Using Physicians To Heal My Self

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Yesterday was a full slate for me. I kept an appointment with my regular doctor at the VA Hospital in Fayetteville. I feel lucky to have her looking out for me. She's the doctor who diagnosed my rheumatoid arthritis and ordered all the test to make sure she was right before she sent me to the special clinic for arthritis at the Durham VA Hospital.

This GP knows her shit about medicine and people. We both have a photographic memory, well, at least she does, and we appear to delight in remembering all our previous appointments. We have a running conversation about her grandfather in Viet Nam.

I explained why I didn't wanna take the medicine my rheumatologist at the clinic in Durham. She pretty much told me I was an idiot. She told me I was lucky the doctors in Durham prescribed this medicine for me. It cost $1000 a shot. They have me taking a shot every two weeks. My doctor told me that other veterans were trying their best to get this treatment and I'm throwing my chance away.

I thought the blood work that I'm supposed to get every time I go had been neglected my last two visits to the rheumatologists, but my regular doctor showed me on the computer that the rheumatologists has ordered the blood tests, but nobody told me about it like they're supposed to before I check out of the clinic. I lost a little faith in the rheumatologist when I thought he had not followed through. I was really happy to be shown that wasn't the case.

I was pretty much tied up with this all day. The days are not that long now. On the drive back home I had forgotten I'd promised my sister-in-law to meet with her at her greenhouse for her to show me how she plants wheat grass to use in her juicer, so when I got home I went straight over there. We planted two trays full, and she loaned me the seminal book on growing and consuming wheat grass. I haven't read much of the book yet.

My mornings are usually taken up at the computer. Writing the entries for this blog takes the longest most of the time. Sometime I get all wrapped up in responding to an e-mail posts from one of the discussion groups I write with. Lots of people don't care much for the way or manner or attitude with which I approach a composition.

My nemesis' are legend. By that I mean to include just about everybody. Very few people appear to understand that they can only accuse me of being themselves, so I'm constantly taunting them to accuse me of anything. I figure I'm doing them a favor by helping them to grok their own rules of conscience.

In every case, that's what I'm accused of. They accuse me of breaking their rules. Mostly unconscious rules. Rules they adopt themselves of their own volition at a primitive level of being that traditionally starts for the Jewish tribes eight days after the first breath.

People expect me to obey the rules of conscience they have no conscious awareness of themselves. That's the paradox of self observation. What you see within your own world and reason for being depends entirely on the mirror you use to see your own self-generated image. It's not nature's image. It's one a person makes up themselves and nobody can stop them.

When my detractors, my nemesis' try to put me down to build themselves up it's a fool's game I can't lose, and mercifully, I can't win either.

The sort of mirror I can become for the other depends on how sure I am is of my own identity. Aye, and there's the rub. There is what I'm calling one's true identity that knows no bounds as to ti-me and space, and then there is the persona or mask homo sapiens create through which they see the world and the world sees them.

In astrology, this is represented by the Sign on the eastern horizon at the moment the native draws their first breath either day or night. As pointed out above, there appears to be a grace period from when the child is doing what it does inside it's mother's womb, and when it first realizes it's not in Kansas anymore.

The learning curve about there being a world outside of itself begins, but otherwise, in magic, it's the bejinning. The genie is outside it's bottle. It's uncorked upon the sensory dimension, and even with it's caretakers necessary assistance, it's "root, little pig, or die."

That's exactly when homo sapiens start adopting rules of conscience to guide them in getting what they feel like they need to survive. Rudimental stuff like rolling over, crawling, and learning to stand up so they can walk.

It doesn't take a gifted child to understand that learning to be bipedal as quickly as possible is a big deal. It doesn't even take a homo sapiens to figure out that imitating successful animals is probably the best way to stay alive. Mimic the entities around you that are adorned with the fewest scars.

Try to be like them. It is practically all one can do. Rules of conscience are adopted to remind the native to practice be-co-me-ing persistently. It's apparently not that easy to do at first. According to the latest research on how long it takes for all the neurons in the human brain to connect is around 21-22 years of age.

Previous to that final hook-up nobody is playing with a full deck. They ain't got all they marbles. Their elevator don't go all the way up to the penthouse or they get off at the wrong floor and learn to favor whatever heavenly delights they find there.

I seem convinced that becoming conscious of what one's own rules of conscience are is fairly necessary if you don't want them controlling you in ways you don't approve of anymore, if you ever did. A different set of rules may exist for every setting you've ever found yourself anchored in whether you like it or not.

If you don't know which rules of conscience you adopted for getting to the hell hole you find yourself, then how in hell are you gwine to git out?

That's why I constantly write to people in such a way that they'll be tempted to accuse me of being a person they have no idea is really themselves. They can only accuse me of breaking their rules of conscience, and they don't know what rules they obey that they accuse me of breaking.

Theoretically, I discover my own rules of conscience this way. There have been epiphanies based on realizing that I'm still obeying rules of conscience designed to make me sexually appealing even though I've been abstinent for a long time. I call these events epiphanies because realizing what's going on allows me to abandon my unconscious efforts with aplomb.
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