Sleepless With Prednisone and Doxycycline

Yesterday was our second veggie box from Whitefeather Organics CSA. Since I am sans car here in Stevens Point, I took a short bike ride to the pick up location. The box is generously filled with radishes, leeks, scallions, mixed lettuces, about three pounds of spinach, asparagus, pea tops, turnips, green garlic and golden oyster mushrooms. This is a fabulous, high gourmet quality, locally grown offering from the sands of Central Wisconsin. This part of the state is the terminal moraine, the area where the glacier stopped and dropped sand, silt, and minerals. I am eating from the earth where a glacier once rested.

With all of my good nutrition and my determination to stay healthy, I'm afraid that the eczema on face, hands and wrists is beginning to wear on me. My immune system started to feel compromised. I went to my family practice doctor; we've been together since 1979, when he first opened his clinic. We stayed together as I transitioned from using him as a primary care physician, to using him when I have a health crisis but would chose to resolve my issue through rest, herbs, exercise, nutrition, acupuncture, massage and Network Spinal Analysis. I usually tell him my plans for resolving an issue using the alternatives to allopathic, then proceed. On Wednesday, I asked for more aggressive help and that I would be open to using drugs.

Wednesday night, I began a course of pharmaceuticals for my skin: prednisone and doxycyline. Although I am not happy about it, I am already feeling relief from the burning under the skin, less visible blazing inflammation and the end to the scratching open of my skin during my sleep.

Sleep is another issue. Yesterday was the first full day of taking the medication. Last night, after three hours of sleep, I woke up, and was unable to return to sleeping and dreaming. This is unusual for me. Whenever awaked during the night, I can almost always return to sleep within minutes. In those sleepless hours, I listened to the rain, and felt gratitude for the coolness of the air and the slow steady drink to the thirsty plants. There was an appreciation for the pre-dawn sounds of this rather quiet city. But every time I thought I was drifting off into sleep by the sweet scent of rain, I could feel the twisted mandala of the prednisone and doxycycline in my body and in my auric field. I tried to chant, but scenes of a disturbing film noir visited me, intermingling with the structure of the pharmaceutical mandala. I found that if I started to imagine cleaning cupboards, washing walls, or polishing a pan, I could change the structure. Mostly though, the mandala won-over. After all, I did say that I was open to using these chemicals.

I've been awake since before one in the morning. With a fine mist of rain, I took a ride on my bicycle to the river, (the Wisconsin River), then to Emy J's for a cup of coffee. The cool moist rain felt good on my face. It was like receiving a natural facial. I tried not to think about the heavy metals or possible radiation in the water from the sky. Unfortunately, that was like being told to NOT think about monkeys.

Last year's berries:

A week from today I leave my little Church Street hermitage and return to New Mexico. I already feel my judgements that while here, I did not chant enough, did not fast enough, did not walk down to the river enough and did not embrace the silence enough.

With the exception of attending a wedding, I've refrained from public socializing. Instead of meeting friends for coffee or social affairs, I've invited a small assortment of guests over for coffee on the veranda in the morning, tea in the afternoon and a glass of wine in the evening. With summer in full swing, it is nice to sit outside in the freshness of the daily greening of two maple trees. The branches become heavier each day, the growing leaves pulling the branches closer to the earth, creating tunnels in the front yard.



Some days, I sleep late, missing my 3:35 am wake up to meet my 4 am chanting schedule. Instead, I stay in my bed, sleeping until 5:30, missing my Agni Hotra Homa sunrise timing. On awakening, I have a less than one-hour period of chanting, asana and meditation. It seems like I lost my discipline and instead race to have coffee and catch an Wi-Fi signal.

Whatever I am doing in the hermitage, I appreciate the simplicity of my routine. Waking to the morning song of birds and the smell of foliage from the blackberry plants that are growing outside of my bedroom window. I like how I can eat on my own schedule, not being expected to produce meals for a household of two and drop-in guests. Washing clothes has its own simplicity. Drying my yoga whites has become a practice of giving them enough sunlight, without the help of a clothesline. My other clothes dry closer to the earth. My days are an act of simplicity.



I've spent entirely too much time on the Wi-Fi signal that comes into my hermitage. I've found some excellent blogs written by women. I have so much gratitude for the company of women who are writing beautiful blogs. The blogs are filled with information about recycling, herbs & flowers, nature & nature writing, poetry, relationships, cooking, gardening and relationships/cooking/gardening/recycling/nature and life combined. The most valuable part of these blogs is my sense that with all of the women who are sharing their passion, I feel as if I am in the company and the grace of the Divine Mother.

Reading the blogs and savoring the messages, is my meditation. I am being nurtured and being restored by the presence of the Divine Feminine.

I've decided to start using this photo of myself as my profile photo. Until now, I've been reluctant to show that I've been aging and becoming more frail. I've been hesitant to let others see that I am not in the robust health that I managed to portray for the last ten years.

Last July, during a particularly auspicious astrological period, when Saturn entered Libra at the time of a full moon, a lunar eclipse and grand cross, I started to have some health problems. It was the same time that I saw my Beloved Teacher for our last time in these physical bodies. He himself became ill and left his body on the first of October. That is also my birth date.

Since then, I seem to have a weakening of my body. I am not as strong as I used to be. Maybe it is just leaky gut syndrome or a loss of strength after having shingles. Maybe my will to live is decreasing. Maybe it is transition and transformation time again.

In my life is a partner who loves to photograph my image. He continually takes photos and makes movies of me. Sometimes I wonder if he does this so that he can show younger women that he has a frumpy wife/partner. But in my heart, I know that he loves me and does not see me as frail and sick. He photographs me because he sees what he loves, and he loves to photograph the object of his love. Because of the rash on my face, the puffiness of my eyes, or my tired stature, I want to politely ask him to refrain from taking movies and photos of me, but I don't want to squash his happiness.

In this photo, we are in Big Bend National Park in Southern Texas. It is a few days after the tsunami hit Japan. We are at the Rio Bravo. Just across the river is Mexico. It is a breezy evening and we are walking along the U.S. Border, after having found a cache of hand made items for sale from someone who boats to the U.S. to dispense fork art treasures. We paid six-dollars in cash for a copper wire scorpion, placing our dollars in a glass jar to an unknown vendor.

My partner continued to snap photos of the U.S. river border, the landscape and scenery. We walked together along the river. He asked me to turn around because he wanted to take a photo of me. When I looked at him, I felt so much love for him and I saw his love for me. It was one of those precious moments that I like to remember of being with Michael.

Noxious Weeds

Early spring gives me a chance to do some urban foraging. I was inspired by an excellent blog writer from an Eastern state to discover the health benefits of noxious weeds and early spring plants. At the same time as I explore, I find that I am having an explosive episode of eczema. For the first time in more than fifty years, my face is overrun with red inflammation and papery flaking. This happens on the day of the wedding of wonderful friends who I traveled over fourteen hundred miles to see.

But back to the noxious weeds component. I've been making meals using the famous garlic mustard that is popping up along roadsides and in dark places behind garages and barns. I create various pestos, using the garlic mustard with watercress or lettuce or arugula. It seems healthy and a great idea. But a question is buried inside that wonders about what kinds of toxins were dumped in the habitat of the garlic mustard? Do those toxins enter into the plant and then into the people who eat the plant? Or have the toxins been transformed through photosynthesis and other actions of the sprites and faires?

I am grateful for the transformation of a toxic atmosphere and earth, to a nurturing planet by the grace of the plants.

This is somewhat disjointed, but I write and post while doing a cazillion things prior to attending the wedding.

Church Street Ashram

I've returned to the Church Street Ashram, a quiet little living space near downtown Stevens Point. It offers me a chance to live simply and quietly.

Although I've been here during the winter months to experience the rich solitude and winter darkness of the Solstice, I appreciate the transformation of late spring into summer.

The kitchen is tiny and inspires simple meals. Mostly, I eat from the local farm market, items I've foraged near the river or precious greens from the gardens of friends. Suddenly, garlic mustard is coming into everyone's garden. I eat well and believe I will be preparing a jar of garlic mustard kimchi before the end of this week.

One of my favorite features at the ashram is my bedroom. My head faces to the east. On the other side of the wall and out the open window, is a wildly growing bed of big black cap blackberries. In this urban landscape, what are the chances that I can sleep indoors, yet mingle and sleep with the wild blackberries as their foliage expands and pushes into my sleeping space?

This is an urban ashram, with no physical guru or guide. There are no rules. The residents follow a chanting practice, live at their own pace and keep their guru close to their hearts. Satsang is usually spontaneous depending on the daily schedule.

I've been following several other bloggers who inspired me to write here today.

My Current Reading Stash

To get a better idea of what I am currently doing in my life, take a look at my present stack of books.

The study of macrobiotics and macrobiotic living has become a big part of my daily life because of an issue that I am having with severe eczema, exhaustion and fatigue. I'm using the recipes and the daily living suggestions to address my skin and internal condition. With one bowl for eating, and several small cooking vessels, I am able to prepare simple healthy meals.

While in my little hermitage, I am using the book, THE PRACTICES OF YOGA FOR THE DIGESTIVE SYSTEM, for the study of yoga asana, breathwork and visualization and go deeper into my yogic practices. I read several passages from Swami Sivananda's JAPA YOGA, each night before going to sleep. I have a 90-minute Sanskrit mantra chanting practice in the morning. Sivananda's passages give me the light of intention for my 4 am practice of japa.

I also have two Ipsalu Tantra Kriya Yoga texts, so that I can refresh my knowledge and performance of individual practices, and be better prepared to work with the people who come to me for mentoring.

Of course, I have an Osho book among the mix. I like the classic, AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A SPIRITUALLY INCORRECT MYSTIC.

Most of these books are from Downtown Books, a used bookstore in Milwaukee, from the public library, some from my travel bag, and two returns from previous loans to friends.

I'm obviously deep into living a hermit yoga lifestyle. In addition to these practices, I am going to acupuncture, taking long walks along the river and going to yoga classes.

If you've read this far, thank you for your interest. I should also mention that I am currently not in a position to date or meet for coffee. I do, however, meet some friends for Monday Morning Tea.

Special thanks to oedipuscrow, ttp://www.okcupid.com/profile/oedipuscrow

for his suggestion to share a reading list.

Guru and Garland

Sometimes we can hear the voice, but cannot make out exactly what we are hearing. It is just a calling.

For me, I slipped out of bed, and quickly put some things into a travel bag while my partner slept fitfully, waking at every move I made.

He could feel the disturbance. He could hear he sound of something calling me. He felt the draft of the open window and door, pulling me out of our warm bed. He was alarmed.

With a single change of clothes and a dress, I left the house, feeling for a direction. Listening. I travel with my hand on a mala, sailing on a carpet of grace.

The Mystical Gypsy continues to move through the illusion of space and time, along this terrain we call geography.