Carpe Bucko is my mental health blog. It began as part of a blogging challenge; it continues as part of life challenge.
I sneered at the thought of a social service worker “befriending” a client, but that didn’t last long. Instead, I turned to what I’ve been trying to learn in 2019: compassion, directed at myself. From there, I can be open to the efforts of others to reframe the world.
The concept of wholeness is becoming more clear and more real, more personal. In contrast to the religious ideas I adopted as a teenager, I am able to be myself, as I am, whole and complete.
Being right, about anything, is possibly my greatest temptation. I will fight any battle to prove I am right about whatever. This does nothing good for my mental health. I am learning to just let it go.
Meditation is not prayer; the experience is entirely embodied. The purpose isn’t to change the universe or other people; it’s to enable me to be aware of my thoughts, emotions, and how my body is doing.
But then, wierd shit still happens. Because, you know – life.
Mindfulness works, as many people attest (millions through history), but I have to learn and experience it for myself. This is a slow process, and it’s not designed for “results” as such. But then there is a morning like this morning….
Mindfulness comes in two flavors: dharma and corporate. Both can help people deal with stress, anxiety, etc. Both lead to being present in your life as it happens rather than being a passenger. But there are some differences that matter.
Mindfulness is a bit tough when the mind is not available, nor the emotions. I don’t feel like a zombie, but there’s something zombie-like about me. This post has nothing to do with zombies, by the way.
Human consciousness is the mechanism that tells humans that their consciousness is the greatest thing in the universe. Consciousness also lets us eat that third helping of pie. Maybe we shouldn’t take it so damn seriously.
This is nowhere near the life I thought I’d live, but, at the same time, I never gave my life sufficient thought when I was younger. Also, I was unaware that my life included depression until it got to the point where it felt like my life was depression. No one deserves to live like this.
How can so many free hours in a day, day after day, not result in a full, productive life? What the hell is wrong with me? And who is this baker that does more in a morning than I get done in a week?