disappear

Separation penetrates the disappearing person like a pigment and steeps him in gentle radiance

I'm very sad to be forced out of my home...

10 years of memories: days and nights lived, awake, asleep.
Tears and laughter released from my eyes, my mouth

I find myself paralyzed with fear. This unwanted separation from my comfort zone during a time in my life when what I truly needed was peace;  a desperate need to feel grounded on the foundations that I stood upon.

Through wishful and forceful thinking, my ineffective rationalization through this chaos: 

perhaps this is a shedding of old skin. A decade of physical and psychological debris that has been gathering around and inside of me, needed so desperately to be purged.

Nature and the universe shook me by the shoulders and slapped me hard.

Sloughing off, re-emerging new.

repetition does not make it more believable

repetition does not take away the pain

repetition does not

repetition does

This self portrait was taken during a period in my life when I believed my future held endless possibilities. 

And that stepping out of the present, into the unknown was a necessary rite of passage towards growth.

Separation penetrates the dissapearing person like a pigment and steeps him in genltle radiance

let the separation from the past and the present pigment of experience fill me with light, wisdom and courage to move forward into the unknown once again...

image © Kathy Slamen Photography  2010

I wonder...

I wonder if this will work. This process that is self discovery.
Looking, wandering, wondering and moving forward. Stumbling towards a better understanding of myself.

Hopefully...

amen

I'm not a hugely religious person, and I've had my issues with the Catholic church for many reasons, but faith is something personal. Over the past few years, it has been shaken and put to the test, but there always seemed to be great comfort when I would go to St. Joseph's Oratory, and then pause at the crypt of Brother Andre.


I remember going there as a child, awestruck by the immensity of the chapel. The poetic and delicately ornate archways, the sun beaming through the stained glass in the ceiling and from the iconic windows. The smell of incense and the burning candles, which were, literally - a sea of glowing light, and the hundreds of canes and crutches hanging from the walls of people whom he had cured over the years.


A humble man, small and frail in stature who had such an incredible presence.

Returning as an adult, there was peace and serenity in the quiet halls. Being surrounded by warmth and love just made me feel safe.

And now, Canada will have its first canonized saint. I'd stay up until 4am to watch the mass from the vatican, but after several days without sleep, i will try go to bed, and try to dream of watching this pious soul watching from above, with a smile on his face...




From the Montreal Gazette, Saturday October 16th, 2010

 — The praises of a once penniless, sickly and illiterate porter were literally sung here Saturday to honour the man who is on the cusp of becoming the first Canadian-born male saint.


Led by the Pontifical French Seminary choir, more than 1,000 pilgrims sang the hymn Frere Andre as a large black-and-white portrait of the lay brother was carried to the altar of Sant’Andrea della Valle, an ornate 17th-century church dedicated to Saint Andrew the Apostle.


It was standing-room-only at the prayer vigil on the eve of the big day. On Sunday, Brother Andre, will become the first male Catholic saint born in Canada during a ceremony in St. Peter’s Square.


“Simple, pauvre, humble frere, coeur d’apetre / Pour le royaume. Simple, pauvre, frere Andre / Dans ta priere prends les notres,” they sang as the portrait was placed on an easel, and immediately illuminated by the flashes of dozens of cameras.The prayer vigil was led by Andre Richard, Archbishop of Moncton and a member of the Congregation of Holy Cross, the order Alfred Bessette joined in 1870 when he took the name Brother Andre.

At the event, the man to be known as Saint Andre Bessette was remembered as a compassionate man who stood out because of his inspiring life story and his unique way of helping people in pain. Having lost both parents by age 12, Bessette was separated from his brothers and sisters and sent to live with family members. He tried unsuccessfully to make it on his own, drifting from job to job in Quebec before moving to New England, Gerard Dionne, a Holy Cross brother, told the crowd.

After returning to Quebec when he was in his early 20s, Bessette settled in St. Cesaire, Que., southeast of Montreal, where local priest Rev. Andre Provencal inspired him to devote himself to Saint Joseph, foster father of Jesus Christ.
Bessette spent so much time praying to Saint Joseph, local children mocked him as “le fou de St. Joseph,” Dionne said. Provencal recommended him to the Congregation of Holy Cross, which ran College Notre Dame in Cote des Neiges. “I’m sending you a saint,” Provencal said in his recommendation letter, Dionne noted.

Though wary because of Bessette’s poor health, the congregation took him in. Bessette became Brother Andre. He was given the lowly job of taking care of the school’s reception area. For years, he dreamt of building a small chapel dedicated to Saint Joseph, across from College Notre Dame, on Mount Royal.
“Brother Andre placed a statue of St. Joseph on his windowsill, with the face turned toward the mountain,” Dionne said. “When people asked why, his answer was quite simple: Saint Joseph wants to have a chapel on the mountain where he can be honoured and prayed to.” That chapel would be built in 1904 and then expanded a few years later. Untold numbers of people came to seek help from Brother Andre, who would tell them to rub oil that had burned in front of a statue of Saint Joseph on their bodies, and seek Saint Joseph’s help in prayer.
He became known as the Miracle Man of Montreal, with thousands of people attributing to him miraculous recoveries from everything from physical infirmities to tuberculosis to cancer.


Eventually, construction began on a grand building to replace Brother Andre’s simple chapel. But the worldwide economic depression of the 1920s stalled the project, leaving his superiors unable to gather the money to finish it.
A few weeks before his death in 1937, Brother Andre invited his superiors, who were unsure of how to proceed, to put their confidence in Saint Joseph, Dionne said. “In middle of winter, they held a procession and placed a statue of Saint Joseph in the vast interior” of the roofless oratory. “Just one year later, when Brother Andre was no longer in this world,” Dionne said, “we were able to finish this immense building, which became Saint Joseph’s Oratory, the biggest sanctuary in the world dedicated to Saint Joseph, visited by two million people every year.”

In a closing prayer, Rev. Richard Warner, the Rome-based superior general of the Congregation of Holy Cross, noted Brother Andre’s commitment to the poor and the afflicted and asked God to help others to follow in Andre’s footsteps.
“Through (Brother Andre’s) intercession, help us to follow his example of prayer and love and so come to share with him in your glory,” Warner said. As they streamed out of Sant’Andrea della Valle, whose dome is the second largest in Rome, surpassed only by Saint Peter’s Basilica, pilgrims reflected on the man they came to celebrate. “He was a humble man who helped the neediest in our world and he deserves to be honoured,” said Montreal resident Mary Vincelli. “This world needs role models and he’s one of the best.”

For Jacques Gilbert, also of Montreal, the prayer vigil was a bit of deja vu. He attended a similar event at Sant’Andrea della Valle in 1982, when Pope John Paul II beatified Brother Andre. “I didn’t want to miss the actual canonization,” said Gilbert, 78. “It’s not every day you see a saint made.’

ocd for u and me

Saw a doc today.
out of the university - will be part of a study program.
psychiatrists in training.

Doctor: "I run a tight ship. Everybody goes through rigorous training, and all meetings are reviewed with the supervisors who then give their notes on the following meetings with you. Don't worry. You will be getting the help that you need..."

She was so very nice.
i felt like she really understood me.

"I know this can't be easy, it impacts your life, keeps you from moving forward. We will be here to help you, help you find answers..."

They had a bipolar expert, PhD, MD on staff, but he is on sabbatical.
"But that's alright. We will find you a match - as close to perfect as we can..."

Huge sigh of relief.

I was on a waiting list since March 2010 for one other hospital.
"We will call you in July for an appointment for an assessment"

September rolls around. I call.
"It won't be before the end of October, but that does not guarantee you will get into the CBT clinic. Just so you know..."

Thank you. Not...

So at the other end of the city, my weekly commute will take almost an hour, but if i can be seen by somebody who cares, and perhaps, out of my misery and fucked up state of mind, will be able to care for somebody else who they will come across in their future practice who will have an equally fucked up state of mind, then all of this is a blessing.

Last night - restless. Bed bugs in my brain. Syphoning the logic out of every logical though, so that all was left was a infected irrational thought, poisoned, and throbbing, infected and disgusting.

Today, the sun alternating with the grey clouds kept me on my toes. Will it rain? Shall I dash for cover?
Oh, nope. The sun is coming out again.
Run into the light, bask in the warmth.

Walking out of the old world campus, tall turn of the century buildings standing like wise old professors over this young new pupil, head filled with glorious and grandiose ideas, silently guiding her along the path of self discovery and enlightenment.

***

I have my first swim lesson 2mrw.
Not so much a lesson as a perfection of techniques.
Want to feel efficient in the water again - a time when my strokes were effortless, poetic and fluid.

Looking forward to finding my equilibrium again, in the water and on land as well...

my left foot

Strange days indeed.

it's been so long since my last post, and so much to write.
Where do I begin?

I will start by going backwards.

Tried to ramp up the CBT the other day because i need to preach what I'm practicing...


Spoke to a friend about her crumbling marriage. Telling her to try to keep positive. That there is never rain 365 days a year. That the sun always breaks through the clouds. That for the most part, 98% of the population are not 100% evil, and that her husband has an addiction. Even if that addiction is to his "other woman" who he can't stop texting for even a moment.

While on the phone with me, she and her hubby were texting. There was some funny banter back and fourth and I was privy to the play by play.

"I said something about wanting to fondle his elbow"
(because as per the marriage therapist, they were supposed to work on "touching and reconnecting")

text back - my elbow?
text - i mean your foot. I love how uneven your toes are on your left foot.
text back - it's my right...

"What the hell does that mean? Was that meant for me? Is he texting his friend and thought it was me saying : "it's his right to see his child during a separation" !?"

"Holy crap girl! Your mind is like a rabid monkey spinning around in your head! How can you be sure that is what he is REALLY saying?"

"Well, it must be! I think i should call my lawyer tomorrow..."

"Why don't you just ask him what he means?"

text - what?
text back - it's my right foot...

We both laughed.

"See my dear, it's only about his right foot! See how the mind went into overdrive and began to fill in all the cracks of the rest of the sentence? Attaching meaning to where there was none?!"

And we laughed and laughed. I poked fun at the situation by telling her about the famous intro to the Monty Python film with the big foot coming down and squishing everything. The visual was hysterical. And at the same time - poignant. How the mind will overcompensate for a lack of information by blowing things out of proportion - a huge foot stomping on everything. People, flowers, musical notes.

A gargantuan foot - splayed toes and all...

"my mind is just running around lighting everything on fire. I can't stop it.'

"yes you can, it just takes work; but obsessive tendencies are part of our pedigree. Great grandmother, grandmother, your mother, my mother were all struggling with some form of depression. I'm bipolar. The black sheep crazy of the family, but obsessive/compulsive behavior is a part of that. it's all under the umbrella of mental illness in its varying degrees."

"well, i must be OCD then. I just keep on digging this obsessive grave deeper and deeper until I can't get out and get suffocated by these fucken thoughts."

I tried to explain my techniques: listing all the thoughts, the % of how much i believe each thought, exaggerate the worst case scenario and how much I believe that, what i know to be true, the grade of anxiety from 1-10 (at the beginning and at the end of the exercise). I extolled the virtues of finding my "touchstones" - things that make me happy and shift my thinking just by doing/watching/listening.

We were both impressed with my logic and clarity.
I'm proud that I have some of those moments sometimes.

After four and a half hours of Wayne Dyer-izing, CBT-ating and Zen-atilitaing, she was calm and at peace, and happily, so was I.


Today changed that mood.

An email: the whole time he was texting me, he was texting her! NOW WHAT DO I DO?!?!

What do you do? What can be told to someone who is living with and loving a person that has an obsessive compulsion?

I feel horrible for having given sound advice.
I feel like a flake, fake, and bullshitter for having believed my own advice. For allowing myself to try to "think well".

And as I type this, I can hear the monkey in my mind getting restless. Sharp utensils are within its reach. The once peaceful room is getting cluttered with negative images, words and scenarios. How do I tame this beast?

Scratch its belly. Keep it happy.

I try to smile, underneath my skin pulled taut over muscle twitching confusion...

exhaustion...

geeze.
Can't spell anymore...


well, spoke with the doc's secretary. Surgery scheduled sometime during the last week of the month. G-scope same week. I'm aiming for that golden bedpan - frequent flyer miles except this one is for hospital visits.

The last scope revealed nothing. The gastro doc had mentioned that I should see a urologist to cover all my bases. What's next? Heart? Lung? Brain?

Ouf. Just should have a scan done of the whole body. That's it, that's all.

Seeing the breast doc in two weeks to address the lump issue.
Psych doc will just have to wait. Unless i have a meltdown before then. Fingers crossed that it does not happen...


What is keeping my spirit up is the hope that I will be well enough to visit my family in B.C. And if things go well, E will be heading down to California for work, so that means I could hitch a ride with him. It won't be in L.A, but close enough to the shore for me to enjoy it. Just hope to GOD that it does not slide into the water while i'm there. With my luck, it might...

And also have been looking at images from the tourist videos of New Brunswick. Every time i watch this, it brings tears to my eyes. The sheer beauty is something that I want to experience in person before I die.

E is on board with me on this, but thinks that we will have to do it next year (hoping he will get some sort of raise, because after 6 years of nothing, we are getting pretty desperate. No money in the bank at all. Zero. Living from paycheck to paycheck) also because to hike to the best spots, is a 4-5 hour uphill journey. He has trouble going up stairs now. I don't want to kill him!

but i look at this and hope for the best, cause that is all I can do. That is all we can ever do...

O Canada

I have always loved watching the olympics, but this year, it was different. Not only did i swell with pride every time a medal was won by a fellow Canadian, but a whole nation did with me as well.

14 GOLD medals.
Congratulations brave and brilliant athletes!
My home and native land has become a happier place to be...

three month window of light opens a little wider

we saw mom's doc last week, just for an update.

no scan, no results, just preparation and more rendez-vous.

but as she said: "I now have until mid November to not worry about things. As of today, the window stays open a little longer, even if only for a little while."

i'm hoping that it will stay open for many many years to come.

The three month window of light opens a little wider.

I really like that sentence.

It's so simply, but the meaning is so profound in so many many ways...

kitty prozac

Kineko is now on kitty prozac.

Welcome to the family my lovely little feline friend...

he has been picking off his fur for a week now. Looked up on the internet - nerves.

Poor neurotic little cat. Takes after his mom i guess...

If he were human, perhaps this would equal "cutting himself"?

We bought these "treat pockets" - soft chewy cat treats that have a hole in them so you can pop in the pill and mush it closed. Brilliant. Beats having to pry open his mouth and shove the pill past a gagging salivating tongue slapping mess. He does seem more chill now than before.

Geeze. I think i'll try a dose, sans the treat pocket.

but seriously

this weather is starting to get to me.

October November are my suicide watch months. I watch for signs of thoughts of suicide. They are really just passing microblips on my radar, but still, enough to shake me up every once and a while.

My three month window is beginning to close as well. Mom goes for her scan in a few weeks. Then the rest is up to the universe.

But today, the grey cold damp day, I'm looking for sunshine in the pits and corners of my mind to sweep away the blackness that seems to be accumulating one speck at a time...

when it all comes together sometimes...

today, i had planned to see an art expo. An old friend of mine now has a gallery (and oddly enough, a few doors down from the last amazing show I saw last week, and even more bizarre, in the same spot where i worked in a photography gallery almost 10 years ago. Weird..) and had contacted him about stopping by.

When i looked to see who the artist was, i was blown away. Dita Kubin - a brilliant beautiful photographer who's show was all about self portraits. Well, i was not ready for what i would see that night. It was one of the most pleasant life path affirming surprised i had in a long time.

Well, not so long ago.

This morning while waiting for my doctor, i picked up the august edition of Vogue that was just lying around. I flipped through the pages of the "powerful women over 40" issue and said to myself: "yea, if that were only me..."

but what really blew me away, in the light of the whole "self portrait" bender i have been on, telling everybody who will listen that i am re-igniting my pilot light for my documentary about self portraiture, i flip to the center of the mag, past Christy Turlington who looks sinfully beautiful at 41, to the women of 50; and low and behold, a glorious shot of the queen of self portraiture. SImply put - my inspiration, and who got me into this s.p kick - Cindy Sherman.

I almost fell onto the floor.

The whole article talked about how now that she's 55 (she looks like she's 30), the way she is approaching self portraiture is different because she has aged and matured. Giving a new angle to the many visages she steps into. I felt relieved and rejuvenated simultaneously.

It's as if i had asked the universe: "where the fuck am i going with this stuff? Where should i even begin to look!?" and there, as plain as day and as black and white on the pages of this magazine, the woman who moved me so completely that it changed the course of my photography forever. Cindy Sherman.

wow.

Talk about synchronicity.

And the week before, just happened to receive an email about 2Fik's show, without knowing that he was also a self portrait artist, and also today, seeing that my photo that i submitted to "Book about death" had made it onto facebook.

I know, some people might be saying: "n'ya. Small beans that facebook..." but I am #400 in the entries - out of 500. I like round numbers...

but still.

I feel good.

and despite the next little march up the hill of ill health and uncertainty (mom starts her methotrexate, which she is dreading like the plague, and then my switch/upping of my anti depressants, it can start to get ugly and insane; but something is being laid down in the big law of the universe. Soon, this path, a dirt road, will find the materials it needs to become paved.

one stretch of road at a time.

At least now, I know that other people are waiting to go somewhere on it.

If i build it, they will come.

one scoop of asphalt at a time.

My breasts are like a well marbled porterhouse steak

my breasts (according to my ultrasound of them today) look like a well marbled porterhouse steak.

Unfortunately, those are not my melons, so I thank whoever put those up on the net for me to make this wonderful analogy.

While mom was going for her PET scan, i was seeing the breast specialist about the lump in my left armpit near my breast. He looked at the mammograms, other ultrasounds, and then decided it needed further investigation. Two hours later, at the other side of town, i saw him again, this time, radio waves would bounce off them to send home pretty pictures.

He explained the whole image: "this is your rib, muscle tissue, fatty layer..."

"Geeze. That looks exactly like the porterhouse steak I had yesterday on the bbq"

He laughed aloud.

"that's the first time i ever heard that one before!"

"It looks like a good one. Well marbled..."

He laughed again. And then I began to laugh at the nonchalant way those things just rolled off of my tongue. Yea, that was pretty fricking funny.

They found the lump and took a biopsy. I saw the needle go in - black and white - live feed. In and out, "jiggling it a bit to get all the cells we can." It began to hurt.

"We're almost done."

And then we were.

The results. Did I really want to know?

"you can either pay to have them done here, and you get the results in 10 minutes, or you can wait to get them from the hospital in 2 weeks."

What do you think I chose?

so for 10 minutes, i tried not to stress, thinking that if it was indeed breast cancer or the beginnings of it, there was nothing I could do at that point, only move forward the best way I could. I ran the elliptical tape of spanish phrases and verbs in my head to drown out the ticking of the clock.

I walked into his office, sat down and watched him look at my dossier.

"it's normal. No cancer. You have nothing to worry about."

That is the best two words anybody can say to me. "I do" was the one that E told me a month ago, and "no cancer" today. I walked outside, relieved and tired. Had only slept 4 hours the night before. Perhaps exhaustion beyond normal fatigue is a good way to combat stress. Maybe not, but today it worked.

Mom might get her results on Friday. I want to go with her, and feel that i should, but I would like BSpgty to come along. We all support each other - I support mom, and BSpgty supports me and my mom. Mom supports BSpgty and myself.

I really really hope mom she gets those same two words.

I hope...

Happy New Year!

Well, I made it through 2004, a little bruised and battered for wear, but alive. I have many battle scars to serve as evidence of all the shit and shrapnel that I dodged in 12 long months, but as 2005 begins, the wounds are starting to heal.

My resolutions?

C'mon! Everybody has even some 'closet resolutions'!!
Here are mine. I am trying to be realistic about things...

By this time next year, have pretty well established myself as a artistic presence in the photographic community.
I am going to have at least one solo photo exhibition by next year.
I am going to go to the gym at least (AT LEAST ) 3 times a week.
I will begin to transcribe the 'best of the best' from the journals I have kept for the past 25 years and put that material into a book.
I will be in the process of pre-production for my documentary on scars.
I will (for once and for all) get my licence.
Go to New York.
Go to Havana.
Live life by taking it by the balls, and then squeezing really hard.
Do at least one nice thing for somebody every day.
Do at least three nice things for myself every day.
Live without regrets.

I know, it's a tall order, but you'll never know what you can do or what your limits are if you don't try...

So here I am, sitting, typing, mellowing out from a chocolate pot cake and white beer carried over from the night before. I am hoping that 2005 will be my year to remember - in more good ways than one.