Tuesday, June 24
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Caught with my pants down [journal] Today a man walked in on me while I was shitting. The strange part was how I didn't care. I gave him this half-cocked smile with my eyebrows raised, sort of to say, "Oh my God, I'm so shocked---but not really."
The incident happened at work, so I wasn't surprised to see him again, this time from stranger to patient. As unbashful as I was, I didn't really want to be introduced to him: "this is Joe, he's a therapist, and he'll be doing your intake." Lucky for me he was assigned to someone else.
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Wednesday, June 18
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Aging [journal] I turned 24 years old this past Sunday, and now, after all these years, I understand the horror of turning older. I really could not understand, as a boy, why it was so bad to be a certain age. But you know, it's not the age itself that is the big deal, it's the self-reflection brought about by the age. I mean if I was rich man with a great private and social life, and an illustrious career would I be boohooing at 24? No, turning 24 would be fine. Problem is I'm not. I ask myself these questions, all of which have empty answers: What have I accomplished? What do I have? What have I yet to do? Where do I stand in this world.
The timer is running down. I have one less year to do good, to be good. The day I turn 50 with a loving wife, wonderful children, great relationships, a satisfying job and little regrets, is the day I'll be happy to turn 50.
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Monday, June 9
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After death [journal] I've been dreaming a lot lately. Dreams of all sorts. They are of exes, of death, of homosexuality, of children, of teaching, of love. But of all the dreams I only wish to expand on one: death.
It was a short dream, or at least what I remember of it. It began with my brother and I in a car (he's driving), going around the city. For one reason or another (I can't remember) we were speeding, likely getting away from someone or something. We entered an alleyway that suddenly lost its width. It became so narrow, so quickly that we squeezed all the way in before we realized it was impossible to do. It seemed as if, first, the side of the car imploded, second, I said the words "uh-oh", third, the car exploded. Suddenly---as smooth as hell---we're still in the car, only it's perfectly fine and so were we. I felt calm and I barely registered that the car just exploded. It felt like the accident was a dream (a dream in a dream), but my dream-self knew better and I turned to my brother and said, "We're dead aren't we?" He didn't say anything. His only answer was a solemn nod, slow and sure. I felt neither happy or unhappy. I knew I had died. I was not afraid. I felt at peace. There was no stress. Death was accepted.
I don't know if I emphasized it clearly enough. The moment of death was instant and painless. Sure, if you were stabbed in the chest and slowly dying, that would hurt, hurt like hell. What I mean is, the moment you switch to death is painless and more sudden than anything. A blink of an eye, lunge of a rattlesnake, strike of lightening, all don't compare. Also it takes a moment for you to realize you're dead. You' don't realize right of. There aren't death banners and lights to inform you. You feel the same, look the same and are at approximately the same place. The only clue is that faint reminder in your head that something happened, something deathly. It's like a whisper at first, but it gets clearer.
About form, I was myself. Not a burnt to a crisp form, but as I was moments before. I can't postulate from one experience of "death" but I believe you appear as you were. I mean it would be weird for me to appear 30 years older (how would I or my spirit self know what this is?) so why should I appear 20 years younger or in any other state. But I'm sure you could appear younger. I'm only guessing, but if your spirit yearns for a specific age I don't see why you couldn't appear as so.
Anyways that was my dream about death and has assured me that there is something after life, and it's not scary, not painful and---well---pretty normal.
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Monday, June 2
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Biofeedback Man [journal] Now that I've had more time working at my job I've become better acquainted with my duties *ahem* my one duty: the biofeedback machine. Basically, it's a device that converts your physiological states into readable visual and audible computer generated signals. Your heart beat could be a sin-wave. Your alpha brain signals could play the blues. Your minute electrical pulses inside will could like gunshot. Anyways, the purpose of this machine is to show the patients, in an observable way, how wacked their body is. If you're sweating, tense and nervous the visual output will be huge lines zig-zagging and the noise will be loud and constant. Your goal is to get the curving line to flatten and the sound to cease. The idea is that sometimes people need results, immediate understandable results.
The people I worked on were wacked. I mean they just couldn't relax. There was improvement but it's only relative to them, not to the average person. I had a go with the GSR mode. This mode is similar to lie detector tests. Actually, it is the lie detector test. You put on your finger bands that determine how much you sweat by sending out minute, harmless shocks to check the level of your sweat. It's a measure of arousal. When our first person put it on his number was huge: 750. Dr. K's was 250 at first. Mine was 180. Dr. K to lower his number started doing all sorts of fucked up meditating stuff, and it worked. Given time he lowered his number to just below 200.
After he left I put on the stuff. I tried to put myself into a state of unconsciousness. I let myself drowse. I blurred my vision. The number dropped and dropped. I eventually got it down 15. Fucking 15. When I told the doctor he was flabbergasted. He said that I must have been in some other state. I told him I almost fell asleep. He said even in sleep it shouldn't be that low. Anyways, since it's a measure of arousal I started thinking about bad things. Like failing my parents expectations. Thinking that this was my first day at work and recreated that nervous feeling. My number leaped up to over 200. I tried to bring it down again and I did. This time I thought about sexual things, since it's a measure of arousal. But oddly it never went passed 170. I guess sex just doesn't make me worked up as failure. One other thing to note, when I tried again later that day (at 3 p.m. instead of 12 noon) I couldn't get it below 60. I think that has to do with how my body is more alert as the day goes on since I normally wake up at noon!
Oh---I've been wearing dress pants and a dress shirt to work all the time, but this time I noticed Dr. K was wearing faded blue jeans, an unbuttoned stripped shirt and snake skin boots. I think it's safe to say that the dress code is more laxed than I thought.
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