The Summer of Weird

Can I name the elephant in the middle of the chateau living room? Can I call it like I see it? Name a spade a spade? Say what I mean and mean what I say? OK? Yes?

This is a really WEIRD summer.

It's never my best season, summer. Heat and humidity are awful for me physically, hence psychically and emotionally. I know, I know - I live in a swamp. What do I expect? This is how swamps behave in summer. It is exactly as it should be. With no disrespect for the climate, may I say: In summer, I struggle.

It's not a bad summer; I've had worse. The summer Jake died? Yikes. I could name a few others but there's no need. Though weird, this summer has called upon me to step up, evolve, stand tall but be flexible enough to bend with the weather both literal and metaphysical. I've been doing a lot of teaching which I love, and good work in the treatment room. When possible, I take my walks and I'm working harder than ever to walk my talk. It's hard - and weird - but I am making progress.

Every time I look at the scar (aka the mark previously known as a tattoo) I think about how scars, while not pretty, indicate that a wound has healed. Scar tissue is a sign of serious wounding. I'm unclear how long that wound has been active. Since I threw the Torah in the trash? Seems older than that to me as I gaze at it with curiosity at last, rather than expectations.

As a tattoo I expected it to be beautiful in some way. As a scar it makes more sense. And as scars go, it's not that bad. But the wound the scar formed around, as a pearl forms around irritants in an oyster, feels very old, maybe from another life, who knows? Walking through the main exhibit at the Holocaust Museum with Pandora and Laura was a fulcrum of some kind, a walk backwards and forwards in time that brought the scar into the visible range. Of course Fernando helped. That walk was the finishing touch in the healing. Now that there's a scar, I can begin to glean wisdom from what was once wounded. I was a wounded healer. Now I bear the scar from that wound. I wonder what that means.

I wonder if any of this makes sense? If it sounds weird to you, that's perfect, in alignment with this BIZARRE summer.

Last night in my dream I was hanging out with Mae West. Seriously? I never think about her but this morning I googled her. Damn she really delivered some of the most enduring lines ever. Wow.

And then there are the dreams of horses out in the carriage house behind the chateau. I'm certain I've never dreamed of horses before, not ever.

But all is well. Weird, yet well. Go figure. Shalom.