I no longer remember who I am, nor why I am. Inside this foreign skin I breathe. I inhale the world I’ve wished for in far away dreams and exhale the world I exist in, bedeviled by those who swim in blood red ego.
I am wanting yesterday, packed up to take with me into tomorrow. It is in that place ahead where I’ll find what I seek. I am wanting.
When all is said and done, we are all rendered mute.
Death does not care about our feelings nor opinions about our political leanings, religious beliefs, the latest fashion fails, even our existence. It is the great silencer. And one day it will silence our opinions and feelings, every thought.
All that will live on is an idea. Hope only for the greatest of our ideas to infect those who live on after us.
Burn with anger, woman. Your fire voice was temporarily extinguished with water, but you did not let it drown you. You turned everything that touched you to steam. The destroyers dissipated into the air, mixed in with the ancestors who lost their way and told un-truths about the place of woman. They now mourn their ignorance. They are gone, in form and thought, the ideas losing footing and the voices fading, with those few unenlightened left who are unable to grasp what is needed to survive the next great wave of time. They say there are 2,000 years in each season, and the patriarchy that has almost dried up mother’s milk is coming to an end.
Last semester. I need to get through this. Can’t let illness stop me.
Whatever lives, breathes, thinks, intervenes, loves, sees….
…ancestors, alien overlords, yoruba deities, universe, omniverse, multiverse, reincarnation overseers, ancient scientists experimenting with the DNA of various species throughout the universe….
….please, see me, and get me through this so I can complete my time in this realm doing what I enjoy without hindrance.
Otherwise, please open the portal so I can go home.
There is nothing here. Only waves of memories folding over unrelenting experiences.
I will no longer question my thoughts, but instead, carve question marks into stones; and diamonds and gold. Carve them into clouds and raindrops and the wind.
My footprints will become question marks left behind as I crease the sands that endlessly wash away billions of forgotten lives; faces with no names; names with no faces, shadows of people without faces or names. Lives and thoughts never to be touched again live inside the footprints that lead back to un-yesterdays.
I am nothing here but a wisp of dust that dreamed it was once human. I am existing here, in the un-yesterday, a shadow cast upon myself.
I live inside this skin of flesh, blood and bone. I am fragile life dreaming of infinity. Threads of memories stitch themselves to the stars. A corner of the sky is clothed in my stories, twinkling down upon a life force remembering when it was un-flesh.
I’ve been away for the last two weeks. My vow to write daily has been broken by debilitating illness. You see, I was poisoned by mold which ravaged my body systemically and to the point of near immobility.
The signs were all there, with one member of the household exhibiting symptoms we could find no reason for. She was constantly having dizzy spells that threatened to black her out. What made it more confusing was that she continued to have the symptoms even when she went to visit another family member in another state. Little did we know that she was going from one mold filled environment to another, hence the continued dizzy spells.
It would take months before I began to feel the same dizzy spells she describe, a whipping effect that lasted for not much more than a second, but threatened to crumble me to the floor.
Another member of the household also began to complain of the same type of dizzy spells, albeit far less frequent for him.
Air cleansing plant (the name escapes me) at my family member’s home today. I spent a lot of time outside with this one.
Long story short, given that I work from home and rarely got out, I ended up being affected the most. The symptoms progressed from one or two dizzy spells per day to several throughout the day. By this time, our other family member was away with a friend in Denver and having virtually no more dizzy spells. Of course, she was out of the mold filled environment.
I, however, continued to deteriorate. Beginning three weeks ago, it got to the point where I could hardly walk and couldn’t breathe. Sadly, given that the effects of mold toxicity are not taught to physicians and not of primary concern in emergency situations, not only is there no immediate testing for mold inside the body, but for some strange reason, the tests given always return either a healthy body with no problems, as it was in my case, or some systemic issue that doctors do not connect to mold, but can never find any remedy. A particular organ will be affected, for which medication does not work to heal.
After a while, I could hardly see straight to walk. My vision was blurring on and off. I was dizzying out of control, weak and unable to breathe without it feeling like someone was standing on my chest. Even when they checked my lungs, they could find nothing wrong. I needed a specialist, but no one wanted to properly address my issues because their tests came back showing I was healthy. Therefore, sending me to a specialist seemed to be low priority. During my last trip to the emergency room because I was unable to breathe, rather than suggest a lung specialist, the doctor prescribed me anxiety medication, which I promptly left in the emergency room.
I began to do research and found others who had not only similar, but the exact same stories of incompetent doctors who would even go as far as to state that mold cannot make one sick. This ignorance flies in the face of numerous studies that prove beyond a doubt that toxic mold not only can make one sick, but kill us.
Let me share some of history in brief. I left the United State Army twenty-five years ago. From that time until today I never took another shot of any kind, not even a flu shot. Because of that, I have never been healthier. In that time, I may have caught the flu twice, maybe three, times. I rarely go to the doctor, visiting only if I have a serious problem, which was rare. Prior to this mold incident that has had me visiting the doctor frequently in the last six months, I had not been to the doctor in nearly a decade beyond a one year check-up through the VA Hospital; not even a gynecologist. I’ve caught two colds in ten years, with the last cold I caught about five years ago.
Basically, I don’t like doctors and try to avoid them like the plague unless there is something wrong with me that my natural remedies and organic lifestyle cannot heal. So it was rather frustrating to go to the doctor and be treated as though I was some mental case merely suffering from anxiety. Given my history, if I go to the doctor, trust, it is for a valid reason. I am certainly having a serious problem.
Needless to say, this was the issue with everyone’s testimonial I read. Some were more lucky than I to find specialists who fully recognized the debilitating and dangerous nature of mold and what it can do to the body. And, took measures to remedy the issue. They were the lucky ones. Many were not so luck, as was/is the case with me.
Once I recognized, too late, that it was the mold making me sick, I left the house within a week. By then, I was unable to move, couldn’t stand in the sun and could barely eat anything given that the mold caused me to develop a leaky gut, which made eating certain foods impossible. I would have a horrible reaction to them. In under two weeks I lost 11 pounds.
Cactus waiting to bloom at my family member’s home today.
My weight is still down, but since being in Florida and out of that toxic house in Mississippi, I have been healing. I am temporarily staying with a family member until our apartment is ready.
After about three days, the breathing issues died down. I am now able to breathe much better without laboring. The dizzy spells slowed down in the last three days. I have been on a strict regimen of anti-fungal, antimicrobial and anti-parasite herbs, as well as probiotics and fresh squeezed juices. I have, for now, cut out all sugar based items, including fruit (I love fruit), in order to starve the mold out of my system. Mold thrives on sugar of all kinds.
I have, sadly, become my own doctor given that the VA Hospital and the local hospital were virtually useless in addressing my issue. I’ve had to do my own research and figure out how to self heal through the personal experiences of others who also received poor professional care.
I found a family who, through extensive research and trial and error, healed themselves. This is important given that most who suffer from toxic deteriorating mold exposure never recover. One close friend of mine told about her friend whom she helped get out of a mold filled dorm which was later shut down by the health department given the toxicity of the mold. She said he has never been the same since.
I ordered the family’s book and have been taking much of their advice. I’ve always eaten healthy and clean, so I am hopeful that my progress will be accelerated. Today is the first day I’ve felt well enough to type anything. I had not been online or checked email for more than ten days.
Every now and then if I eat something detoxing I go into an hour or so tailspin. But I’m clear that it is the effects of detoxification and the mold kicking up into my blood stream to be expelled. Generally I am feeling much better, walking better and, most importantly, I can breathe.
This has been a huge lesson for me. Never again will I simply look at mold, spray it with vinegar and bleach, watch it disappear, then assume it might not still be hiding behind the walls and growing out of control.
I implore those with mold to remediate it if they can afford to, or leave the home. Your life is worth more than a house. If you are in an apartment, call the health department. You could be suffering from illnesses directly related to the mold and not realize it, all the while thinking it’s an isolated health problem. Remember, mold destroys systemically. It kills neurons in the brain, which is what was happening to me why I was losing my motor skills. It harms every organ, every function, from the pituitary gland to the thyroid gland and more. It breaks down your cellular structure and disrupts your DNA and RNA. Everything you can imagine is destroyed by toxic mold in the body.
Mold is everywhere in nature. We live on a planet filled with mold. But it is unnatural and deadly to live with mold concentrated inside the home where most live in air conditioners or heaters, never opening windows to let fresh air pass through. The most dangerous aspect of mold is that it is just as harmful, if not more, dead. Mycotoxins are released into your bloodstream from dead mold, which is probably why I feel dizzy and weak after taking an ant-fungal/antibacterial/anti-microbial.
This has been the reason I have not posted in a while. My mind is still a bit foggy, so I hope this post isn’t too scattered. I am, however, resting as much as possible and healing slowly.
I am hopeful that I will be able to post tomorrow. Maybe a short poem if I feel well enough. In the last week I have had up and down days, but writing was always on my mind. I wanted to share my journey many days ago, but was simply too weak to do so.
Until next time, live well and mold free beautiful people.
Write a new post in response to today’s one-word prompt.
Most of what I write is an experiment where I allow words to cascade from my fingertips and walk about in the world, naked and unashamed. I let them roam free so they may discover themselves.
You could call me a word scientist. Forever exploring the strengths and weakness of words, even the history of words, where they were born, how they lived, and how those who use them have been transformed.
I am in a writing lab, surrounded by flasks filled with potentially volatile words. It is quiet there, so that I can meditate on my next experiment. I whisper to the words, and ask them to show me what happens when I mix them together. I add drops of words into an empty flask, then pour a cup of words atop what may or may not explode. The words combine and foam into sentences, then paragraphs rise to the top of the flask and spill over onto the table. I whisper to them, ask them what it was like. Sometimes they answer, in whispers barely audible. Other times, they wait to be rediscovered in new ways.
Dozens of flasks litter the table, each now with varied mixtures of words, reacting in expected and unexpected ways. Some good, some bad. Some inert, others poison to the touch. I continue to delve into the science, to see what it unearths. Words bubble, freeze, catch fire, and sometimes turn to fog. Always, they are there, coming together to teach us that which we didn’t know yesterday.
Sometimes they come in whispers. Sometimes they come without care. But always they come.
The poem below by Frost is the life I’ve always lived, the road less traveled. It keeps me sane, even as it sometimes leaves me lonely in this world. Most times, lonely in a room filled with people.
The Road Not Taken by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
I read this piece by Yeats recently and it struck a cord.
The Lake Isle of Innisfree W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,
And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:
Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee;
And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet’s wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
Someone called me today, a loved one. She said she was lonely. But I am too far away to just show up on her doorstep and take her out so we can run the streets like school girls. I could hear it in her voice, the loneliness she tried to conceal behind laughter as she told me how she felt.
I will be where she is soon. I promised her we would go out dancing when I see her. Maybe a nice old school step joint, something sophisticated yet fun.
We continued to chat for a while about various things. I wanted to stay on with her, to let her know that I understand loneliness and I was in no rush to get her off the phone. I wanted to be present with her and allow her to laugh (allow myself to laugh) and tell her stories with the excitement of a child.
In a way, she saved me today. She reminded me that I too may one day be lonely again. Even more, if I live, I will one day be an elder. It was humbling and sobering. What will that look like for me, as my children go off to live their lives? Will they call me daily? Weekly? Will they take me out? Will they even want to spend time with me around a dinner table? Or will they be too busy to remember I exist until, like many children, they need something, even if it’s just moral support. I would give it, no doubt. But would always wonder if when the time comes and gray hairs are no longer peppered with remnants of black, but pure snow, would I still be relevant in the life of those whom I love?
Knowing the potential for the future leaves me wondering if loneliness could one day become my best friend, because all my flesh and blood friends have come and gone. And family has come and gone.
I can’t wait to see her. She’s sacrificed so much over the years. The last thing she deserves is to be lonely.
This was the sky over my house yesterday. Such a beautiful sight.
The sky is a constant reminder of my mortality. When I am gone, the sky will go on, into millions of years that I will never live to see. Nothing from this moment in time will be recognizable. No one’s name will be known or remembered. In a million years, even the dust from our bones will be like smoke dissipated into the air. Someone in the distant future will find themselves digging up a femur, discovering it was from a woman, then calling it some strange futuristic name that will itself become meaningless a million years from their find.
We are but shadows and dust. More shadow than dust. A shadow dissipating with the setting of the sun.
Every now and then a bit of beauty falls onto my lap and reminds me that there just might be a pinhole of hope for humanity. Very few of us are as lucky as these ex-students to have found a teacher who truly loves them and wants for their success. Sadly, there are far too many teachers who have fallen into the trap of teaching for a paycheck, rather than teaching to save our future. Not all, of course, but many.
I honor teachers who love their students and do whatever it takes to ensure they are properly educated in the subject they teach.