Images copyright Cara Hartley/The Real Cie. I allow the use of my photographs in other creative blogs with credit to me.
The person in the photograph is my 28-year-old son, Michael, who is taking photographs of some specimens at the Denver Botanic Gardens. Michael has overcome a lot of challenges in his life, and I am very proud of him. He has worked hard to manage depression and anxiety without medication, as the medications don't work for him. Although he still deals with these issues, he has developed excellent coping skills.
Psych meds work well for some people, but they don't work for everyone. In Michael's case, they don't work at all. In my case, they make me manic and psychotic, which I am usually not.
People tend to want to "fix" those who have neurological and psychological differences. Instead of trying to "fix" us, which tends to make us become defensive and shuts down conversations, try instead to understand our perspective, which opens the doors to understanding and possibility.
Hi. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Michael Neil Lee, but you can call me Mick. I am a recovering addict and alcoholic, and I believe in angels.
I realize that some of you will think my beliefs are antiquated and unscientific. I believe in science, but I think there are some things that science can't explain. Like angels, for instance.
I know there are some of you who will be like "let us be nice to the fry brain and we will humor his belief in angels" and you will say things like "yes, there are angels here on Earth who help people. Like nurses and doctors and your counselors in rehab."
I don't know about nurses and doctors and my counselors. But yes, I believe in angels in the flesh. My little sister Nicole is a for real earth angel. She believed in me even when I was on rock bottom. She was there for my kids when both me and their mom couldn't be there because of our problems. Even when I was at my worst with meth and heroin and drinking and pills she still loved her big brother and I am sorry for the times I caused her to worry that the next time she would see me is in the morgue. I am crying when I write this so I am sorry if it is not the best writing. Nikki, you are a for real Earth angel. I believe in you.
Nikki's new girlfriend Thalia who she met last year is also an earth Angel. They both thought they would never meet anybody to be in love with, but they met each other. They love their nieces and nephews like they were their own children. They are in love with each other like they thought they could never be with anybody. Also, now I have a new buddy to have (Clean and Sober) fun with and listen to music with and tease and play practical jokes with. To be fair, Tally, you had to know it was a Snake in the Can, but you opened it anyways. I'm still waiting for the payback.
Thalia introduced me to instrumental music like this. I still love my Rock and Metal, always and forever, especially my Crue, in case you can't tell by the picture on my profile. But when I need to relax and to chill out, I listen to this instead of lighting it up or shooting up or drinking, and it's way better. Now my kids know their Dad will be around for them and not dead in an alley or something like that.
Also, my friend Cie who has said to me that I can write and she will help me edit my story, you are also a real Earth Angel. My story is called Earth Angel, and it is inspired by some of the people I met along the way. The Angel in my story is called Katarin. She is a real angel who has lost her way and has been abused so much. I have met so many women who have been abused and used up. One of them had schizophrenia and she had been raped so many times when she was trying to get drugs to forget her pain for awhile. She had abortions and also kids that were taken away. She was homeless. I tried to protect her a little but couldn't always watch over her. One day they found her dead.
I miss you, Karyn. I wish your life could have been better. I thought of you as my Sister, I really did. I wanted to be a good brother to you, the kind you never had. I am sorry I failed you like everyone else.
I believe she has gone back to be with the angels. I do. Even if she was messed up, she had a good soul.
I mean she is gone back to be with the Angels in Heaven. Because I do believe in them.
I know some of you think that is stupid, and it is unscientific, and maybe hypocritical, because I don't go to church. I believe in Heaven and Angels, and I believe in Jesus and that he is good, but I don't believe you have to think he is the Messiah to go to Heaven. I think he loves us all whether we believe he is the Messiah or no. I don't think Christianity is the only religion or the only way to be saved, and I don't think you even have to believe in anything at all to belong in Heaven. I think you only have to be kind and to try your best, and some people don't like that too much and they tell me I can't be saved if I think like that. I don't think they are right.
But I do believe in Angels, and I do believe in Spirits.
I have seen some shit in my life.
When I was a little boy, way before I ever heard about drugs and when I was going to church like a good little boy and believed what I was taught in Sunday School, I met a spirit one day in the attic at my maternal grandparents house. I was three years old and I would go in the attic and it was like a treasure hunt. And that day he was sitting there near the window. He was a boy who was older than me but still young, maybe like seven years old, and he was quiet and didn't talk, but he was nice and he smiled at me, and I stayed there with him until he faded away. I always thought it was about 20 minutes but It's hard to tell, it could have been more or less. I was never afraid of him. I never saw him again. But I always remember him. I didn't say anything to anyone because even that young I knew they would tell me to stop telling tales. I only told Nikki a lot of years later when she was 18 and I was 20, and she punched me in the arm for keeping such a cool secret to myself all that time. I told her it was fair though, because she didn't tell me she liked girls until about that same time, and we could have been liking girls together all that time but I didn't even know it!
So I believe in Angels and I believe in Spirits. And maybe some of you think that's pretty stupid. And maybe some of you think it means I am going to hell. I don't think so either way. I think there is stuff that Science doesn't understand and I don't think that too many people go to Hell.
So this is my story about me, and sort of an introduction to the story I hope to write. Thank you for listening and for your support. This is the first time I have really told my story, and I am kind of nervous for it.
My brain tends to be an extremely chaotic place, so it only makes sense that what I practice is a type of "chaos magick." In fairness, it isn't the system that many people describe as "chaos magick." That system is very organized, which I'm not.
I don't follow any specific system or set of rules, except for be excellent to each other and don't kill anybody. I don't follow any specific pantheon. It's all up for grabs.
During my life, far too many people have tried to impose their rules on me. I don't play by other people's rules.
I found this extensive list of questions for people who consider themselves to be metaphysically inclined. I'll answer one here and there, now and then.
The first question is:
Are you solitary or in a coven?
The answer?
Definitely solitary.
I don't play well by other people's rules.
I also run with scissors. Or, I would if running were still a thing that my body allowed. At this point, I shuffle with scissors.
I was drawn to Wicca/Paganism when I was in my late teens. I was extremely weary of the judgmental behavior of so-called "Christians." I had been a devout Catholic until that point, but was really tired of having awful things said about the musicians I enjoyed listening to, of being told that I was a "devil worshiper," and of being told that I mustn't question the church doctrine. I made my official split from the church when I turned 18.
Sadly, I found out over the years that many people calling themselves mystics, witches, or New Age were cut from the same cloth, they just decorated their cloth with pentagrams instead of crosses. I distanced myself from them as well. So, I'm a metaphysician without a country, so to speak.
If your philosophy or religion has an ass-ton of rules that you have to play by or you're going to be ostracized and branded a pariah, it's not going to work for me. Same reason I don't do well working for big corporations.
My philosophy has only one hard and fast rule. It will appear at the bottom of this post.
You did so much more than you ever expected you would. You truly
did change the world. You gave me and other freaks like me the gift of knowing
that being different was, actually, a good thing.
I loved your wild costumes when you channeled Ziggy
Stardust. But I think I loved it even more when you started to feel secure
enough to let David begin to emerge. I liked who I saw. He was a sweet and
humble man, although in many ways he was far above and beyond everyone else.
Ziggy Stardust was a beautiful, otherworldly man-boy.
David Bowie was a wonderful, admirable man.
I do think you were something out of this world, something
such as an angel, perhaps.
I am not saying you had no flaws. I know you saw your own
flaws and tried to correct them. That is something that already makes you above
and beyond many others.
So many of the songs you wrote brought comfort to me when I
was an unpopular kid who just wanted to fit in somewhere. Why would I want to
fit in with the jerks who rejected and ridiculed me, when I could fit in with
Ziggy Stardust instead? I’d rather die than be like them. I truly mean that.
Then there was the song which you could have written just
for me.
See these eyes so green
I can stare for a thousand years
Colder than the moon
It's been so long
Feel my blood enraged
It's just the fear, of losing you
Don't you know my name
Well, you've been so long
And I've been putting out fire
With gasoline
See these eyes so red
Red like jungle burning bright
Those who feel me near
Pull the blinds and change their minds
It's been so long
Still this pulsing night
A plague I call a heartbeat
Just be still with me
But you wouldn't believe what I've been through
You've been so long, well, it's been so long
And I've been putting
out the fire with gasoline
Putting out the fire with gasoline
See these tears so blue
An ageless heart that can never mend
Tears can never dry
A judgement made can never bend
See these eyes so green
I can stare for a thousand years
Just be still with me
You wouldn't believe what I've been through
Well you've been so long, it's been so long
And I've been putting out fire with gasoline
Putting out fire with gasoline
Putting out fire I've been putting out fire
Well it's been so long, so long, so long
Yes it's been so long, so long, so long
I've been putting out fire
Been so long, so long, so long
Been so long, so long, so long
Been so long, so long, so long
I listened to this song so often that I think I wore out the
grooves on the record.
I went through hell in my late teens. The hell continued
into my early twenties. I had type 2 bipolar disorder, which would remain
improperly diagnosed until I was in my late thirties. Nobody understood. Their
advice was to “just stop acting/thinking/being like that.”
This song was about me.
No, I never thought that you wrote the song “about me” in a
literal sense. But it was about me nonetheless.
You were my friend, David, even though I never got to meet
you in the flesh in this lifetime.
I think maybe now you know what you mean to me. Maybe we are
friends, even if I can’t see you. I do think you care, because you are a
compassionate soul.
I love you, dear David, my friend and fellow freak.
Fondly,
Cie
Note:
Rather than writing an explanatory piece about why David
Bowie deserves better than to be objectified by fawning fools who give not one
single fuck for anything other than his sex appeal, I thought I would write
about what he meant to me personally.
David Bowie is one of those rare souls who managed to convey
a message of hope to the entire world. He was truly unique and very special. To
see him as a mere “sex object” is an unconscionable insult. He deserves better
by far.
The 30 Days of De-Objectification posts will remain here.
The esoteric "Cie Believes Crazy Shit" posts can be found at Esoteric Escape.
Anti diet and size positive posts as well as discussions about mental health issues will be found at Crazy Creatives Cheerleading Camp. Possibly here as well. I don't know what I'm doing. Fuck my life.
Hope maybe to see some of you at those places.
This blog will remain open for those who enjoy the discussions of philosophy and thoughts about various religions. I'm nowhere nearly as active in those areas as I used to be.
Following the "30 Days of De-objectification" series (possibly before, if I can figure out a better home for them) I will no longer contribute to this blog. My posts tend to be in conflict with the general tone.
My cousin Rachel committed suicide in 2004. She was 41 years old. She overdosed on medication.
We weren't super close. Our families lived 2000 miles apart.
However, I was saddened to hear of her passing. I didn't know she was struggling so hard. I don't know if anyone did.
Rachel had what is termed "medication resistant depression."
People, including mental health and medical professionals, have a tendency to treat medication as a be all and end all. It isn't. For some of us (like Rachel and my son) it simply doesn't work.
For others, like me, the "cure" is worse than the problem. I react badly to most medications. For instance, SSRI's, the darlings of the psych industry, cause me to become manic and psychotic, two things which I am usually not and I don't enjoy either of them. I have type 2 bipolar disorder, which causes hypomania rather than full mania and does not have psychotic features.
I am not the only one that SSRI's do this to. Motley Crue's Mick Mars describes a similar experience with SSRI's in the band's book, "The Dirt." Mick has a debilitating musculoskeletal condition called ankylosing spondylitis. When the doctor noted he was depressed, Mick said: "tell me something I don't know."
The doctor's response was to put Mick on SSRI's, which triggered psychotic episodes. Rather than questioning if the medication might be doing this, the doctor put Mick on antipsychotics, which really messed him up. Fortunately, Mick is a smart guy and realized that it was highly unlikely that he'd suddenly developed schizophrenia, which usually onsets earlier in life. (Mick was in his mid-fifties at the time of these events.) He stopped taking the medication and his mental state returned to normal.
At one point I was put on Zoloft, which caused me to feel as if my brain had grown tiny hands and was trying to pick its way out of my head. When I told the doctor this, he admonished me to stay on the medication. I didn't. Within a few days, my brain no longer had tiny hands. Amazing how that works!
Many people, including medical professionals, treat patients with psychological anomalies as if they are failures if their depression/anxiety/psychosis does not get better. Its bad enough living with these conditions and knowing we will never be "normal" even if we pass for "normal." It's worse when we're being shamed for something we can't change on top of having to live with it.
I give a derisive laugh in the general direction of everyone who ever told a person with a mood disorder to "just cheer up," "just snap out of it," "just stop thinking that way," "don't be a Debbie Downer," or other such brilliant and witty admonitions.
I realize that it's a rare thing for me to be happy. The times when I thought I was happy I was actually giddy. It's not the same thing. Before finally learning when I was nearly forty that I had bipolar disorder rather than depression with anxiety or adult ADD or any of the other things that I had been diagnosed with, hypomanic states could be easily triggered by environmental factors.
These states involved magical thinking. By magical thinking, I don't mean that I believed the genie from the lamp was there granting wishes or that I could control the weather with my mind. I mean that I believed I was finally happy and that I would never be unhappy again. I admonished myself that I would stay this way forever. When the elevated mood inevitably wore off, I was left with a high degree of self-loathing to contend with as well as a depressed mood.
I can't say for certain, but I wonder if Rachel might not have committed suicide if she'd been encouraged to accept herself as she was rather than admonished to "get better."
People with psych anomalies have the double-edged sword of not only being treated as "bad" and "wrong" but as failures if we don't comply and "improve." We are told that we are "being lazy," "not trying hard enough," "seeking attention," and any other number of harsh criticisms.
Stop trying to "fix" us and stop telling us that we need to be "fixed."
For better or worse, here's my crack at a Villanelle.
I'll be finishing out the challenge because I'm not a quitter, but I won't be sharing any more of my work. Honestly, it's a little tiresome when the only poems anyone wants to read are bright, chipper little odes to spring and twoo wuv.
I'm sure everyone would have told Edgar Allan Poe to "just cheer up" too.
I will leave everyone with the thought that maybe people whose minds work differently aren't broken things to be fixed and perhaps the reason we tend to hide and suffer in silence is because any time we share what's on our mind, we are admonished to "stop that stinkin' thinkin'" or are told that one day we'll straighten up and fly right, the often unstated piece being "and if you don't, you're a loser who just didn't try hard enough.
Believe it or not, I actually do have a "light half." I have a blog with no political rants or bleak ruminations whatsoever. It's mostly pictures of plants and nature. It can be found at http://cieswonderfulworld.tumblr.com
Copyright Lemat Works You need to stop telling people crazy stories Try to be more like normal girls, my parents said Upon discovering my love for dreaming of the stars
Suicidal Ideation by Megan Li
Locked up in the psych ward for a weekend Is where I ended up in my desperation to pursue My yearning for a place where I could be free By any means necessary ~Cie and Pepper~
I'm afraid the idea of "following my bliss" seems absolutely ludicrous to me.
When I'm unsure if I'll have adequate food for the week or if my body will allow me to keep working or if my car will keep working so I can do my job or if the space heaters will be enough to handle another winter in my home where I don't have a working furnace or shower and I know the pipes are going to freeze like they do every year, the concept of "bliss" seems a lot like buying outlandishly expensive champagne when I don't even like champagne.
Fuck "bliss." I'll settle for simply not being worked into the ground and having nothing to show for it.
This Haiga-turned-Haibun started out being about me and my chronic condition of being overworked, broke, and tired, but I decided instead to dedicate it to someone who was tough yet tender, a kind gentleman with a rough exterior who cared about others but would suffer bullshit from no-one.
Lemmy Kilmister has been gone from this world for close to two years now, but his music will live on forever. He can never be imitated, but his influence will continue, to be sure.
This one's for you, Lemmy, with thoughts of love, friendship, and admiration always from one of your fans from way back. I hope the Afterlife is amazing because you deserve nothing less.
I like to think the piece speaks for itself, but I will include a little personal history.
When I was a young child in my early school years, I was very proud when it came time to say the Pledge of Allegiance. I sprang to my large and far from dainty feet, puffed out my scrawny chest, put my hand over my stalwart young heart, and spoke those hallowed words in my biggest voice.
I was born in 1965. I didn't go to Kindergarten. Many years later I had a nightmare that Ronald Reagan ordered me to go back to school starting with Kindergarten. Initially, I attempted to comply, but then I realized that there was no legally binding reason for me to do this and I said "I quit," and walked out of the classroom to the sound of Mr. Reagan's voice berating me as a loser.
From first through third grade, the Viet Nam war was still taking place. I believed that the United States would eventually see that the war was a bad idea and would end it, so I said the Pledge proudly because I believed that my fine country would eventually do the right thing because we were the Good Guys.
During the next several years, the country was healing from the aftereffects of the Viet Nam War. I believed that we were headed in the right direction, and I thought that Jimmy Carter was a fine president and would continue to take us that way.
The Reagan era began when I was fifteen years old and I came to believe that we were all doomed to either eat flaming death in a nuclear holocaust or freeze to death in the nuclear winter which would follow. The Pledge of Allegiance lost its former wondrous appeal to me, but I still said it because I felt it was my duty as a patriot to try and believe in my country.
As my son says, the United States is still one of the best countries to live in, but we have a lot of problems. The election of Donald Trump brought a plethora of pathology boiling to the surface.
We are not post-racist or post-misogynist and we are severely intolerant of anyone who isn't a God-fearing American "Christian." I put Christian in quotes because I don't think the behavior of those who subscribe to the ideals of American religious fundamentalists is Christ-like in any way. There is a frightening new wave of nationalism, and free speech is under fire. There is normalization of bigotry and intolerance.
This is not the America that young me believed in when she put her hand over her heart to proudly say the Pledge of Allegiance every morning at school and even at home in her bedroom on Saturday and Sunday because she thought it was the right thing to do.
This America brings tears to the eyes of middle-aged, working class me as I write these words. I despair for the loss of innocence in the heart of the child I once was and fear for the future of who I have become, for those I love, and for my fellow citizens of this world.
Without going into too much detail, which would detract from the viewing of the image, I have had a difficult year. I have changed jobs six times and eventually ended up changing careers entirely.
There are aspects of my current job which I really appreciate, but it is not an easy job and I do not make as much money as I did in my previous profession, which there are several reasons I can't go back to, the biggest one being changes in my diabetes which lead to fatigue and weakness if I don't pace myself.
I feel like I have lost the things that made me who I am: my imagination and my ability to enter other worlds astrally and psychically. My heart is heavy and I feel broken. I feel that I am constantly being punished and that there is no need for external hells when all the hell I need is here in the loss of that which made me who I am.
This is the Tree of Life as described in the system of Holy Qabalah. The spheres are called Sephiroth or Sefirot. They each have a given attribute.
Each of these spheres exists in four worlds. They are as follows.
World of Emanation (Hebrew: אֲצִילוּת, Atzilut): In this level the light of the Ein Sof radiates and is united with its source. Divine Chochmah, the limitless flash of wisdom beyond grasp, predominates.
World of Creation (Hebrew: בְּרִיאָה or alternatively[16] בְּרִיָּה, Beri'ah): In this level, is the first creation ex nihilo, where the souls and angels have self-awareness, but without form. Divine Binah, the intellectual understanding, predominates.
World of Formation (Hebrew: יְצִירָה, Yetzirah): On this level, creation is related to form. The Divine emotional sefirot of Chesed to Yesod predominate.
World of Action (Hebrew: עֲשִׂיָּה, Assiah): On this level creation is relegated to its physical aspect, the only physical realm and the lowest World, this realm with all its creatures. The Divine Kingship of Malchut predominates, the purpose of Creation.
This information comes from the Wikipedia page on the Sefirot.
In terms of this blog, it was created primarily to discuss occurrences on the physical and astral planes (world of action and world of formation.) It came to be a place for discussion of the mental/intellectual plane (world of creation) and the other discussions no longer had a place. To those interested in discussing only the metaphysical aspects of existence, communication with the spirits of the departed seems trite, messy, and perhaps even "insane", a manifestation of a troubled mind which is not yet "mature" enough to rid itself of such trivialities.
That there is no place in this world for a person such as myself is not news. However, I had hoped to inspire others to take a more holistic approach. Each of the four worlds is important.
I am in physical pain of varying degrees at all times. This to me is less distressing than the emotional pain I have experienced during this lifetime.
I know I'm not done yet. But I would like to be.
Are my experiences really worth less than those of the more "enlightened?"
I suppose they are.
I have nothing to teach, nothing to offer. Why am I still here?
