Samlet

to spa, or not to spa, that is the question
whether it is nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows
of outrageous psych wards
or to take arms against a sea of troubles
and by checking into a spa end them. To be committed,
and by committed to say involuntarily,
to end the heartache and begin the thousand electro-shocks,
that psychotic flesh is heir to. Tis a consummation
devoutly to be avoided. To check in, to a spa
a spa perchance for a massage. Ay there's the rub,
for after that rest what bills may come,
when we have shuffled off this mortal schedule of tasks
Must give us pause.
...
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
than pay for relief that we know not of.
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
and thus the resolution to commit oneself
is paled in the cast of thought,
And spas of great luxury, pondered
with this regard, turn too spendy
and lose the name of action. -- Soft you now,
my spouse arrives, in his eyes
be all my previous credit remembered.

Siren Song

Beware the siren song of the self assured. They speak firmly and clearly, though not always with clarity. They absolutely know what to do and can help you know what to do too. It is so enticing to believe that such certainty is attainable. There is a "Them" and an "Us." And "we" know. God, it feels good to be so good. It feels exquisite to know what Moses meant when he wrote Genesis. (You didn't know that Moses wrote Genesis? Well he DID.)
These knowledgeable veterans of life (short or long) know the line in literature analysis where appropriate possible symbols and undercurrents still make sense, and where you've just gone too far. No, Lady Macbeth did not conspire with the three witches to effect the downfall of her spouse because that would make no sense. However, there is the tiniest possibility that Macbeth was in love with Duncan. Why else would he be so sickened by his murderous treachery? I'm just saying, there's something more going on there.

The only problem lies when you are confronted with the fact that it's not all that simple. All of it. Not so black and white. The twisted stitch on the sleeve of the perfectly knit sweater. The recurring thought that maybe all dogs do go to heaven. And before you know it... you have become "them." Kicked unceremoniously out of the "Us" club before you even got your laminated card and pin!

There are things that you can know for sure. But there are not many of them.
Consider yourself warned.

Margie & Bean

My friend has left us. Rather suddenly, her time was up. Being extraordinarily efficient, she was able to pass on the rudiments of the finances, groceries, and general housekeeping to her husband before she passed away. She is not gone. Her voice lingers in my mind and on her answering machine, which threw me for a loop simply because it didn't faze me at all that I got her machine until I remembered that she's dead. I have conversations with her still in my head, which is good because she was as enlightened a person as I have ever met.
The irony is that she really worked on helping me to stay grounded in the present, in reality, in what was in front of me to do. She was clear about what my priorities should be, and listening to the voices of dead people did not make her list. Now I'm getting advice on how to be grounded from the afterlife... which Margie would not agree with. Oh well. She's dead. What's she going to do? I heard her voice as I sobbed late at night saying, "I'm fine. What you need to do is focus on your recovery program, your family, and your life." Which is true. So every time I try to do as she would have me and "get close to the idea that I'm dead" as she'd say, I can't. Because she is not dead. She can not be dead. People like her do not die. She's just moved. I'd like to think that my erstwhile cocker spaniel gave her quite a shock when she arrived in her new lodgings; she didn't think animals went to heaven. There are so many ways that scene could have played out and every one makes me chuckle. Example: Margie is sitting down in a heavenly chair and sighs a deeply peaceful sigh as she looks around at Heaven. "Well..." she says and then a slimy rubber ball is deposited in her lap and Bean is fidgeting impatiently in front of her before resorting to a short bark. "Huh..." Margie finishes.