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Showing posts from November, 2016

Yoga of dead hibiscus and dead days...

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Wake up feeling positive that I will end the day with a massive task behind me so that I could start to make moves on the massive tasks. Woman calls. I know she is not responsible for the delay. Apologetic. I will get the response I need. I can't start any other work. I do some minor tasks. Feeling restless and thinking of going to do something else Nothing is coming.  Think of the long list of things which I could do but no energy to move to anything else. It is like stuck in one lane without the flexibility to change.. when all energy is consumed in trying to bring focus to completing a job. Text comes in.. a few minutes. Nothing comes. Day is ending and there is a beautiful sunset and breeze and I remember when I used to have routines and I was in control of my time and I was more flexible and could adapt and do wonderful things. The hibiscus die after a day in bloom.  A day of shining and showing off and then turning to something useful like compost and keeping a c

Coil: Orange cloth on trees to stop gender based violence?

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by Vidyaratha Kissoon “Praise God, I have never been abused” the woman said. She was doing her business not far from the trees with orange cloth. She had to dodge between cars at the traffic lights to sell water. She did not know what the orange stood for and was focussed on earning her living. The trees look beautiful with the orange cloth around them and the message Stop Gender Based Violence and the Helpline 231-6556. I call the helpline on Saturday morning at 9am and get the answering machine for the Ministry of Social Protection with a range of options none of which receive an answer. Perhaps the help is only available during normal working hours for the Ministry. The Childcare and Protection Agency already has a 24 hotline (227-0979) . The Ministry must be familiar with the protocols associated with running a helpline or hotline which is not about calling the Ministry switchboard. There is something oppressive about the orange all

Yoga of cleaning again and again and again..

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I realise that the last coping strategy is also not good for me and I could accommodate by doing what I said I would never say I would do. I stand in front of a group of people to do a thing at their request but they not really interested as their minds are on other things and the room is too comfortable. I think.. come on man, find the energy.. and then the danger of how depression works is that instead of working on the energy , instead just work to end the event quickly and get out. I respond automatically, instinctively to warning signs of escalation to abuse and violence and realise that entrapment includes me too and that I am lucky I am not using alcohol or drugs to escape.  Sugar though.. too much sugar and fat.. a lot of fat each time I think.. this is the last.. I will recoup from now.. try to figure out how to restore the health.. but there is no such time coming . no way to make the healthy choices automatic and instinctive and coping.   There is a weekl

Walking in the sun and eating chocolate..

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Jump out of the minibus and I realised that people are passing me and that I am shuffling.. it is easy to shuffle when your mind not on walking. Made the decision to come out in the hot sun with memories of walking briskly in the hot sun back in the day when I first had to come to terms with the first crisis which repeated itself. Coping strategies were good.. it was something else.. move, work, eat, stress reduce .. and the sun burning on the skin was good for feeling something. I see chocolate and buy a small bar not a big one even though I had woken up with a hangover from binging on crunchy stuff with milk - sweet sweet crunchy stuff. I had planned to do the stretches necessary.. to try to relax the body from the tensions which come on being alert for sudden changes.. the tensions which come from care giving while trying to sort out the uncertainty of the employment and other things. Shuffling and realise that I am shuffling and say come on man, at least move your feet e

Coil: Race talk after Trump

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by Vidyaratha Kissoon “You caucasians know how to rule, we black people cannot rule” the nice man told me. He had one of the old fashioned spirits bottle in front of him. The man had worked up from poverty and illiteracy to own a successful business. He was looking after an elderly relative with a disability. They both like Donald Trump. “He talks his mind. Not many people talk their mind. ” “But oh shoots man, leadership is not about inciting chirren to be racial.. Obama was a good President he reduce US debt and so” “People still poor. That is why black people didn’t go out and vote for Hilary” The man does not think he is a bigot in any way. “I am open minded… I have gay friends.. I find them the most trustworthy because they don’t pretend” Earlier in the day , a man selling nuts had asked me ‘You come from India.. you look like one a dem’. By the evening I was caucasian and an accomplice to revelations about race and stereotypes. “Lo

The yoga of tangerines and unexpected thanks...

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"Thanks for your patience".. the text near midnight said. I was half asleep and half awake and in shock as I contemplated the years and the communication and the problems and the fog in my head of navigating a strange week. There isn't energy to deal with the various things which come up. A brutal reminder of a decade or so ago and I go into meltdown and my body tenses with the anxiety of the unexpected. History repeats itself and I hate that I am not automatically flexing to deal with the unexpected but familiar situation. I keep saying.. come on.. don’t melt down, you can do this.. hold on.. because this is not one of those situations like in the past where help was available. I remember when I used to do the yoga stretches to relieve the stress and to help with coping and now that time seems far away.  Memories flood back and the hope that things would not be repeated.. it is not a good way to deal with the current situations.. not a good way to project the s

Coil: Victory fuh de chatree coolie, Trump and de Pope’s people

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by Vidyaratha Kissoon “Wheh you coming aff?” the conductor asked while the driver fiddled with the dial which seemed to have two positions – off or loud. Fate had it that I jumped into a minibus in which the black driver and his coolie friend in the front seat with the beer bottle were unified to disrupt peace in ways which Jagdeo/Sam Hinds/Luncheon/Harper and Granger/Nagamootoo had not promised the electorate. Black conductor asking me in response to my request to turn down the music while dougla man counting the money in his hand. Others enjoying the ride included a young coolie boy who was deferring to Moses in the front seat with the beer bottle who was supporting Granger the driver fiddling with the dial. And me who should know when to come aff, and jump out, stayed put and put up with it and I lost my mind in the fantasies of the minibus as Guyana. Talk turned like how Donald Trump’s locker room people must have been. Dougla ma

The yoga of flowers after the brief drizzle...

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Sent the email and then realised I shouldn't. It was a gut response to joyful news and under normal circumstances, it required celebration and joy. I was shocked at the invitation to join in the good news. It had been years since the friendship ended . I said the truth though in the email.. You are really amazing because it was the truth, friend or not . I should have been polite though.. as memories too of the other note about how the connection is sinful. Night was disrupted. It should have been restful as work done. Something about stress.. how it delays. Chores and cleaning.. superficial bandaid stuff as even though my instincts are to get rid of the real source of some of the dirt and replace with other things which could create a better environment, reality is not that I am in control as I thought I was. Trying to figure out when my body lost flexibility, if it was at the same time as I realised that I was not really adapting to the circumstances around me and that t

Another moon...

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Man asked 'how are you ' and when I answer he goes off because no one really wants to hear a truth about 'mental health issues and dealing with those' and I get back the feelings of I should not say these things and be polite. Two other people need something and I am able to respond though, quickly and feel a sense that I can still do things. Work to be done and it is taking too long.. chasing distractions and avoiding crafting language and weaving words which I should have been glad to weave. Body has the pain and heaviness and no movement is helping to speed it up or maybe it is my imagination and the clear moon light sky is created because the clouds are in my head and not in the sky. There is nice wind and the coconut trees are blowing making a nice music but I am not hearing it really. It might be the moon again. I have to wait and do the work in between before the deadline. I have to replace the hatred that I am no longer working as fast as I have to,

Teenage drinking, prostate checks and eating well Groundings 7 Nov, 2016

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"Yeah, I only drink now and then, like every weekend and so" "How old are you" "17" He could have been 12 , there with his mother who said she told him about the drinking in the way in which it seems like she gave up on him stopping drinking. I said nah man, liquor aint good, and you supposed to be 18. He laughed because it is a big joke generally that nobody bothers with liquor and who should drink and at what age. We talked about 'eating' .. he said that he had lost his appetite recently and not eaten much. He knew he had to eat well and exercise. He said he doesn't really like to read but is looking for something to do so will try to read the book he picked up He laughed as he walked away.. 'arite, i gun stop drink' A woman who heard us said afterwards, it is crazy. A lot of young people drinking .. some of them have problems at home. I remember a conversation with some youngsters a few weeks ago. "My  husban

Coil:Fear of crime and contemplating edible skulls in Georgetown

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Altar at the Embassy of Mexico, Dia de lost Muertos exhibition, 3 Nov, 2016 by Vidyaratha Kissoon “I see that 14 year old boy who killed that woman, and I don’t understand. Did the adult force him into it? “ a woman asked as we talked about crime. What is happening in Guyana is anyone’s guess. According to the police, crime figures are ‘down’.  Most people do not believe the police. The media, especially social media is full of stories of break ins and attempted break ins, of robberies. The robbery is ‘daring’ – daylight, in public spaces – outside city hall, in the busy commercial areas. Guns are in use. Some people report being sprayed with gas or some sleeping drug. No one wants to be the next reduced crime statistic. No one expects that their trauma and fear would be lost in numbers which people do not believe, that regardless of the pain and the horror, that the trauma is to be explained away with ‘oh but it better than last year’.