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Deep sleep for me is a precious possession. I had to reflect a moment before calling it a "possession". More correctly, maybe, deep sleep possesses me. It might more aptly be called a commodity I need to keep up the big show of life in between the ditches.
When I returned to consciousness this morning I lay in my bed barely moving for a good long time. I felt every breath I took. I noticed that in consciousness I seal off my mouth parts by placing my tongue up against my palate to control my breathing, as if meditating, and deliberately send and receive the air through my nose.
When I inevitably drifted back toward sleep again, however, I noticed that my resolve dropped off. My tongue loosened as consciousness faltered and it got slack again, even though my lips remain closed, and I continued to breathe through my nose. In this way the palate seal was broken and the air circulated through my open mouth in it's sojourn to and from my lungs. Seven chakras. Seven seals. Selah
When I inevitably drifted back toward sleep again, however, I noticed that my resolve dropped off. My tongue loosened as consciousness faltered and it got slack again, even though my lips remain closed, and I continued to breathe through my nose. In this way the palate seal was broken and the air circulated through my open mouth in it's sojourn to and from my lungs. Seven chakras. Seven seals. Selah
Bin Laden's murder was revealed to me via my computer and caught me by surprise. Only then did I turn on the TV to hear the rumbles I knew would arrive. I say "murder" not meaning to say revenge is not sweet, but to imply that execution is still murder. Assassination, even that directed by Bin Laden that called for his death, still ends up with a bunch of innocent and not-so-innocent people dying in agony.
According to the stand-up comedians, death is like laughter. When his audience laughs uproariously, the comments imply that the comedian has "killed" his audience. Maybe death laughs at itself. It's easy to imagine Bin Laden laughing when he realized it was imminent. An eye for an eye. Live by the sword, blah... blah... blah.
It's been four days, I think, since me and my brother figured out that the problems I've been having with my mouth and tongue might be due to being allergic to cinnamon. I resolved to stop eating it immediately. I had not eaten any cinnamon for a whole day before we figured it out, so that makes it around five days since I've put any cinnamon into my body.
The condition I have described earlier is better, but that's due, for the most part, to the prednisone steroids I've been using to reduced the swelling and pain. If it's the allergy that's been causing my discomfort, then avoiding cinnamon will continue the healing process after I stop taking the prednisone tomorrow.
I took 10 mg for two days, then 5 mg for two days. I'll take 2.5 mg today and again tomorrow, and stop. Then, after the prednisone effect wears off I'll find out if not eating cinnamon does the trick. This problem probably ain't fatal. It's worse. Not being able to eat comfortably because it hurts, to a drama freak, is like a fate worse than death.
Diet or the lack of it has been a big deal to me forever. I've been tortured by my own empty hands off and on since childhood. My very life started out with very real diet problems, but my neonatal problems were not my fault. My mother had a breast-feeding problem that even cows get called mastitis.
Her milk clabbered up inside her huge breasts, and suck as a I may, I couldn't get any nourishment from my efforts. This didn't become known for six weeks and I nearly died of starvation. This was not a good start. It may be the reason I've never been attracted to females with large breasts.
For the purposes of contemplating my own life using oracles, and in this case astrology, being born with the Sun in Taurus in the sixth house makes health a big issue. My lifelong goal. As opposed to my day by day goals represented by the eastern horizon which is intercepted by Scorpio.
Having my natal Sun in the sixth house (the natural home of Virgo), and opposed by having the opposite sign of Taurus (Scorpio) ruling my Ascendent can be troublesome. It's complicated by the existence of Saturn in Aries (in it's Fall), and in weak conjunction with my natal Sun in the sixth house. My life goals are opposed to my daily goals, and vice versa, and at times I can barely discern which is what. No blame. Shit happens. Things change. Aiiiyyyeeeee!
I really sort of think my diet problems are beginning to resolve themselves. Perhaps my gut bacteria are the real comforters in my life. As I am bejinning to read it, presently, they act more like Gods. Good to know. I'm gifted in pleasing Gods. It was a hard row to hoe early on, but over time the Gods knocked some sense into me.
Discomfort I can easily ignore. Outright pain is another matter. The Gods have no pity. Why would they. THEY are immortal. No discomfort they experience will lead to death. It doesn't frighten them. With mortals it's a different proposition altogether. Discomfort can be a warning that death is nigh. If ignored, it can become one with acute pain. Ignore pain and you're dead. Hah! Like I would know....
My immune system, as far as staying alive is concerned, has always been my friend. It has saved me from a perilous death time and time again. The very idea of circumventing it's power through prescription drugs to combat my internal enemies is antithetic to my reason for living. I just had to find another way.
I bear hope. Not much confidence. Life has forever delightfully surprised me both pro and con. The probiotics (for life) information just makes sense to me. If I can please the friendly bacteria in my guts, then they will take of me.
It's a little like the dynamics with my brother's dogs. They love him because he feeds them. He knows that. We were brought up by a gifted animal breeder and taught the ways of nature under the advent of his auspices. My brother keeps dogs because of it. I don't keep dogs because of it.
When I go walking back in the woods toward the river, my brother's dog are delighted to accompany me. For a brief moment I think they're with me because they love me too. It's not real. Their "love" for me is easily transgressed by the appearance of my brother.
In the recent past my brother and I have been taking walks at night before he goes to bed. Doctor's orders. I've been walking with him until recently. The dogs go with us. Part of our routine has been for him to walk over to my house to get up with me. I live closer to the paved road. he lives a couple of hundred yards back further in the woods.
He starts walking from his house, calls out for me to join him upon his arrival at my house, then we both walk together until we've had enough, whereupon he stops when we get to his house on the last round, and I continue on to my house. His dogs never accompany me toward my house on that last round. He feeds them. They are loyal to him. He is their master.
It's pretty much the same way with my gut bacteria according to the more in-depth reading I'm getting around to recently. If I feed them like my brother feeds his dogs, they guard my guts from any interlopers. First, they warn me of potential trouble, and then if their barking doesn't make the perpetrator come to their senses, they attack as if my enemy were Bin Laden.
Okay, maybe that's a little over-the-top. I do, however, think its a likely metaphor. That's what the writers on this topic appear to be saying. The "friendly" gut bacteria will somehow eliminate the "bad" bacteria to make sure their host remains viable to keep feeding them and providing them with an ideal lifestyle. They take care of me. I take care of them. Nothing could be finer, right here in Carolina. '-)
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