Out of the Mind

Comes this fairy tale

some would call it

a fast and friendly gale

of why whenever might

our soul in peace prevail

change will be our writ.

~

Seems clear we see life

as a partial of our being

always in question is life

though some are arguing

doesn’t matter this strife

we are meant for living.

~

I walked outside of myself

for weeks, needs on a shelf

~

When once had confidence

been thought our middle name

we unravel so much by chance

we can never really, our game

always the question we enhance

lost inside a dream, lose our aim.

~

It wasn’t until yesterday

I could remember again,

what was ahead of my day

not ever today could I gain

semblance, a peaceful way

know in woe ever refrain.

~

I walked outside of myself

for weeks, needs, on a shelf


© Thom Amundsen 9/2021

Wishing Dreams

A spirit guide might visit a passion

setting in stride life’s beauty is a ride.

Yet time does wait upon internal

remnants churning within my psyche.

While outside lives a life of pleasantry

agreeable acceptance and absolutes,

if only the traveling disdain subside.

Would then wishful dreams pass forward

an energy with love could line a reel.

May then we be happy with our fate.

May then lives a sigh for love too late.


©️ Thom Amundsen 6/2021

The Color Blue

Everyone has a favorite color

tonight I’ll pick blue

for any number of reasons

this seems to resonate

not just the hue,

state of mind or mood or choice

as someone said to me

tonight.

We make a decision within ourselves

to decide upon what it is

we want to focus upon,

sadness?

depression?

do we even know what that means anymore?

I spoke with a friend recently,

she was telling me about something personal,

and the subject of therapy came into

our conversation,

and I discovered after revealing all of my years

of therapy,

she hadn’t ever gone to see anyone.

Ever.

I thought about it myself

and know

times in my life would not allow me to be here

right now,

writing these words if I had not

myself

bought into my life the value

of letting someone hear my problems

and then try to give me

direction afterward.

We live in that world,

one that refuses to allow vulnerability

to encompass our heart and soul,

when truthfully if we don’t reach out,

we stay alone with our thoughts,

and how in the end

has that lent anything to do with the color of

blue.


© Thom Amundsen 12/2020

There Are These Days

A couple of weeks ago my world went dark. I made horrific plans, mapped out the day, my valuables, important tokens of my life. I say this because it does happen to people, and now I feel a better grasp and that is more valuable than any guilt or shame over previous moments in my life.

I call it these days because they really come and go. The weather outside is beautiful, and during the summer I spent most of my time on my bicycle, and tonight I couldn’t get myself to move. It is funny how our lives become wrapped up in ourselves, and we forget about those around us. Now with Covid, we are more often than not forced to live only with ourselves. I have a dog now, he is a beautiful animal, and just comes and lays by me most of the time, or if he hears or senses anything emotional from me, he’ll come and check me out. A couple of weeks ago when I hit that low, he was someone I couldn’t leave behind without somebody to be there to care for him immediately.

I think when I get lost inside myself, I forget the world around me. I feel pretty valueless when I let this trapping take over my state of mind. I fortunately have a lot of people I can reach out to, but sometimes one or two might be far more important than everyone else. It doesn’t mean that everyone doesn’t carry the same value, there are just easier words found with the few.

I began writing to an old friend recently. I wrote her a letter out of the blue, and it was overwhelming for her to hear my words 40 years later. I felt this certain energy when I wrote her, it just let my mind go and took off and I could see and hear my words as they were hitting the paper, and I just let them go. I’ve only been able to do that with one other person in my life and now she has disappeared much like my old friend, so I resort back to these pages. I hope someday I can put them together in some manner that lets at least me believe the words hold value.

Tonight I found myself watching TV, letting the hours slip by. I have a morning obligation that I have to contribute to rather than just show up. Sometimes it is easier to do that – show up – without really taking value in the effort or what others are receiving from me. What is the energy I bring to a room. I want my students to have fun, so we have a lot of laughs, but what if it means nothing to me anymore. Isn’t that really just hurting the kids? Oh, see how easy that was? I found another way to beat myself up.

The weirdest thing happened to me the night I was feeling my low. I was beside myself and I wrote a letter to a dear friend whom I cannot get a response, and I talked about some dark moments. I think deep in my mind, I was begging for a wellness check, and so shortly after I went to bed around midnight and my code for the entrance to my village gate rang on my phone. I couldn’t figure out why. I thought there might be a connection and so I stood out on my deck expecting the cops to pull up for a welfare check on my state of mind. But no one ever did. So now I guess somebody hit the wrong number. I really haven’t any idea, but I think God was sending me a message.

I think about where my state of mind goes so quickly when I am feeling down. It goes as deep as my fresh optimism goes high. I can never seem to find that common ground, that even keel, that ability to balance on the fence.

I think in the time of Covid, it really is difficult to feel hope without despair. I don’t like my job right now, it is not because of the kids, I love my students, I just don’t like having an administration that has their own struggles but doesn’t reveal with anyone because of their role. I think we are all struggling right now, and to add to it, a remarkably historic election week, and we are all on the edge.

I guess I have rambled here a bit tonight, but I really wanted to just talk about how easy it is to fall into a mania that gives suicide a platform when loneliness and sadness overtake our lives. It happened to me, and it does more often than not, I just am better hiding it than I used to. There are really only a couple of people in my life who know I walk around like this all the time. A couple of weekends ago, nothing mattered, and then I scared myself, so now tonight as I finish this up, I guess I am just recognizing another vulnerability in my own human condition that I cannot let become triggered – rather I need to accept it and move on.

I always find a way to come to terms ever so briefly with understanding mood. I just wish it could be consistent and forever.


© Thom Amundsen 11/2020

Hearing Voices

They are not loud,

in fact,

whispers that catch me,

wondering where.

They are in my head,

reminders

of why it is that way I am

will be my forever.

I sometimes in the silence

can imagine window sills tremble,

the sky is falling

inside my mind.

I wonder if you might know,

this feeling

is more powerful than

anything I will ever know.

Know it is true,

Know it can never go away.

No, no, know.

Finding One Door

IMG_0177

This matter of doors,

talked about in quiet rooms,

where two people, maybe four, three

could openly speak

closing doors, reasons why,

open doors, easily cry

for there is some certain avenue

allows us all to find our way,

if we choose to be

the person we might

want to

speak someday.

 

I remember a year ago,

saying I wished I might not live another day,

exhausted,

it was a similar hour of night,

this seemingly special occasion,

where I

the leader or the exhibit on display,

wanted nothing more

than to go away.

 

Yet here I am today,

celebrating some reason to explain

how it might I came to be,

this life,

this scrutiny

that only I control.

 

Oh I may allow others

have a hand

in my own dismay,

but it is in those darker

moments,

I can begin to

explain away,

the tragedy of my own

today.

 

I met someone once,

she touched my heart,

we spent hours into the twilight

talking about who or what our psychic meanings were.

I remember wanting only to

kiss her,

and yet so compelling was her ability

to sway the judgment of my play,

I listened,

and the hours flew by,

suddenly sunlight peeking through

her apartment drawn shades,

the two of us laying comfortably apart

together,

opened our eyes,

smiled,

suggested

what a day this will be

today.

 

So tonight,

just after midnight,

I look again into that open door, a space

just kind of waits,

and yet there are so many stories about

that man in the chair,

who looks like yesterday,

or maybe a little like his mom

whom as he weeps in

a sweet silence,

he imagines or hopes,

dreams on occasion,

if he did stand up,

and walk through,

there would be she,

and all of the questions

that have rocked his mind for over

half a century

might suddenly

come to life,

what some could easily pin upon

the afterlife

 

Yet why is that even as we try to blend

the pallet of our fantasy,

why do the same entrances tease our mind,

the darkness will always prevail

until that moment,

when trying to be,

might only become

the aftermath of

we in the some triggered response

to ending all of the confusion

that inherent blend of

mystery

the human condition.

 

Safe in my distance, I do imagine the other side,

and just wonder if a  picture will ever help me decide.

 

Fearing The Worst

I remember the dreams, the constant reminders

a continual tease, a surreal world of sidewinders

 

Each one with a story, a parallel universe

would try to shake me, send me in reverse.

 

I could never tell if a person real or imagined,

it was a nightmare the bottom was assigned.

 

Otherwise the lofty airs of fascination

always relied waking realization

 

Just a dream, perhaps a reminder

only the illusion of the constant sidewinder

 

drawing imagined color scheme on the surface,

so the internal player would always save face.

 

Walking slow inside a familiar nearby memory,

I might choose to leap, try to escape this quandary.


© Thom Amundsen 2019

The Scrutiny of Self Loathing

People generally believe we bring our pain upon ourselves, the decisions, choices we make. As true as that might be we want also to be responsible for shaking off the doom and gloom that keeps us down. There the difficult task arises in how we acknowledge our own fear in moving forward when caught in the web of self-deceit. We convince ourselves through various measures we are destined to live this way.

Take addiction for a moment and identify patterned behavior. The addict is easily drawn toward what feels good, the easiest route to pleasure. It is more often than not an addict’s choice to stay within the boundary of self loathing than give themselves a fighting chance of a good life. The drug, the habit, the glass of scotch, far too easy to attain and outweigh the risk of facing the contempt their lives become under the influence of a self-destructive pursuit they are unable to see until it explodes their lives and those around them.

A choice also has to be made by the messenger. I choose to write this why, because I have seen its impact on the lives of those around me? I also see on a daily basis the nature of addiction and how it determines day to day decisions in my own life. Not the observation of a friend, me.

On any given day I can be wrapped up in memory of poor decisions I made years ago that haunt me still today, most people would say, let it go you were a kid way back then. That’s true but I still made the choice.

Today I think about self-loathing and the impact it has on my life. Last night in my episodic frame of mind I thought about solutions that did simply scare the hell out of me. Too often we are in the middle of something and rather than face it we literally swallow it and move on. I choose to face it but I have no false pretense of an easy road ahead, I made a phone call last night that helped me move beyond a state of mind that was dragging me down so fast I was drowning before my ankles ever felt the water. Then in a bizarre dream overnight I was holding a device in my hand on stage that blew up and I was suddenly gasping for air in and out of consciousness. I take some dreams for granted, that one not so much.

Perhaps a metaphorical bomb in a crazy dream is what it takes to realize sometimes a jumpstart is needed to feel better and take action. For me self-loathing is no fun. I will choose a different path.

For the reader I ask two favors – one that you might take from this story some benefit for your own life and two that you raise your awareness around family, friend, colleague, neighbor and offer a hand rather than reject that reach with our well planted bootstrap society. Sometimes the boots will not go on.

This post is for everyone and is not about you!

Some Are Chosen

While walking through a mine field, I stamped my feet

knowing only would be my confidence address defeat

 

For it is a wonder sometime to know the reason why

some we love are left to die, when afterward we cry.

 

It seems so clear that some are chosen to live this way

while yet we stand and recognize oh just another day.

 

I walked one night along the planks of an icy bridge

there below no bottom to see only feet on a ridge.

 

The people sauntered by, seemingly so unaware

when I awoke and found my tears, again I swear.

 

There is always a question of just why and whom

so magnificent in aura we might reach the womb

 

A sedentary state it seems will be only our cause

to find the truth, to know reality beyond our Oz.

 

I walked alone one night along some icy concrete

out of mind, out of sight, my life was not complete.\

 

We wonder those, mourn their woes, yet the we

becomes ourselves inside this love, this factory.