Wisteria

No worries. I am not going to continue to rhyme my blog post titles. Otherwise, one of my few remaining choices is “listeria,” and we don’t want to go there.

I was tempted to make it “Wysteria” as an allusion to a soulful song of the same name by Dan Fogelberg, but the truth is that the word made me think of “wistful,” which is what I’m feeling now.

I’m also idly wondering if what wakes me during so many nights is a voice I ignore in my conscious journey. It’s a voice that asks if I’m being true to myself, which launches a full scale dialogue about what being “true to myself” might look like and how one knows whether or not they are being false to themselves.

In fact, what would lead anyone to think that they were acting, living, in some way that is opposed to whatever their true self is? We all know “to thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou canst not then be false to any man,” so the premise that human beings can, and do, live in ways that are false, isn’t new.

The possibility of doing so begs so many questions, including “why?”

I’m not thinking about deceit, which feels more conscious, and despicable, with the clear objective of getting something you want from another human being.

But then again, we do talk about “deceiving ourselves,” don’t we?

So what truth am I not facing? In what way am I living falsely? Or as Fogelberg asks: “Did you change your face again? / Those of us who loved you when / Can’t even find you….”

 

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Hysteria

Hysteria: A disorder particular to women and caused by a wandering womb.

Yes, a “wandering womb.” I love that image, for which we can thank some revered men of ancient Greece, notably Hippocrates, but also Plato, who, being a man, and a mathematician, and also a philosopher, apparently considered himself an expert:

In the middle of the flanks of women lies the womb, a female viscus, closely resembling an animal; for it is moved of itself hither and thither in the flanks, also upwards in a direct line to below the cartilage of the thorax, and also obliquely to the right or to the left, either to the liver or the spleen, and it likewise is subject to prolapsus downwards, and in a word, it is altogether erratic…”

“Moving hither and thither in [my] flanks”? How do you know if you’re suffering from a wandering womb as opposed to gas?

I’m not really interested in the idea of a wandering womb, unless it is headed somewhere exciting, and gas is certainly something Plato could have written about with more credibility, but I am interested in how my life is currently being torn asunder (or so it seems) by hormonal storms over which I have no control. And though my womb is apparently content with staying put, it’s my ovaries which are going on holiday.

Surprisingly, I’m not going to turn to Plato or even Hippocrates for ancient wisdom regarding menopause. I’m turning to my sister and all sisters around the world. And the sister I found at approximately 3:15 AM this morning is Sarah O’Leary, specifically, her blog: Holistic Hot Sauce, from which I copied onto a desktop sticky some words from a recent post on balance. I’m signing off with a slightly edited version of one of my favorite parts (thank you, Sarah!):

Self is coming to call when those hormones light up at perimenopause. Self is starting to wave a flag, jump up and down, getting a little hoarse from yelling for our attention.

And still some of us ignore. We know this path of ignoring our own little twinges and needs And we know the old pathways of soothing that discomfort – maybe it’s shopping, maybe it’s comfort food…

But damn, those little soothers used to work so much better…to silence that shouting voice.

Now – not so much. Now something has changed. And that something is you.

They don’t call this shit THE CHANGE for nothing.

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