Defectory and Gift

It has been a constant struggle for me all these months, if not years, on my room to clean up... the what I call-- the Ratology Merchant house...

However, despite all efforts, it is starting to feel like all that I am doing but constantly rearranging their positions... 8-O lol

Then, somewhere on the floor, I find the copy of Oliver Sacks' writing that I borrowed from a friend....

I sat down and resumed to the chapter after the last... (and guess this is why my room never seem to get cleaned... lol)

As usual, Sacks' words and the scenarios brought to me a sense of serenity.

This time, he was talking about the idiot savants-- well, people with exceptional ability in some but failing in other departments. Along his writing, this phrase caught my attention....

"(they) show a consistent seeking for beauty and order."

Well... as you might expect, the first thing that came into my mind was... I am also a defectory fool and I also like beautiful things and yearning for routines to sustain my life... But, God... where is the my special gift?

Then, I realize, like everyone else, defectory or not, maybe I do have my gift ... except for, when working so hard on diversification, sometimes, we might fail in the department of specialization.

Then, I thought of what I was thinking of earlier today... out of no reason...

The time, when I was in the hospital.

The drugs seemed to have knocked me down pretty well based on the recall of my friends afterwards.

However, for me, there were always dramatic events occurring in my delusional world... all those adrenaline surging kinda things... all updates ghosts, gods, spirits, fictional figures and everyone else me running to report. Never a dull moment, I assure you that... lol sigh

There were so many voices that concentrate could one not...

Then, one day, after the occupational therapy, I kept with me the beads I threaded.

I went back to my room.

All quite; yet, always noisy.

So noisy that there was no way to distract oneself from all the non-existing events to do anything.

Then, the voice (supposed to be my master who died shortly before my hospitalization) me told firmly and warmly...

"One bead at a time. That's how you learn to concentrate."

Then, one bead at a time I tried to put the beads in that thread-- trying to get a taste of the thing called concentration I once had.

Thousand bad things happened to me, to the others, and to us all as I placed one bead at a time into the thread--- while all quite in the ward.

I built nothing and I destroyed nothing through out the process of threading and unthreading-- for remaining --- same beads and same thread, some lost at some point and I don't even recall what they were like any more.

From then on, concentration seems to become a recurrent theme... many things I have done to get to feel that sense of concentrations in a state of fuzziness, cacophony, or everything else in between... learning to write and draw with my left hand, fixing jammed paper shredder, and God knows what else...

Then, with the pains to cope, on nothing while everything I was told to concentrate on...

Perhaps, shall there be a gift for me-- maybe it would be my growing "concentratability"?

Perhaps, it has nothing at all to do with the concentration topic...

Maybe, it is the voices I am hearing that are the gifts... be they nasty, scary, annoying or me constantly preaching...

Maybe, the gift is in the ability, me, them to hear... when, me, they preach...

Or, maybe, it simply is....

I just got nothing better to do on a Friday night while it is a replay of Ghost Whisperer they are playing on TV... lol



P.S. Ya, there was one time when my preaching voice said something really smart (which I have already forgot) and I went...

Yo... that is the right way to look at the whole 9 yards...

And, then, the delusional me, who believes tha I could not have conceived of that view of the situation and I am really getting lessons from my voice, said to my voice, "That is CHEATING because you are telling me that idea and it is not me who came up with it." In other words, this is a shortcut in the human developmental process... lol

My voice, then, responded, "It is not cheating. Everyone hear voices but you hear it. "

I, then, laughed out loud at my own crazy self... for

How much more crazy does one have to be to:

1. believe the voices as a manifestation of psychotic symptoms are really preaching them
2. feel it is cheating when their psychotic symptoms are giving them the cheatsheet to life's lesson

No wonder I am insane, crazy, mental or whatever you call it...

lol