Yes, I turned another one of those crazy corners after I turned the good corner. (See post below to refresh your memory.)
(I think I need one of those service dogs, just to sort of keep me from going down all these terrifying roads. He could pull on the leash and say to me, Don’t do it, honey. Don’t go down there. Nothing good is waiting for you down that road. And I could then heed his good advice and continue on indefinitely in sweetness and light.)
(I’m not mocking service dogs and what they do. I’m actually kind of serious. All I have are 8 semi-feral cats, whom I love dearly, but who make me utterly insane and who help me in pretty much no way whatsoever.)
I am of course talking about my problems with suicidal depression. And how instantaneously it can come swooping back. It was really bad this time, so I got help. Because I am determined to make a different statement with my life than that one. You know: I endured so much, I created so much, put so much into the world, helped a lot of people, counseled a lot of people, helped love circulate in the world and then, you know, killed myself.
Not a statement I’m willing to sign my name to, but suicidal depression is an energy that is overwhelming in its inability to care which story you’d rather tell.
I don’t believe in traditional psychiatric therapy type stuff. It has never done anything positive for me, ever. Being a Christian minister, I of course, go down more spiritual prayer-filled roads. It is still therapy. It is still people armed and at the ready to help you survive. Just not through drugs or talking about yourself.
In fact, the first thing I was instructed to do was to pray for someone else who was in the same dire straights I was, emotionally. A total stranger, whose name I did not know, who I’ll never see again, and I did not know what was causing him to want to kill himself, but I didn’t need to know why; I understood his anguish and the immediate reaction was to go deep into prayer for him; deep into that knowing that guidance would come for him; help would come. Knowing that Love, coming from any direction at all – even from a total stranger – could ease him even an inch past the crisis point and that could be enough to help someone go on.
And when you’re in those feelings that are being aimed at someone else, you realize you are also aiming all that love at yourself, too. And it helps you go on, too.
I draw your attention momentarily to the photo at the top of the post there. It is of Thomas Troward, one of the earliest voices of what became the New Thought Movement, which is the type of Christianity I follow, which underscores my ministry. His writings and scientific lectures from as early as 1904 are simply jaw-dropping, and his approach to Christ’s teachings unshackle them from dogma, and strangeness, and from all those weird ideas that to me have never made any sense.
If you aren’t familiar with his writings, he is seriously worth checking out. It’s all about the power of thought; his initial lines of inquiry stemming from the work of Franz Mesmer who discovered, in the 1700s, that people could be hypnotized so what was that telling us about the power of thought and what it can persuade us into thinking if left unchecked? In a nutshell, Troward asserts that Jesus understood what the mind was capable of doing to and for people. This is also, of course, what the Christian Gnostics believed, and what I believe, as well.
I’m only bringing all this up because suicidal depression, in my belief, is just that type of powerful Thought left unchecked, swirling in its own magnetic attraction, until its compounded pull becomes intensely powerful.
And it doesn’t matter if you can logically define it for yourself, when you’re caught in its undertow, man, is it hard to break free of it.
I’m on the other side of it now. Yet again, surviving. Still not in the Christmas spirit at all, but I did indeed open the gifts my birth mom sent to me. (See post below somewhere about how incapable I am of waiting until Christmas to open my presents.) It helped lift my spirits enormously. Truthfully, she could have sent me a lump of coal and I would have loved it because I love the mere thought that she thinks of me and that she loves me.
I also repeatedly streamed The Weeping Song really loudly, over and over and over. And I mean, probably close to one hundred times. So loud that you could hear it all over the house. It was like the IV tube stuck in my veins. I needed to hear it wherever I went. Until I could get help and get “saved,” as it were. Get past the crisis and not kill myself.
As an aside – one thing that confounds me about America is how few people even know who Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds are. The Americans who do know their music seem to live primarily in LA or NYC, but even my friends in LA and NYC do not know Nick Cave’s music, even though he has now been around forever.
Well, you’re missing out on so much. That’s all I can say.
Well over 9 million people have viewed this video for The Weeping Song and you haven’t even heard of the guy!
All righty. Well, he helped keep me alive this time. Got me over another hurdle. That’s what counts.
Okay. Thanks for visiting, gang. I hope this finds you in a real good place. I’m happy our paths are still crossing. I’ll be spending today working on Blessed By Light, the new novel. Take care and see ya!