Berserker Kind of Day

Berserker Morning

In a snit.  I could spit. Fur rubbed the wrong way in four directions. As Lady Caroline Lamb said of George Gordon, Lord Byron “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.”  I claim kinship with those old Viking berserkers.  Imagine the satisfaction of pulverizing the landscape with a battle ax!

Loud in a Sardine Can

Loud, that’s me.  I laugh loud and hearty. I have an alto voice that carries; you can hear me from a stage without a microphone. Alone and in private, I love howling like a wolf, or singing nonsense songs at the top of my voice. Surprising how well that gooses up your energy when you are tired and sleepy, or depressed.

I howl “how did insert myself into places and spaces demanding a way of being that’s sober and demur.  Most days, it feels that I’m living packed into a sardine can of being,  floating in a combination of anxiety and tension.

Trade Off

Well yeah! there is a trade off.  A level of  security leavened with comforts: a cozy bed, daily showers with hot water and soap, knowing where my next meal will come from.  The power of security and comfort keeps the lid on the can. And yet, the can rocks and rattles more often and more forcibly.

Breaking Out

Imagine hacking my way out of the can, shattering mirrors and spilling destruction. Explosive reaction, though ever so tempting , is not an option that provides long term satisfaction.  Picking up broken pieces while burdened with guilt and remorse is no damn fun.  Here’s my desire: find ways to expand into that loud and banging self that aligns with a happy and carefree place in the sun.

The Inevitable How

“How?” I howl.  Of course I am clueless. Once again, I’ve come around to the question of habit.  First its a habit of thought.: “today, if I don’t know how, then I’ll never know how, so I might as well give up.”  I am however newly armed with experience.  When I focus a small idea, the next idea will follow, and the next and the next until the gears shift and I am running in a higher gear.

Such a bad metaphor. . .

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