Waiting to die

Waiting to die. Instructive exchange yesterday right before yoga class. As I was sitting there talking with a couple of middle-aged people about which yoga instructors were more "gentle" and "restorative" for those of us "who are getting old", I encountered felt resistance, and a few seconds later, heard one of the men tell another "I can't believe she said "getting old." It was a learning moment for me--yes Medeita, as hard as it is to believe, there are people my age who enjoy being alive and feel alive and vigorous." And I have to be careful not to assume that every middle-aged person feels like me--that life is over, that I willl never know happiness, vitality, joy, energy, bodily self-control, psychological free will and choice, and the love of a woman ever again. I hate to be pessimistic, but my middle aged peers don't know what it is like to tell the leg to move and have it sit there like a rock. They don't know what it is like to not be able to feel your limbs, to have to shuffle your feet in baby steps, and to consider a 30 yard walk to be a major achievement of which to be proud, and a 1/2 mile walk to be dauntingly fatiguing. They don't know what it is like to have every joy of your life stripped from you by chemicals and religious zealots and Nazi scientists. I used to be so full of plans and ambitions and desires to initiate and impact my life and those around me--to be open to the reality of everything and everyone around me, and to be in harmony through proactive prayer and good intent. Now I just stumble through the hell that is my chemical reality, amazed that I am able to finish a book (a novel) in 2 months that before would have taken me two days. Still can't think on the book like I used to, but I know it was worthwhile. No, the only thing I am good for these days is escaping this hellish, painful reality by watching TV, and sometimes I am too drugged up to do even that. It is 9 am in the morning, and already my eyes are shutting--my poisoned brain just can't handle even the most element of reality---visual stimuli. I had wanted to ogo to church and get some new speakers installed but like a sick, miserable 90 something senior, my desire to live is running into resistance from a body and brain that just wishes to lay down and die. I used to be so full of joy in life. My favorite scripture verse used to be, " I have come that you may have life, and have it to the full." I woke up every morning and the first thing that automatically came to mind was "Thank you God for this beautiful day." Now the first thing that comes to mind upon awakening is "Shit" Then come something along the lines of "Do I have to get up? I feel like death warmed over. Another day I have to suffer." My favorite scripture now is "the Light has come into the world and the darkness can not overcome it." Because my life is ruled by minions and poisons and stupid, unwitting stoolies of the dark--SLI, Opus Dei, security agencies, etc., all I can do is cling in faith (and memory of a happier time and reality) that whatever reason God has given me this hateful portion of suffering to endure as my life there was a time when I was in vital relationship with God and others (and if the stupid Nazi religious fucks think that my relationships were "psychotic" or "neurotic", so what? They were productive in every way, and I still am proud of them as the most accomplished achievements of my life and the way that they impacted the world and others in physical and spiritual ways and gave honor and glory and homage to my God doing so). Now I just drag myself through day to day, waiting for a release that I now believe will only come about through death from this physical plane and the suffering of my broken, drugged up body and brain. But I guess I have to keep my feelings in private, through the blog. After all, most people in life still have something to celebrate, still have joy, still have life. It is my greatest misfortune and injustice that I don't. Waiting for death--please speed it up God.