I’ve scribbled up a batch of postcards, both foreign and domestic. This is hardly new or surprising yet, in a rare instance, words elude me, and a great feeling of overwhelming malaise grips me.

{As it goes, the brain is a tricky organ to sort out that there’s really no reason for my semi annual existential crisis or consortium of conundrums. As it goes, I have a beautiful and brilliant wife, a wonderful and growing son, a safe and quirky home, a barn studio full of artifacts and projects, food in the garden and fridge.}

Optional digression: When it’s all “in the thick of it” you run down all the different scenarios / you see, I worked hard on building up all the good things reco’d to do; playing in the garden, exploring hobbies (plenty!), connecting with people, cuddling and hugging when possible (in a country where cuddling and hugging is not really much of a thing but anyway), diligent self-care, hot springs, rest, meditation of all sorts, avoiding news & screens… (except this present moment, ha).

Plus getting treatments from a wise and wonderful seitai sensei who is unlocking all kinds of neurological blockages (much residual from a car accident Christmas Eve 1988 in Jerome Idaho) which produces a near psychedelic experience which inadvertently includes tremendous floods memories long-forgotten or sequestered in someway, bound up in neurological and muscle knots in various parts of my body. It’s hard to explain except the pathways become smoother But darn it’s a bit of a rocky road to get there.

Anyhow, also exploring the effects of various concussions: there were four for sure in a three-year stretch (the vespa crash in Vancouver, then Pacifica California, Adelaide Australia, and outside of Chiang Mai Thailand) all generally untreated but definitely lingering effect, does that play a part? (Aside: all broke my super expensive prescription glasses as well as face – 3 if 4 landed on same right side of head).

And then comes question of performance / calcification of the pineal gland which controls/produces/releases dopamine, serotonin, melatonin etc. but, can get a bit stuck in the aftermath of medications and while I am very lightly medicated now, in the *early days* this was definitely not the case and there was also some self-medication going on while (too rapidly) tapering down from the heavy duty assortment of SSRIs, opiates, benzos, anti-spasmodic and other devious medications.

Finally was the cryptic diagnosis of bipolar disorder (if a 14 page fax report can be considered cryptic) from a psychiatric doctor with freshly hanged degrees from Stanford in an office which seem to have been popped up for a movie set or a prank the night before. Yes, the (snotty & snooty) report came at a very bad time, with no follow up care offered or provided by the medical system in the jurisdiction where I lived at the time.

Soon afterwards, at reco of an NPO brain clinic, I checked myself into a psychiatric ward which turned out to be a colossal mistake including a dangerous escape/exit in a sweaty white V-neck clutching a backpack rushing into the midnight of Victoria, completely confused, shaking and with absolutely no support from the people who should be trained to do the support. Yes, there are emotional scars from this yet I don’t feel like this is part of the current bout of depression.

Rather, I think my body has improved and changed really so much since starting at the Okayama University Hospital program that my brain is having a hard time catching up, so much new information coursing around, I am walking better than I have in 10 years, I carry my child on my shoulders, I move things around the garden, I’m up out of bed most every day for a while at least where this used to be definitely not the case.

I’ve learned to listen to my body and my body is telling me there’s something wrong with the physical part of my noggin which then affects the mental part. Does that make sense? It doesn’t to me except for the part where it does.

All I want is to be better each day for myself, for my darling wife, for my remarkable son and to be capable of the creations I will make in the future (yes, much of me wants to make everything, so many things, starting tomorrow but there’s something about putting on your own oxygen mask first or putting the foundation under the castles you’ve built in the air).

I’m taking the time to solve the problems out. I am safe.

So I start rebuilding from the foundation of: fold laundry, wash dishes, make tea and rice, and then write postcards to express gratitude and other varied emotions.

I’ll disappear again – surface from time to time while i figure out *what comes next* (note to self: the answer is obviously “nothing”) #LayFlat

Anyhow, I hope one of these postcards is for you.