Cold Therapy Update – April

A University of Pennsylvania study of brain scans showed some striking differences between how men and women’s brains work. “In the study, women scored well on attention, word and face memory, and social cognition, while men performed better on spatial processing and sensori-motor speed.” Female brains worked back and forth across the hemispheres while male brains tended to work front to back.

Everyone cautions, brains are not hard-wired, a major tenet of philosophy, along with the premise that generalities are generalities.

I also think that discipline in one realm spills out in another spill. I think that, though, because this is how it works for me. It seems to be how I’m wired. I don’t know if that’s forward to back.

My last hot water shower was on March nineteenth. It’s been cold showers since, a challenge on my last two weeks as I traveled and visited families. One of the ways I’m wired is to take a hot shower to relax and prepare, especially when traveling. I love checking in, making plans and kicking it all off with a hot, relaxing shower to clean off travel grime.

Boy, rejecting hot showers were a tempting challenge in the hotels and homes I stayed in during the last two weeks. Be strong, I told myself, shivering until the cold blast. And I was.

I don’t know if it helps me rewire myself, if there is re-wiring involved in discipline and choices, or if I’m just smoking myself. But afterwards, I feel good. I feel strong and ready to go on.

Much as I do after a hot shower.

The Shoes

The shoes bothered him. Being a self-effacing sort, he disliked calling attention to himself. He liked sitting in the back, entering and departing without being noticed.

These shoes drew attention. More expensive than he would pay for shoes, they were made by an Italian designer, and were long and very pointed. He preferred more subtle, workman style of shoes that tended to look clunky. Sometimes, she claims, they look like bowling shoes, an indictment uttered with disdain and horror.

So these shoes were bought because of her. Yet, he was wearing them and enduring. Then people complimented him on them. They claimed to really like the shoes.

Was a lesson learned? Not really. She was right about the shoes, as he thought she would be, but he was still a person who preferred to avoid attention.

Book Sales Update

I hadn’t paid much attention to my book sales. I keep telling myself that I need to work on advertising. I set aside time to do that, along with taking the books into other formats and venues, but *cough*, somehow, I keep getting sabotaged *ahem* or sidetracked from those efforts.

Nonetheless, sales picked up, along with views, likes, etc, at the various places. It’s always a surprise to see, hey, look, sales – a lot of sales.

So, thanks to you anonymous buyers out there. Hope you enjoy them a third as much as I enjoyed writing them. If you do, please tell your friends.

A Dream of Threes

One dream. Three interwoven elements.

Three suicides.

Three coins.

Three people.

What the hell does it mean?

I witnessed two of the suicides. I wasn’t certain the first one was a suicide in the dream. Then I was told it was.

A brief recap: I was on a winding mountain road. The road was in excellent shape, paved and lined. Walking with friends, energy bubbled through me. A mix of tall, green pines and hardwoods covered the mountain’s sharp edges. Looking up to a blue sky troubled by a school of cirrus clouds, I saw a small economy car come off a mountain and sail down to destruction in a ravine. I think the car was red and white, but I don’t know the make, model or year. The moment as real as any reality I’d ever experienced.

We were shocked. The accident site was hundreds of feet below us, so we couldn’t reach it to check on survivors. While we were discussing this, a speeding vehicle’s sound was heard on another mountainside. Hearing it sound, we turned in time to see a burgundy Toyota pick-up truck race up another mountainside on the wrong side of a double-yellow line. As it reached the peak, it turned into the vehicle it was passing, clipping its left front quarter panel. The truck continued with little change, driving off the road onto a wide, dusty run-off area, and then off the mountain, into the air and down to the other vehicle’s crash site.

I was certain that the second was a suicide and told that to friends. As I did, a former Sheriff came up. I explained to him what we’d seen and my theory. He confirmed that they were young lovers. The girl was driving the little economy car, and her boyfriend was in the Toyota. She’d been told he couldn’t see her anymore, so she drove off the mountain. Learning she was dead, he did the same, to join her.

We were shocked but continued on. Meeting a female beggar, I gave her a coin, which made her happy. I don’t know what the coin was. My group discussed where we wanted to go. Decisions were made. Seeing another female beggar, I gave her a coin. She was thankful and ecstatic. Some of my group didn’t approve of me giving money away. I didn’t care although I was knew I was running short of funds.

We kept walking. When we met others, I would tell them of the suicides. When I did, I clearly saw the scenes as sharply and clear as though they were happening at that moment.

Digging a hand down into my jeans pocket, I came up with a handful of coins. Among pennies, dimes and quarters was a silver dollar. Then I found a gold dollar. That pleased me because I had more money than I thought. Spying what I believed was another silver dollar, I noticed it was larger, so I looked closer. It turned out to be a four dollar silver coin. I was surprised; I didn’t know such a coin existed.

While that took place, a third woman approached me. I prepared to give her some chain and was just deciding what it was to be, when word of another suicide reached us. I don’t know who it was.

The end.

Well, that’s where the dream ended, but not my thoughts about it. Usually, clarification comes when thinking and writing about my dreams. Today, the only conclusion I reach is that I have more than I realize. That’s seems shallow and incomplete.

Trying to find answers, I look up suicide in dreams and find Jeremy Taylor’s site.

Suicide in Dreams

When “death” appears in a dream, it is a very reliable indicator that the dreamer is growing and changing so profoundly that only the “death” of the old “me”, (or part if “me”), is an adequate symbol of the psycho-spiritual process that is taking place.

But I’m not thinking about killing myself. Yes, I was thinking changes were required, however. While not writing much the past three days as I visited with family and travel, I kept thinking about my writing. I’d concluded, changes in the novel-in-progress were required, changes in my approach were required, and changes in my attitude were needed.

Yes, I supposed that could be three suicides.

Turning to the three coin, this interpretation on dreambible.com spoke to me:

To dream of finding coins represents positive feelings about gains being made in waking life. Feeling good having more than you did before. Insight into problems, increased power, or freedom gained. It may also reflect feelings of being lucky. A lucky discovery or rare coincidence in waking life. Missed or lost opportunities that have reemerged. Awareness of the value that something in your life holds.

Three beggar women? No explanation I found scratched my itch so I relegated it to background thinking. From that morass came a new approach.

I’d not witnessed the third suicide, but had been told about it. That happened as I found the third coin, when the third beggar woman approached me. Three became the critical link. The first suicide was the past; the second was the future. The third suicide, unseen, was the future. It came as the third beggar approached. She wasn’t given anything but it was during this period that I found the third coin, a unique “four dollar silver coin”. That’s a special coin, so the future will be special.

The past is paid and done; the present is paid and finished; and the future awaits, special.

Nah, I’m reaching. Maybe that’s all wishful thinking – or wishful dreaming. (Hah!) Perhaps a better answer will come to me. Maybe the dream means nothing and I’m consuming precious neural energy tilting at windmills.

Or maybe I’ll dream a more satisfying answer.

The Task

Their clocks and rhythms abused by jet travel and long days, they arrived at a restaurant for dinner at four thirty. No other customers were present. A young employee methodically went from table to table, wiping down every seat and table top. They already appeared clean, so he watched her, marveling at her attention and focus. She never looked up or slowed.

A large piece of bread was on the carpeted floor, the only object out of place in the clean, modern restaurant. He waited to see if she would deviate to pick up the bread. She did not. From her activity, he didn’t believe she even looked at the bread, causing him to ponder her motivation, conjecturing that the cleaning could be punishment, but doubtful that someone would levy such a juvenile punishment on an employee. More reasonably, he thought, cleaning the tables and chairs was her task.

Cleaning the floor was not.

Feline Nam

According to the Old Pawstament, Feline Nam was a legendary land where wise, benevolent cats ruled humans. According to cathology, the land enjoyed peace and prosperity for thousands of years under the beautiful Empress Felinus. It all came to an end when one young tom, seeking more power, betrayed the Empress. Angered, the Empress ordered her felines to withdraw from Earth, leaving behind only the betraying cat and his followers. Per the legend, they were cursed to forever be the pets of humans while struggling to reclaim the natural order of cats ruling humans.

Today’s Theme Music

Back at it. Things usually don’t work out as expected or desired for me. I plan for a reasonable knock-off of the best and forge forward. Yeah.

I have this thing going on, this writing thing. Besides the arc of learning, there are the arcs of success, not just with a career, but with each novel, every effort and each writing day. Some days, I want to chuck it. Those days are infrequent and come about when I’m hunting for something I think is missing. I’ll not give up. In the immortal lyrics of Judas Priest, “You think I’ll let it go, you’re mad, you got another thing comin’.”

Here they are, singing all about it back in nineteen eighty-two. Hope it helps you crystallize your determination.

Now, nose down, time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

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