Wednesday, February 1, 2023

 Wednesday, February 1, 2023

   This morning, I didn't need to push Elsa through the doggie door, but she made it clear she preferred not to use it. She tried to get away. When I blocked her path, she went out. Later in the day, when she was outside, I went out on the back lanai to check the laundry. Elsa went to the bathroom door, asking to be let out. I walked around to the front of the house rather than let out through the people's door. When I got inside, I set her down by the doggie door. She was cornered and used it.

   In my morning meditation, I focused on the tension in my left brow. It's bad enough that it causes vision problems. Insurance covers Botox treatments to lift it. I always thought it was a result of birth trauma. I was ventral facing instead of dorsal; I had to be turned to make my exit. I was smashed into my mother's hip bone for several hours. My nose was totally compressed when my father saw me. In those days, he was not welcome in the delivery room. My nose was permanently reshaped because of this experience. I assumed it also impacted my brow, but it's more garden-variety tension.

   As I meditated on that tension, I experienced whirling in my head. I observed that. I was reminded of an image someone focused on when she mediated. She thought of a herd of oxen she brought to order. Instead, I just observed and wondered what would happen. That is the recommended strategy of Vipassana. It works well.    

   I drove down to the Bonded Materials office this morning to find someone who could stain the cement wedges that were the base for the granite gravestones. The company didn't do the work; they sold the materials. When I explained what it was for, the older man asked how long I had been married. A sob escaped my lips. They gave me someone's name but made it clear he didn't work for them.

   When I got home, I called the guy they recommended immediately. He said he was an artist. He did this work on the side. He was completing a cement staining job at the Veteran's Cemetery. He quoted me a price. I didn't care how much it was. There was no one else who could do it. I had the money. I was desperate.

   When I got home, I went down for a nice long nap. I got up in time for my two afternoon appointments.

    I checked my texts to discover Mama K had canceled for the day; it was the first time she had proposed rescheduling. I suspect she is seeing enough progress in Twin E and K that she is beginning to believe they can learn.  

     I still had my appointment with Adolescent D at two pm. I start all our sessions with letter tracing these days. I form the letters slowly on the Zoom share screen, and D follows my form and speed as he 'writes' the letter with the tip of his finger on a tabletop. I don't know what effect it has. I know it has helped others with attention problems, and he likes doing it. What can be harmful? He says he sees no difference in his handwriting.

   For the last several sessions, we have been focusing on healing his anxiety and shame in response to the activity of reading and the thought of his disability. I did a SUDS with him today. "If the negative feelings were at a ten when we started, what are they now?" He said, "Four." I told him it won't ever be much lower. Anxiety and shame are fundamental emotions that are always with a healthy person. People totally free of those emotions are disabled and can be downright dangerous. We must get used to living with a low level of both feelings. Any evidence of them is hard for D because he had them in excess.

     I quoted, "Once bitten by a snake, every coiled rope looks dangerous." That made no sense to him. I told him the story of a friend waiting at the curbside to cross the street when the car went out of control and hit her. After that, she worried every time she crossed a street. We all know a car can damage us, yet we don't worry about it. Once hit by a car, that worry never leaves us. I gave him another example of a woman who was bitten by a dog and is now afraid of all dogs. Once we have an over-the-top experience, our minds remain overly sensitive. It's called PTSD.

  He focused on the physical sensations generated by those emotions. They started in his heart. When he just observed, they spread down to his stomach. He was upset when it spread. He wanted to compress it. No, it's good when it starts moving on its own; observe what it does and wonder what it will do next. Stay calm and interested. He didn't get it. I told him my story of healing physical pain and third-grade J's story of healing his uncontrolled anger using Vipassana.

  In my first Vipassana sit, I was in terrible pain. When I sat cross-legged, my left inner thigh muscle was painfully tight. My tailbone started screaming at me when I changed to a straight-legged position. I fractured it when I was twelve. I resolved to apply Vipassana. I locked my legs in a cross-legged position and said, "I can endure this pain one more minute." Then, I focused on describing where the sensation was without thinking about it as pain. Then, the pain would overwhelm me. I would start again, "I can endure this pain one more minute," and focus again on describing the sensation without calling it pain. It went away.

    I taught third-grade J to use this process without telling him what I was teaching. I asked him where he felt the anger in his body first. He said in his fists. I was going to argue with him, tell him it had to come from inside his body. Fortunately, I kept my mouth shut and followed his lead. I told him to see the sensation from his fists travel up his arms and into his body. He did, and that ended that. He has had no incidents of uncontrolled anger. This does not mean he will never feel angry again. However, anger is a wonderful emotion, very useful when we need it most to empower us to do amazing things to defend ourselves against lions, tigers, bears, and occasional violent bullies. Other than that, it informs us that we don't like something. Fully released anger is not appropriate in all situations.

     The sensation in D subsided, and he was more relaxed. The session ended, and I thought he could continue the process independently.

    I had to reschedule my flight to Ohau again to visit my relatives staying there and claim my refund. This was the second time I had to reschedule the flight. I couldn't do it on my own. I called Hawaiian Airlines customer service. Avoid doing that if you can. OMG! What a nightmare! Last time, I just canceled the flight and asked for a refund for use at a later time because I didn't know my relatives' plans. They first had to cancel because my cousin's wife got sick. Their eleven-year-old dog found a chicken bone on their property the second time. It pierced his digestive tract. They couldn't save him. My cousins were devastated. I got the new plans for the upcoming weekend within hours of canceling.

   The Hawaiian Airlines agent was a woman who didn't speak English well. It took me time to get her to understand that I wanted to use a refund to pay for the flight I was currently booking. I had to give her my credit card number. I would repeat it in groups of four, as it is printed, and she would repeat the numbers in some random grouping and get it wrong each time. As I write this, I wonder why she needed my credit card number. I was using a refund to pay for the flight. I will have to check that.

   As the sun set, I went down to see Linear Notes for the last time. He had stopped eating. When Yvette took him to the vet, he was diagnosed with pancreatitis. When she took him back in, they changed the diagnosis to cancer. That's why he'd been looking so fat. He was bloated. When on steroids to keep him comfortable until the vet could come to the house to put him down, his bloat subsided, and you could see how skinny he was. Lack of food and cancer will do that to you. He was such a sweet dog, kind of a dufus but so sweet.

   In one of Bloom's lectures from the course on psychology through Yale's free online courses, he mentioned Piaget's concept of object permeance. Object permanence is the understanding that things don't disappear just because you can't see them. That's the lesson infants learn in the game Peek-a-boo. Now, you see me; now, you don't. Where did I go? Am I gone forever, or am I still here for you? I played a math game of sorts with some fifteen-year-old children. I placed ten small Cuisenaire rods in one hand and told them there were ten. I even let them count them. Then, I moved one to the other hand, keeping the remaining nine in the original hand. "How many rods do I have all together if I have one in this hand and nine in this one?" They had to count them. It might be a problem with object permeance. Is it possible that there are fifteen-year-olds who almost look normal, not classified as mentally delayed, who could go through life without that concept? Or is it only that they didn't apply it regarding numbers?