"Boy Interrupted" -- man rebooted
You've done it yourself, or you've seen it in a movie:
A writer, sitting at a desk, pencils a couple of lines on a piece of paper. Discouraged, or wanting to completely start somewhere else, he crumples the page into a wad and gives it a toss.Sometimes, the whole functional edifice of my life collaspes, and I succumb to a state of being not unlike one of those crumbled wads, tossed in the trash.
And sometimes, in life and in film, another scene follows:
"Hmmm?!," the writer intones aloud, tapping a finger to his temple. He hops down on to his knees and begins rummaging through the wads -- some in the wastebasket; some on the floor. "Here!," he says to the room, finding the discarded line he's decided to go back to. He retakes his seat and does his best to flatten the page out again atop his desk, pressing the page out with his hands. "Maybe this can work."Lately, I'm uncrumpling the state of waste my life has, for some time, fallen into.
* * *
Watched an excellent film tonight: Boy Interrupted -- a documentary by Dana & Hart Perry about the life and suicidal death of their son, Evan Scott Perry. At age 15, Evan ended his struggle with Bipolar II disorder by jumping to his death from his bedroom window.
Posted a comment on HBO's forums:
More than the acclaimed works of many renowned authors, artists, and philosophers, Evan Scott Perry's life -- through this loving film -- reveals so very much to us about our fragile humanity.A moving story -- enough to trot my missing-in-action ass over here to say something about it (and a bit more, to boot).
Thank you, Dana & Hart Perry. Thank you, HBO. Thank you, Evan.
In this photo posted at Boulder Integral's website, I would be the bearded, bald guy in the lower right:
Mr. Wilber:
Wrote earlier today to someone who works with Ken:
Wow! The Wilberitis-afflicted enthusiast in me can say, at last,
'I finally got to sit in the same room with the guy!' Yeehah! Deeper down, it was awesome to directly hear Ken retell some of his story; talk about things-Integral; and -- most moving -- to receive the encouragement he pressed upon all in attendance to muster our "Divine Pride." Profound!
A couple of weeks back, I'd registered myself and a dear friend to attend the Integral Spiritual Experience conference at this year's end.
Trading notes at the time with one of the event organizers, I let it out that the conference was looking like an opportunity to realize a decades-old hope of 'someday getting to meet Mr. Wilber' -- Mr. Wilber being among the events many splendid contributors. Mr. Wilber, I learned, however, with not be in attendance at the Pacific Grove, California event, owing to precautions related to his somewhat fragile state of physical health, but will be "piped-in via teleconference."
'Ah. Drat.' -- decades-old hope . . . dashed.
But wait . . .
I wrote to Ken, asking if he and I could meet, and sit, and talk with one another.
Before hearing back, I learned of the Boulder Q & A get-together, and signed right up. I jotted out another, Emily-Litella-esque, "nevermind" sort of note to KW -- 'ixnay on our eetingmay -- looking forward to the Q & A in Boulder.'
A couple of days later, I got a reply to my previous request:
Postscipt to a note I sent to an HB facilitator in the Boulder/Denver area, asking to arrange a session a day or two before meeting KW:
P.S. My core issue: I've struggled with "refractory depression" (/"dark night") for decades -- suicide attempts; hospitalizations; numerous anti-depressant medication regimens over the years; even submitted to 13 sessions of ECT (cannot recommend it, btw) a couple of years back. Lost decades of joblessness, homelessness . . . ruined relationships . . . crushed-to-cowering, pinned-down by 'this infinite sadness' . . . years of hiding out -- self-quarantined -- fearful of speading the germ, the contagion of this heartache . . . Currently off all meds -- for several months, now. I am "in between" doctors, head-shrinkers, and therapists -- but looking. The "depressive syndrome" is still operative, chronic, but (mercifully/for now?) non-acute. "Moving and shaking" as best and while I can here, to sort this shit out.Notable idiosyncrasy: this whole melancholy slog I've been on, dating back to my childhood, was (wonderfully, Graciously) broken up by a period of what can be described as Non-Dual Awakening. Near as I can tell, I "Woke Up" to what the Dzogchen traditions describe as "The Innate Great Perfection." Without interruption, for about a year -- through waking, dreaming, and sleeping -- I was tasting what Ken Wilber describes as "One Taste." This was about 15 years ago, following a very profound emotional catharsis that included the HB session (mentioned above) with M. Carol Smith. Managed, however, to fall, since then, rather miserably and desperately back into Samsara's soup. Yadda, yadda, yadda.
uncrumpled . . .
the side that hasn't been written on!
maybe this can work.

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