BILL HICKS Rides in, Steals My Attention During Thunderstorm

March 15, 2024

 

I’m utilizing this broken wrist “time off” to clean my room, one hour a day, one busy shelf at a time, redistributing all sorts of  formerly “essential” stuff to those near and dear to me.

Yesterday, I cleaned and reorganized the shelf containing several Tarot decks, the I Ching (but where’s my Wilhelm version?), and Runes, plus various books that reference them, some of which I kept, some not.

The day before, on top of my file cabinet, various purses, one of which I gave away, but not before removing this beloved, now tarnished, token from its leather hide:

Which immediately brought me back; just had to watch for probably the tenth time what may be Bill Hicks’ most famous monologue, which ends . . .

And we can explore space, both inner and outer . . . together . . . in peace.

 

 

Hicks is so right. LOVE or FEAR. These are our only choices. Either trust enough to expand, expressing fully into the world — or expect the worst — recoil and contract, deny — or project, as hate . . .

My mantras:

Joseph Campbell:  “Follow your bliss. The universe will open doors to you where there were only walls.”

Dane Rudhyar: “When you don’t follow your nature there is a hole in the universe where you are supposed to be.”

 

Then, when I went to bed last night around 9:30 PM following a 20-minute tornado watch siren with subsequent tremendous thunderstorm that lasted intermittently for four hours, having secured trembling puppy Shadow by my side — since the noise and flashes of light rendered me unable to sleep, I found myself re-watching the Bill Hicks story. Nearly two hours long. Watching intently. Not just listening.

What an astonishing human being. So much life inside him that he simply had to get it out. Fast. Like a barreling tornado in a thunderstorm.

I, a triple Sagittarian, now notice that he was born only three days prior to my December 19 birthday, on December 16, 1961, with five planets in fiery, philosophical Sagittarius, three of them within one degree of one another at 23°-24°: Sun, Mars, and Mercury. No wonder he felt like a supernova, burning himself out by age 32, during a too-short life continually relighting his fuse to explore, illuminate, and express infinite depths inside/outside — fueled by pent-up energy that, when not in check, edged into rage, and/or eased/released/relieved by alcohol, drugs, cigarettes, LSD, mushrooms.

. . . And yet, if this biography is on target, he always used each of these substances, at least at first, before it took him over, to further fuel his relentless Sagittarian drive for universal enlightenment, with psychological, social and political satire as brilliant asides.

So now we might ask, since his death, in 1994, what has changed since 30 years ago, one Saturn cycle ago.

Answer: Not much. And everything.

The U.S. is still pretending to be the imperialistic warmongering egomaniacal global hegemon, and substance addictions still rule the roost in most households, with the addition (both alone and surreptitiously added to other drugs), thanks in part to cartels, of the synthetic opioid fentanyl, over 100 times stronger than morphine.

Oops! Forgot to mention the startling increase in obesity, thanks to addiction to fast, processed food.

And now, voila! — it’s pharmaceutical “cure,” Ozembic . . .

What has changed is not only that every awful thing is so much worse, but: because or worsening conditions, more and more people are “waking up.” At least that’s the hopium.

As an American, I grew up an addict, too. In fact, I didn’t manage to stop smoking until half a lifetime ago.

As an personality, I was addicted originally, to catastrophe (i.e., nuclear war, which I feverishly feared and sought as a five year old in daily newspaper headlines). And yet now, except for ongoing root addiction to “the news,” I consciously choose positive addictions: Walking, yoga, chikung, taichi. Not even coffee anymore. No marijuana. A bit of alcohol maybe twice a month, during social situations.

That’s it. Boring?

Not boring.

Even two years ago,

I was still “not comfortable

inside my own skin,”

always hungry,

for more, more . . .

Now, however,

at 81,

I dwell

in mystery.

I learn how to “work the (medical) system” while retaining individual sovereignty . . .

March 14, 2024

 

See yesterday’s post.

Yesterday, I began to notice something about all my visits during this past month to various facilities of the IU Health system. Something which frankly, not just surprised me, but actually shocked me. And yet it shouldn’t have. Why?

Because, now that the covid con is supposedly over; now that the normies are waking up to how we’ve been conned;

Now that “covid” has just been, officially, re-labeled — rather than death-is-waiting-unless-you-get-jabbed, and boosted, boosted, boosted — AS A FLU;

Now that the phrase “died suddenly” is code for JABBED;

Now that all sorts of strange and not so strange dis-eases are burbling to the surface, having CRASHED the immunity of those who were, especially, multiply jabbed;

 

With each visit to the IU Health care facility, I am automatically asked certain questions, including:

What is your DOB: Answer: 12/19/42

Who is your “Primary Care Physician”? Answer: “None.”

“Have you had your flu shot?” Answer: “I don’t do shots.” With this answer I look directly and meaningfully into the person’s eyes. No need to bring up the covid con. We both know.

“Are you allergic to any medications?” Answer: “I don’t think so. I don’t know. I don’t use pharmaceuticals.”

This answer especially, seems to flummox the questioner; but he or she goes on the the next question anyhow . . .

“What pharmacy shall we use  . . . It says CVS on corner of 3rd and bypass. “Yes, you did prescribe an opioid painkiller, when I left the ER with broken wrist. I only took one pill. And then the next day, one CBD gummy. That’s it. Would rather stay in touch with the pain, so that I know when I’m doing too much.”

 

Three or four times now, those same questions. And my same answers.

And you know what? I now realize that every single one of the people I dealt with in this manner admired me. They actually ADMIRE me, my attitude, rather than just thinking I’m a crazy old lady.

Think back: between 2020 and 2022 especially, I would have been viewed, and banished, as a selfish pariah.

So yes, one more realization: I’m so very grateful that this period, where I find myself needing to undergo periodic allopathic care, is happening now, in 2024, rather than 2020 through 2023. No masks, no vax, no distancing; nothing required. YES!

 

The other day, standing at the admitting counter in Urgent Care, with probably six technicians and aides behind the counter, all sitting at computers, I mentioned to one of them that my Dad was a doc, an independent internist (I was told by a doc while in Emergency Care that internists hardly exist anymore). That my Dad saw what was coming, and I’m sure was glad that he narrowly missed the era when the individual practice of medicine had been swallowed up into the SYSTEM.

Everybody there looked up from the forms they were busy filling out, and the woman I was speaking with agreed, wholeheartedly.

“On the other hand,” I went on,  “for decades now, I’ve told friends and family that I’m very grateful for two aspects of allopathic medicine, emergency care and orthopedics” — while waving my broken, braced left wrist.” We both laughed.

 

With these experiences over the past month, I’m realizing that one way to “work the system” without resorting to getting a “Primary Care Physician,” (which of course I have been urged to do) is to do what I have been doing this past month: go to ER or Urgent Care (and since I had just been to one, the other had my records); if needed, they will refer me to someone. I got a dermatology appointment in less than one week is BECAUSE I was referred there by the NP at Urgent Care; otherwise, remarked the same woman to whom I was speaking, it would have been five months!

 

Oh, and meanwhile, after two Curaderm anointings in less than 24 hours, here’s what the lesion on my back looks like now. Color has lightened, it’s not as raised, and edges not as ragged. So who knows? Today is the 14th; my appointment is the 19th. Will I even need to keep the appointment?

Or maybe I will keep it, just to show the dermatologist what Curaderm can do.

Meanwhile, the big lesson here is this: if you don’t want to get totally caught up in  the (medical/industrial complex) system, then learn how to become your own “primary care physician.” I.e., take responsibility for you own physical/mental/emotional/spiritual well-being.

Which means, for me this year, pay close attention to what my body is telling me, and call upon friends, both humans and plants, for their assistance when needed.

PLUS: enter “the system” when necessary of course; besides, it’s a great way to make more friends!