my own eclipse

July 28, 2018



Write. Write some more. My last post was full of incompleteness; half expressed ideas, typos, and a lack of development for some ideas which lead to vagueness. I realized this after re-reading one or two days later.  I have not been writing much and it seems that writing is like singing, the lack of practice makes the communication somewhat clumsy.

My dear childhood friend Joan said to me:  je vois ton Blog comme un livre, comme un dessin, comme une peinture, comme une sculpture. Tu y ajoute de tes photographies. Avec ton écriture tu construis ton présent et ton future. Ton Blog c’est ton partage avec l’Univers.

Her words underline a thought that is starting to install itself as a modus operandi in my psyche.:  Just create, just be, don’t worry about grades and ratings, the beauty of this world lays in the fact that all of us are creating the most amazing work of art they possibly can:  their own selves. It’s not the best selling albums, the award winning projects or the kick ass job, it is about following one’s heart into a personal journey that one had determined to take.  This thought process is freeing me from the guilt of existing and from the unrelenting obsession to be the best.  (it’s always been “be the best or be a disgrace” for me, the competitive streak that is a scourge in our western world)

I sit here again, in this Romanian home, love birds singing endlessly, dogs barking endlessly, the sound of a saw in the distance, a car rolls by… my laptop hums and the keys click.

Last week I hurt my back, yet again. Ami finally convinced me to go to a doctor. I don’t care going to doctors because they just all do the same thing: prescribe anti-inflammatory pills, pain killers and then declare that your condition is impossible to heal. I went just to see, she said he was a different kind of doctor, he’s been taking care of her family since she is a teen. So we drove to Resitsa. On a zig-zagging road through the Romania hills, it’s gorgeous, so totally, fully, absolutely green. As we drove she was pointing at her favorite sights, trees on a hill, gave me bits of her own personal history and some local tidbits.

In 1948 Romania was turned into a communist country. (the revolution came in 1989 to overthrow the regime)  So far the towns I have seen bear the marks of that passage. Small historic areas surrounded by these massive, artless blocs of concrete, built in a hurry around some gargantuan building that is the local industry. Here it is steel. In Resitsa they first got a large contingent of men to work. They were plucked from all around the country then dropped here to these apartments and a job but… no women. The leaders of the time finally realized that things were just not going to work out like that and they built another big building that was to house the women’s workplace: Sewing confections. So the town grew around that over the years. The city is full of architectural incongruities, the communist era buildings make me woozy with discomfort just looking at them.  The coolest sites are the nearly abandoned industrial facilities that look like steampunk creations, rusted or mossed over facilites surrounded by a furiously productive Mother nature.


So in town we stopped at the doctor’s office, we wait for a little bit in the waiting room, they call her name, then some time later they call me. The doctor is a middle aged man, bright, sharp eyes that see you in one go. He speaks some English, Ami serves as a translator for the rest. He gets a blood pressure apparatus and takes my pressure. It has been at least 8 or 9 years since my pressure was taken, it feels odd. Something over 9, I didn’t understand the numbers but he says it is low. It always is low, so no surprise here. Then he asks about my back, I explain and in a few minutes he diagnoses that a disc compresses the nerves when, from time to time, it moves. I had guessed something close to that. He prescribes anti-inflammatory medication, pain killer and declares that there is no hope in improving that. Sounds familiar. But he’s a really kind person. I am glad to have met him. We are sent on our way to the pharmacy with a shopping list of pills; Anti-inflammatory pills, pills to calm the stomach from the pills for the pain, pills for calming the liver and vitamin B.

We drive back and visit more of the town. It goes from industrial to green. We pass a group of workers up in a park, they are redoing the road, I counted 13 of them and of all of them, 1 was working, another had his shirt up an immense beer belly, they were all aligned side by side, chatting seemingly having a great time. Back in town I meet Ami’s mom and grand mother.  Her grand mother is bright and sharp.  She strongly disapproves of my tattoo:  how could I mar the work of art my mother made when she gave birth to me!  When Ami explains that the tattoo’s design comes from my deep passion for horses, she revises her opinion and says it’s OK.  Before leaving I felt compelled to give her a pine cone from California I had been carrying in my bag since June.  She was asking about the Sequoias, she loves trees and plants and nature.  She asked how long it took to cross the continents, she really liked the 14 hour idea, as if it gave the cone even more value.



Back at the table here, I am encircled by notebooks, papers filled with lists, numbers and dreams.  I am at ground zero.

Recently I filed for bankruptcy.  Last January was when I realized how deeply in trouble I was. It came slowly and I did not see it coming. I started to cognate on how it happened in June after I talked to a friend in California, she told me how she almost died because she had been bleeding pools of blood daily. As she recounted the when, how, why I was shocked to see that I suffered in parallel something similar to her except that I was bleeding  heavily for almost a year, but not as much as her, so I did not end up in critical care at he ER. Her words were like mirrors where her condition mirrored my own, I recognized that I had slowly entered and coursed along a kind of tunnel where I became weaker and weaker continually, getting more overwhelmed and unable to do much more than crawling along, going for coffee and vaguely hoping for an epiphany of some sort that would get me out of this torpor.

The daily loss of blood stopped somewhere in late 2017.  Following that, my strength started to increase. It feels now that I am just getting to be “normal” I still find it hard to put in 8 hour days but it is improving gradually. I give myself shots of B12 that I started doing on the urgings of a crazy 92 year old pharmacist I met at Kripps pharmacy in Vancouver.  He decreed after looking in my eyes and face that I needed those shots and right there on the spot he had me pull my pants down and he demonstrated how to self administer the injections.

I was finally able to connect the dots in retrospect.  I then understood what took place, I saw how my increasing weakness led to my finances discombobulating and how I found myself where I am today: bankrupt.

But don’t go feel sorry for me. I do believe that all happens for a reason, a purpose. Like the way this pharmacist appeared, other angels or agents of change appeared and helped and guided me. Finding myself in this position now allows me the opportunity to experience yet another incarnation within this lifetime. I have been confused, scared, freaked out, slightly giddy from the height of the uncertainty more than once for the last while. Thinking of how I achieved all that I have achieved in my life, the albums, the awards, the successes, the business, the motorcycle journey, etc, etc. to then observe the fact that I could not make the simplest decision for the most mundane things. How I could be so blind to my own circumstance is stupefying.

So now what?

I keep asking that question over and over. What do I want? Whaaat doooo iiiii want?  What DO I want? I am 54, homeless, jobless, just barely in health to do something, bankrupt. I have a ton of skills but I am not so sharp with them right now. My computer skills are 8 years behind, my ability to work long hours is not there yet, my music skills feel irrelevant and are very rusty, I feel great about my art skills, I see that there are many opportunities to expand and grow but it is all pretty much but a spark in my mind now. I’ve been contemplating, pondering, questioning and maybe one thing is clear.  I need a space to focus, a place to heal and work at the same time.

I want a work space, and some time. Gee I feel guilty just writing that.  I want time to study to upgrade some skills, time to prepare a portfolio, time to finish the few jobs I have for the 2 clients I have. Then I need peace, to be able to focus and bear down. I need to make a strategy for myself that I can execute step by step so I extricate myself out of this hole and make enough income to graduate into a sort of “chez-moi”, a home where I would be able to afford to care for myself to the point where I am strong enough to let out all the creative ideas I have brewing inside.


At the very moment, getting an apartment is not an option, but I am hoping that in the next 4 weeks I can find something temporary to get to my “phase 1: Rising above zero altitude” plan and following that, entering “phase 2: Catch the air under the wings” where I would actually be in flight, heading somewhere, implementing my creative vision.

Don’t feel bad or sorry, send me a virtual high five, good thoughts, prayer or anything that would send some light my way.

Life is extraordinary.



2 Responses to “my own eclipse”

  1. Éva Bôrôcz Says:

    Écrit ! Si je peux faire quelque chose… Je t’aime ,

  2. francoise Says:

    How mon dieu! Quand je te lis, je peux te dire que je suis dans la meme confusion dans ma vie. J’ai un travail, on m’acoupe les heures. J’aidais une famille en afrique depuis des annees et maintennat, je dois leur dire que je ne sais plus payer. Je travaille comme une dingue mais jamais assez pour payer les lignes de credit…alors que je ne depense rien pour m’amuser….Je mepose les meme questions que toi. Je me retrouve dans les memes conditions que toi meme si les situations sont differentes. Mon reve? Avoir de quoi et aider les amis qui en ont besoin. Ils seront moins stresses et tu dis tout, tout, tout ce qu’on vit et ressent. Je fais de l’art qui ne se vend pas et je ne sais pas pourquoi. Je connais des artistes qui ont du succes et pourtant, j’en vaux autant.Spirituellement, oui… j’en sui s la.
    Tu es merveilleuse et vraiment, ne te juge pas quand tu ecris, sois spontanee avec nous, tu n’ecris pas ton livre, tu partages et c’est genial. Ici, on a besoin de ca, de toi.
    Tu te jugeras plus qd tu ecris ton livre. Je taime ma belle, tu nous offres des cadeaux. On respire avec toi. Bisous et a bientot. Je t’envois plein de bisous qui volent autour de toi en chantant des mots de joie et d’amour.

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