Oh. Oh oh oh.

Last night, I had another visitation. I woke from troubled sleep, my mind racing. It was 4:30 a.m. The Hour of the Serpents.
What is it with 4:30 a.m.? No matter what time I go to bed, on nights when I have insomnia and anxiety attacks, they hit at 4:30 a.m.

The content? It went like this... What if I go run out of money? What if I don't get my Home Equity Line of Credit on my condo? Why am I such a fuck up? What if I get fired? I have (or I'm imagining I have) lumps on my testes, I have had (no imagining here) diarrhea since Saturday afternoon (hence my abandoned trip to JM Supplies to buy Propper one pieces), and I currently have no health insurance. I want to move to Florida. I'm so tired of being cold. I can't cut it here in New York. I just can't make this work.

I could not get back to sleep. Until 7:30 a.m. that is. Which was a half hour before I had to get up to go to work. When I woke up, I thought about calling in sick (three hours sleep and a gastro-intestinal disorder sounds worthy to me). Alas, I had to go to my bank, so I had to go into the city anyway, and I really had to get that mailing out the door about the community forum we're having or Boss Sunshine will yell at me again. Not that he won't yell at me if I do get the mailing out.

So I'm dosing myself with Immodium A-D (pleasant, chalky, minty taste, but an unpleasant bitter aftertaste). No effect so far. I looked up 'Irritable Bowel Syndrome' on the internet. (I don't think I have an infection... no nausea, no fever.) The cause of IBS is undetermined, and it sounds pretty fishy and malingery to me. Although it's thought to be associated with stress. If I have IBS, I'm going to name it after Boss Sunshine. A friend of mine once named an ulcer for her drug-addled boyfriend who had caused it. ("I love fried eggplant, but I can't have any because of Sandy.")

With respect to these sundry health issues, I'm trying an interesting tact, and amalgam of two books. Bear with me. This sounds new age-y, and maybe it is, but I swear I'm not. I'm a total materialist. But the effects of what might be called 'Creative Visualization' are established by cognitive science. Anyway, in my Shaman book, I've been reading discussion of 'Power Animals,' your animal guide that you meet in a Shamanic journey. Likewise, in 'slavecraft,' the author discusses a meditation technique that he uses whereby he imagines himself walking, and meeting a slave, who is both archetypal and endowed with a personality. The author questions the slave, and listens to what he has to say, telling the slave that he is seeking a mentor and a guide in slave craft.

So what have I been cooking up? Well... Because of a lifelong affinity I've had with wolves (I have one tattooed on my right deltoid, fr'instance, and I had a hallucinagenic experience when I was eleven running around in the fallow fields behind my parents house, shimmering with frost underneath a full moon, wherein I 'became' a wolf, and I could go on), so my Power Animal is a wolf. Shaman book says that on the shamanic journey, you often meet your Power Animal in human form, but get an indication of what animal he or she is.

So lately I've been imagining Master Wolf. Master Wolf is a wolf (so am I, he reminds me, but I'm just starting to get in touch with that) who takes on human form. He vaguely resembles Charles Bronson, although there's more gray in his hair, and he has a vaguely Sioux aspect to him. Execept for the mustache (Native American men don't have much in the way of facial hair). He is a skilled Master. He has brought many men to new heights of ecstasy and awareness by bringing them to their knees. He has just about no sense of humor, and he never gets my jokes. (A minor liability in our interactions, but a liability nonetheless.) I come to him with my concerns and my lack of self-confidence and my buried shame, inadequacy, and fear. With a stern look, he tells me to take up my whip and throw. ("Lift up your skirt and fly!" I offer, which gets me more stern looks.) I do, and doubts and fear are banished. I am a wolf. I tap into a primal power. My whip strikes like a viper, hitting perfectly the mark I want.

As I headed out the door, down the stairs, and off to the PATH train this morning, I felt my wolf self. These problems are of the body. They will pass. I am more than my bowels. I am strong. I am a wolf. I feast on the entrails and drink the blood of men. (Which has got to bring some intestinal discomfort, right? I mean, it's probably okay with Dr. Atkins, but few nutritionists would recommend that diet... I'm getting the stern look again.)

I did fine today. I whined only slightly to co-workers. I got stuff done.

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