The Phoenix
What started as a rattle in the chest over the last two days could no longer be ignored. It seemed to shrug off any suggestion of just going away on its own, and thus the rattle turned into something more obvious — a raw feeling on inhalation and exhalation, just at the end of each phase.
At least that's how it began.
For a few hours the breath carried a bit more levity home to nest in the body after each outward journey. And all was well until a glint of light caught the eye. It beckoned a second look for the source of light. The light could not be found, but instead what was left was a lone twinge in both eyes. No external source could be seen; the eye seemed to generate its own heat and light. The twinge turned into a singe, and then a sear, pinpoints at first, then smoldering enshrouded both eyes.
The burning eyes were the harbinger of fever. Before the sun had fully set it seemed to impart all its heat into the body, and that shimmering mirage on the horizon now followed everywhere with the gaze. The sickness was undeniable. It could be felt in all the muscles as well, and they seemed, more than anything, to get tense, and egg on thoughts.
Why me? How am I supposed to do all the things I had to do? I am really very busy. Too busy for this. The thoughts drifted in at first. What did I do wrong? This can’t be happening to me, why do I deserve this? Can’t this happen some other time? Why wont this just leave me alone? But they took a turn towards darkness, as if they were stoked by the fever. I have things to do, why can't this come back later? Then, they swirled around like accusations, they were bullies taunting, fully animated.
What’s happening here? Am I dying?
Fear had been simmering when the muscles and joints began to hurt. The victimizing thoughts brought it to a crescendo. Each new thought seemed to displace some comforting resource in the psyche and, as the menagerie of exotic protective charms depleted, the fear rose, enormous in proportion.
Cowering in one little corner, all that was left, was a cool sliver of hope, it seemed to flicker in and out of sight, out of existence really. And the terror grew larger. The sliver of hope was nowhere to be seen. Complete panic set in. It’s gone, there’s no protector left. The terror grew, all encompassing, with no hope of escape, it became beyond infinite. It pressed all other sensations, thoughts, feelings out of existence. No time, no space, just terror.
— Terror without limit —
The new normal. There was a sinking in the chest and stomach which accompanied this, an expected feeling of despair, homesickness, the dark void inside. The bottomless pit welled.
But, there was a point in the chest, it seemed like a grit of sand maybe, or a seed, stuck inside this despair. It was indeterminate, maybe it was all imaginary.
No it was undeniable. Where had this come from?
A flash.
The chest led the way through this speck. Sucked in — it all passed through this tiny grain and the terror wrung through each rib as it turned inside out. The body inverted. There was something larger. What had appeared limitless, and terrifying, no longer wore the clothes of terror. It was just there among the menagerie of things, but impossibly large, it was everything really. And it burned with joy.
Something within it said: I was here all along. There was no straying, for there was nowhere to go. It was beautiful, and vast, it was everything. There were no questions, no answers.
There wasn't anything else left. And yet there wasn’t anything there.
The fever broke,
but the fire kept burning.
Lemonhope
I’ve always liked Pendleton Ward’s Adventure Time. Part of it really spoke to my love of over the top childhood cartoons, imagination running wild, while another part spoke to the serious adult storyteller within. Towards the end of the shows run there’s this epoch, it’s almost a stand-alone hero’s journey movie compressed into a few episodes, it’s called Lemonhope. I implore you to check it out.
My son must have been around three years old when I showed it to him. (There’s some pretty seriously scary nightmare sequences in there, so say what you will about my parenting decisions) He was really enjoying it, it was nearly bedtime and we were relaxing together in the TV room watching it and he was just completely transfixed on the final song.
(Watch it here; the essay continues below)
He was transfixed in that way kids get, locked eyes, almost unblinking, just becoming one with the experience. Towards the very last few bars of the song, his face melted into pure horror, and he howled, crying to me:
“Where are his mommy and daddy? Where did they go?”
In a flash of that moment, he was inconsolable, pure terror and sadness. I just held him as he sobbed. I told him I loved him, he was safe. The DVD menu repeated in the background as he fell asleep in my arms.
It’s moments like this which give me the utmost respect for beautiful, powerful art - my three year old son built the whole narrative arc in his own mind, and it moved him so much, it hurt him.
Let’s share some respect for the storytelling in our own hearts that make such adventures possible, and let’s take this as a lesson that art is capable of transmitting, transmuting great horror, and incredible beauty.
Firelight
I was at work on May 31st when I got a text message:
our son is missing
we were at the park and he must have walked off
My response - What the fuck - does a good job conveying the kind of disbelief any parent would feel in this situation.
I kept my cool as much as I could, I’m in a room with patients, just doing my job. But, I could feel my heart speeding up.
He’s only six years old, so he probably just went to play with some other kids, or went down into the creek to play. This is going to be ok. Most kids are just around the corner, where they can’t be seen. My wife can handle this, she will find him.
our daughter says he left with someone
He’s gone. He’s dead. I know it. Being calm is no longer an option. There is a bottomless chasm where my chest used to be. With each breath my chest echoes inward towards this bottomless pit. The razor slit light through the blinds freezes the room in place. Time stops.
I once donated blood - they told me to keep squeezing my hand, so I did. It was going quickly. I looked down at the bag. It seemed almost full, only 90 seconds have passed since they put the needle in. I kept squeezing, Is donating a whole unit of blood supposed to take two minutes? I started feeling cold, I felt my chest sink into the chair, sweat bloomed on the inside of my skin, primed, ready to come out. Something isn’t right. Sounds started to echo, I’m at the end of a hallway. I look around, something isn’t right. The colors are all dull. I feel like something is missing. Everyone’s staring at me. I feel alone. So alone. I’m sinking into a cold soup of desperate isolation.
The ink dark desperation of impending doom - the feeling of bleeding to death, enshrouds me. It pulls me down as a blinding white rage stretches me up out of my chair. Time pulls like taffy with me. I’m still in my chair yet I’m running now. “I need to leave. I NEED TO LEAVE NOW.” I blow past my coworker and race down the hallway. Space and time are arcing around me as my heart is pulled lower and lower toward the deep. I can see his dead body now in my head. It hurts. I want him back. Just one more minute, one more joke. One more hug. I don’t want him to be scared. I race through the locked doors, my badge, my keys, each action full and precise, this is the moment to seize control.
“My son is gone. He was at the park. My wife said my daughter thinks he left with someone.”
“Go John. Go find him.”
Don’t run. It only encourages the panic. It feeds the tumor that eats what little sanity is left. Don’t panic - but those words aren’t working. I’m working my way towards my car through the construction in the hospital. I am alone in a hellscape maze. My heart beats: lub-dub lub-dub lub-dub lub-… I see myself frozen in time, standing in the hallway between elevator banks, I look so small. Somehow I can see a birds eye view of myself in this hospital hallway. A hundred feet down, no ceilings, nothing in the way.
When you try to light a fire with a firebow, or by rubbing the sticks together with your hands alone, you have to keep the pressure going. You have to constantly work to keep the heat concentrated. You have to fight without stopping. If you give up for one moment, all the heat is gone, it dissipates and spreads outwards like the lifeblood oozing out as you sink into the darkness. If my son is dead the heat, the light, it all dissipates out into nothing.
I get in my car. Seconds at a stoplight are unbearable. The minutes are hours and days. The world is a paper diorama. I’m at a stop sign on my way home. A text:
he was in the house
There’s ground underneath my feet now, it’s not solid ground, it’s a flimsy rope bridge between me and the bottomless abyss. And there I am rubbing two sticks together, brow furrowed, fuming with concentration, working to keep the heat from leaking out into the darkness.
When the right song comes into your life
May 12th had been one of the hardest days of my life. I was falling apart mentally, but I had made it through the day. Almost.
My daughter wanted me to play our bedtime playlist, but it was too late in the evening to listen to all the songs before bedtime so I suggested maybe we listen to just one song. I chose, we listened and before it was over she was asleep. But my music app had created a related playlist from that song, and a song came on afterwards. So I decided to remain seated, cross legged, in the dark on my kids’ bedroom floor as it played.
I was already emotional, almost rapturous from the previous song, and I found myself drawn in by the backing music, but I knew the words were about me, that the song was about being my own “one”. That is to say, I knew I was both subject and object of the song and it was about loving myself, and being there for myself.
I felt a shift inside me, something settling in the pit of my stomach, like the opposite of that dull ache of homesickness. The words had triggered a tectonic shift of the plates of my heart.
What ensued was a form of ugly crying I can only describe as being waterboarded by my psyche.
Sometimes music just comes into our lives at the right time. It comes to us in a way that helps us see more clearly who we are and where we are going, and I wanted to share this story because I want to share how beautiful art fits into our lives and how it shapes and changes them, and I want to hear more of these stories in the world too.
Fear
"I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain."
-The Litany Against Fear, Dune, Frank Herbert
It appears fear is your greatest enemy. It is a strange thing with a bottomless hunger for you. A hunger for parts of you. For more of you.
For all of you.
If you turn your back it will take the container that is your life and empty it completely. It will evict you wholesale from this human form and all that will remain is a husk, a shadow wandering the earth, forever lost.
How then, can it be your enemy?
“To know your Enemy, you must become your Enemy.”
-Sun Tzu, The Art of War
Fear can be your greatest teacher. Look deeply into it. Become one with it.
What is hiding there?
Leave no stone unturned while you reside in its inferno. Let it char the flesh off your weary bones.
No part of you worth being will be lost.
Plant a garden in the ashes of your fire. Mind the seeds, the tender shoots, and harvest the sun-ripe fruits of your labor. Enjoy them. Share them.
You deserve them.
On Not Giving Up
I started this website, and the accompanying YouTube channel to give myself a broader voice on the internet. I wanted an opportunity to share some of the wisdom I have gained through my experiences as a person, a patient, a father, and a doctor in training. Many things I have done in my life have abjectly fallen apart, but this is the place I come to bring it all back together and create something beautiful with it. I hope you’ll join me on my journey and enjoy some good storytelling and a few lessons about making mistakes, mental health and living a better life.
I expect to post videos to YouTube weekly. I am not sure on the format, or frequency of the blog posts.
Thank you for visiting.