Sock Free Hideaway

BEATS OF LOVE 

117. Last Night I Had a Dream by Randy Newman

I'VE ALWAYS been fatalistic and superstitious. And with just cause. My father suffered a heart attack on Friday the 13th, then suffered a fatal one thirteen days later. 

My mother spent a full six months of tests and anxiety after a bleed led her GP to fear the worst, only to be given the all clear. Less than a month later, she was dead after tripping over her hair drier.

Quite a few friends attended Buddhist retreats in their twenties and despite me not biting, the undeniable change in them left an indelible mark on my senses.  I vividly recall the torpor of an unmonitored cold turkey withdrawal from Librium in my aunt's back bedroom where she thought I'd gone full, Syd Barrett. Only when I prayed did I feel any relief and at just that point, a massiv bolt of light shone through the window. I woke up less agitated, reasoning it was just coincidental that the streetlights came on. But I wasn't certain coz I began praying more regularly.

Despite turning back to my faith, I still catastrophize too easily, worrying about all the bad or strange stuff that might happen. What my faith and music do is give me introspective time to reflect on all the good stuff that has actually happened. And continues to happen. These reflections feed into me imaginary others, which sounds a little schizophrenic, yet who've actually helped me to stop smoking and to regulate my alcohol intake. Not before helping me challenge myself to stop partaking in unwanted behaviour patterns.

Little wonder I'm able to call these my other friends. Friends that enter my subconscious more and more, strengthening my faith while making me a little less fatalistic and superstitious. Hallelujah!