Jennapher-dot-com

I love reading. My mother taught me to read before I even started school. It was magic to me. I love to listen to other people, especially my favorite authors, wax poetic about the activity/skill. It brings tears to my eyes, wrenches my heart and evokes an indescribable joy at the same time.      As soon as I COULD, I just read EVERYTHING available - cereal boxes, product packages, manuals, magazines and newspapers, literally ANYTHING with print on it. For the most part, I can only read in English, but my Spanish literacy is serviceable, too. I honestly believe that the written word is the MOST IMPORTANT HUMAN INVENTION OF ALL TIME. It really saddens me how poorly it is esteemed at this time. People cannot even be bothered to read a tiny "tweet" in its entirety. It is amazing how abundance confers disregard.     My feelings on reading are NOT some type of elitist thing, either. In my society of the U.S.A. from 1971 to now, the skill is handed out to EVERYONE. It...

  My mind/body theory --- from Facebook, 2012 Looking at this dilemma from the point of view of the theory that “you are not your body,” I think I may have come to a conclusion as to how I can get through this thing best. If I am not my body, then this story of me saying, “Don’t let me die. I don’t want to die.” etc (bullshit, I, or MY MIND, never would have said in the circumstance) was actually this BODY not this MIND. Theoretically, the mind IS responsible for taking care of the body to which it is connected. the statements were the body expressing ITS desire not to die. Bodies without minds, of course, are the equivalent of bacteria, intellectually. So, do I believe that my body was fearful and expressing a desire to “live?” Sure, I can go with that.  It follows, then, that the EMOTIONAL issues are stemming from my mind (ME) being reconnected slowly with this body. This body KNOWS how much my mind (ME) despises it for this. ;-) Ultimately, the answer must lie, per this...

  Where did this daily - almost - mantra originate? I don't really remember, but I know it has something to do with the monotony that I have felt since my head exploded and the life I knew went up in flames. I was trying to rebuild something that resembled that other life, and that wasn't happening. I wish I could say why, exactly, but I honestly don't know.      Still, even as I studied Buddhist philosophy and embarked on meditative practice I kept it up - every day being to me, with the short term memory issues, so similar to the last that they WERE truly almost indistinguishable. This is still the case these 15 years later. My life is -- empty, in my opinion, devoid of purpose and meaning. I feel that I just wake up every day, against my will, and take care of this body, that I really consider to be a prison, and then go back to bed. I consider these to be joyless chores. I honestly do. I just trudge along through it until I can finally go back to bed. Then I do i...