• on ‘the other’ in me •

Such an interesting article. I also live with depressive states, and almost word for word, can identify with the descriptions of how it feels. I still go through it, but once I discovered my ‘other’, and became a friend, an advocate, a soother-listener-protector to that child-like, super-sensitive, super-creative, intuitive (did I mention ‘child-like’, oh, yes I did…) ‘entity’, which resides, side-by-side, inside of me (but speaks only in dreams, and emotions, and whispers to me in musical phrasings, and compulsions, and desires, and cravings – basically, all of the so-called, ‘id’ stuff), and learned how to take the time to really ‘be’ with this ‘other’ and talk to him/her/it rationally, to commiserate, and to listen – really listen – and to make plans, and provisions, and promises – to make things better for he/she/it (and too, to really work to keep those promises, at least a little every day), then, slowly, but surely, I came not only to understand that these ‘waves’ of ‘depression’ are really the feelings of despair and hopelessness that any normal person would feel, if he/she/it had no ‘voice’, no power to affect change, no acknowledgement, and felt no appreciation (and little love), but that there is never any reason to feel ‘lonely’, because (if this is a real ‘state of being’ – and I am convinced that it is), one is never alone, and that the process of ‘loving’ really does, start with you/me, see? (Does this make sense/can you ‘relate’?) Hand to heart, this has been a true ‘revelation’, and a life-changing epiphany, for me. It has been about six years since I came to this awareness, and my progress has been substantial and continual, and empowering (happily).
This is the basis of my own particular ‘bi-cameral mind’ hypothesis. I really should write a book on the subject. What do you think, friends? Here is the article.
On depression: What you should know if you love someone with high-functioning depression:

• here in me •

Like a mantra,
it runs through my mind,
‘Polk. Jackson. Reagan. Bush.
Pomp and brutality.’
Which is no help at all.
And then, a voice of reason,
which said, “Not in my house,”
and I thought that was quite right.
“Exactly,” I said, reverentially.
“It doesn’t have to be that way,
not here, in me.”
~ Tim Burchfield


• gestures •

• gestures •

Mrs. Queebee’s daughter
gave me a ride home,
When I got lost, when I was six.
She drove me home
In a yellow Volkswagen,
The sound, of which, as it drove away,
It was the sound of gratitude,
I shall never forget.

Daniel let me ‘hang out’, at the lot.
Rick forgave my hundred dollar debt.
Iva let me park, in her spot.
Coach Robison taught me to drive,
And to love my kids, above all else.
Douglas taught me to laugh.
Erin, to give and to give and to give.
Diane: how to let go,
And keep the good.

Karin, that love is O. K.
Skip, of listening.
Pepper, of books,
And the love of reading.
Ryan introduced me to play,
The gift of gifts.

Ultimately, it’s the gestures
Of affection,
That last.
~ Tim Burchfield


• thank you •

• thank you•
As my old friend, Gary Reeves, once advised me, “When in doubt, (dummy) …just be gracious, and say, thank you.” Somebody did something genuinely kind for me yesterday. I was, more or less, completely flummoxed, as it was so – unexpected, coming, “out of the blue”, as it were, as it did. And so I did. Say “thank you,” that is. The entire exchange was so very heartening. It more or less made my whole day.
Still, it lingers – the generosity, and elegance, of the gesture. Like the rose, in a freshly tilled garden, it rises to me, surprising and reminiscent, that scent – the occasionally sweet humus of humanity. So, thank you, and thank you, again.
~ Tim Burchfield