Read this with a pronounced Southern Accent:
** Read this with a pronounced Southern Accent:
I don’t want their prescriptions anymore. Isn’t that lucky for me because once you go to them docs for help with your back because you’re stuck in a wrackin' spasm, once they x-ray you, once they tell you you’re in constant pain, then you morph to a pain management patient and/or yep, a “drug seeker”. I am neither, I take no prescription drugs because they won’t give me the only one that works for me. They won’t give me Ativan because apparently children snort it, steal it, sell it. I have no children at home, I’m virtually a recluse and why would I give one to my Service Dog? Doctors are not my favorite people, they do not listen to me about me. I’m different. I have a very, very high pain tolerance. If the little white pill gives me control of my mind, I can control my perception of pain. I took 50 of them pills in 5 years . . . that don’t a drug seeker make. I digress . . .
“Turn it over, turn it over, turn it over . . . breathe, breathe, breathe, turn it over, breathe, breathe, turn it over, Now, yep, now, yep, now, now, yep.”
Are the birds really talking to me? You would have to sit in my mind for just a little while and then you’d know for sure. Yes, they are. And that is my zen . . . it's still true for me, even when it seems, even when it can appear, that I’m not all together here, not wrapped too tight. "AMEN", and the birds sound like birds again . . . it’s not about my relief, it’s about my release. Laughing with them, “come again, come again, come again.” Oh, I know I will.
“Turn it over, turn it over, turn it over . . . breathe, breathe, breathe, turn it over, breathe, breathe, turn it over, Now, yep, now, yep, now, now, yep.”
Are the birds really talking to me? You would have to sit in my mind for just a little while and then you’d know for sure. Yes, they are. And that is my zen . . . it's still true for me, even when it seems, even when it can appear, that I’m not all together here, not wrapped too tight. "AMEN", and the birds sound like birds again . . . it’s not about my relief, it’s about my release. Laughing with them, “come again, come again, come again.” Oh, I know I will.
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