Talking About Suicide

Some people think that talking about suicide will cause more suicide. I doubt it. The thing that causes more suicides is indifference, hate, and physiology. Abuse and neglect. Biological abnormalities and shitty luck cause suicides. Talking about suicide or joking about suicide doesn't cause suicide. Not any more than talking about violence causes violence. Talking about something removes the burden of trying to ignore it. Maybe talking about why we don't talk about suicide from more angles will help us see it more clearly. Here are some angles.

Maybe people don't talk about suicide because they are superstitious. They think that talking about something makes it occur. I suppose there is a kernel of truth in the idea that concepts can influence behavior but the idea that saying a word would cause the universe to focus on persecuting you is irrational. The universe doesn't have you in mind because it is not conscious and you are not that special.

Maybe people don't talk about suicide because they are afraid of their own thoughts of suicide and they are trying to suppress them.

Maybe people don't talk about suicide because they have known someone who committed suicide and they are traumatized by the experience. Now the word brings up terror and they can not engage in a nonemotional conversation about suicide. The whole concept is tainted with direct personal experience. I'm not sure but I think if someone can accept and get past having someone close commit suicide the person might be able to communicate to others how devastating it is and how if someone is thinking about committing suicide they should not dismiss the effect it might have on others. Many people care more about those around them than themselves and if they were truly alone they might kill themself but it's knowing that others care enough to cry at your loss that you feel that you might be able to handle another day.

Maybe people don't want to talk about suicide because they can empathize with those that have contemplated it and also with those that have attempted it or I suppose succeeded in it but can you sympathize with a dead person? I think you can if you know anything about them. Knowing something about a person can help you create a story around the person. One that you can identify with and allows you to place them in your worldview. This also allows you to make value judgments on the person, whether accurate or not. Maybe empathizing too much makes you think about killing yourself, which is disturbing and therefore you do not want to entertain the idea of suicide.

(Can you sympathize with random unknown people that you know nothing about? Maybe you can empathize with them as what they have done is modeled in the mind and mirror neurons mimic the perceived emotional and physiological state of the person, but I'm not sure if that is sympathy.)

Maybe people don't talk about suicide because most people have had only a small amount of suicidal thoughts and it is only a small proportion of people who have severe enough thoughts to actually do it. This might cause people to dismiss the issue as not significant. There are plenty of other things to talk about than suicide, which is mostly unpleasant to contemplate anyway. Why talk about unpleasant topics?

If we all accepted that a great deal of the population has varying levels of suicidal thoughts then maybe we could be more open about our personal thoughts about suicide and then maybe we could talk about suicide enough that it becomes less taboo and easier to talk about in general. By lessening the stigma it might become easier to ask for help.

Maybe people think if we don't talk about it it will go away.

Maybe people think that if someone they know commits suicide it might be their fault? Maybe they think that the way they treated that person could have been better or they were cruel to that person and so talking about suicide means admitting their own feelings of guilt. Maybe people secretly wish for the suicide of someone else and they feel guilty about it. Or they secretly feel comradery with the suicidal person but condemn it outwardly in order to hide their shame. 

Maybe people are afraid to talk about suicide because they are simply afraid of death in general. To these people maybe any contemplation of death is too hard to cope with and suicide adds a layer of horror. The fear of death is certainly pervasive but it is such an unknown that I would rather concentrate on life, even when life is hard to handle. 

I remember when I found out that Robin Williams committed suicide and my first thought was not one of sadness or scorn but instead I imagined a man that finally took control over his life and made a decision that was his to make. I appreciate Robin Williams very much as an entertainer and I look up to him as a role model for comedic self-expression but I didn't know him personally and my projection onto his suicide was just a reaction. It didn't involve much thought about what his suicide would do to his family and how much the world would miss out on without him around to entertain us. It was only later that I cried thinking about how sad he must have been to commit suicide and how much I loved his presence in my life. 

It is selfish to commit suicide but it is also selfish to keep someone from doing it for the sake of your own desire to enjoy their company or not feel sad. Ultimately people are responsible for their own bodies and life and it is up to them to decide what they do with it. It is also up to those around you to choose to help when you are feeling terrible. You can't always convince someone they are loved and you can't always convince yourself that others love you. Depression is a very powerful psychological state that can not always be turned around with love and drugs.

Suicide is something that I have contemplated in my life and I have had people around me that have attempted it. To live in a world where suicide exists can seem confusing and cruel but it is not a new phenomenon and it is not going away anytime soon. If someone wants to kill themself they can. It isn't that hard. Humans are squishy meat sacks full of blood that are constantly on the precipice of death. Every time you get into a car or step into the shower you risk the wrath of entropy and the chaos of uncertainty and ultimately death finds you. You already face death every day so why should suicide be so scary or so obscure? 

Maybe if we talk about it enough we'll find it's not that interesting?

 

Forgotten Decisions

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There's no reason to think that people are able to remember everything they think about. We are constantly going through internal ruminations, whether we are paying attention to them or not. I don't think that the internal monologue is something that we turn on and off at will or consciously. I'm not sure if the stream of consciousness that is verbal is always running but when it is running our focus on it fluctuates. Sometimes one can really focus on observing the random thoughts that happen inside the mind. Sometimes one can direct the stream and try to focus where it goes. Sometimes one is completely unable to grasp the internal messages. 

Have you ever felt that when you forget whether or not you locked the door it's because you're not sure if you remember locking it just now or the 50 other times you locked it before? Habitual behaviors become automatic. You don't know you're doing them. This might be the same about thoughts in that some thoughts you have so often that you forget that you had them. For example, when you drive toward your old house because you have gone that way so many times your subconscious, which directs your actions, now just goes there unless consciously directed otherwise. Before you realize it you're already there. This habituation only occurs after one has deliberately directed consciousness repeatedly. One can create these habituations consciously but once it becomes a habit one can forget their role in its creation. 

Maybe one becomes distracted from their internal monologue long enough to forget it exists. It's still somewhere softly analyzing and contemplating in the background. Maybe one is imagining how the next day will develop while watching a TV show. Their mind is only taking in stimulus but every so often their stream of consciousness breaks through and one is interrupted by an already occurring mental conversation. You pick up a few things about going to your favorite restaurant but then you get distracted again and it's such a mundane thought you disregard it. Then, the next day, when internally debating where to eat you decide to go to your favorite restaurant. The decision was actually decided by yourself long before you realize it. Or at least it was primed. Like when someone tells you the wrong lyric and when you hear the song you can't hear anything other than the wrong word that sounds correct now. 

Can one take credit for the forgotten conscious influences one inflicts on one's self? The forgotten fleeting thoughts that are like dreams. Whispy like fog. Like when the right word is on the tip of your tongue. In the back of your mind. Consciousness is like a river in that it is always changing and one day it will not be in the same place. Is it still the same river? Are you responsible for the changes?

Am I a product of only deterministic scientific happenstance? Causes and effects that are completely out of my control? If it is possible to willfully create habituation then it would provide a mechanism for free will to manifest itself in reality and not just in concept. If this mechanism is real then that would mean that it exists within the nervous system and is theoretically identifiable. If free will is a physical reality then determinism has a flaw. This would introduce some amount of unpredictability when it comes to assuming that the future is a series of determined, and predictable causes and effects. 

But what about the thoughts that cause the habituation; how can these thoughts be justified if they just erupt out of nowhere? How can free will be proven if the proposed mechanism relies on thoughts that emerge due to the prior causes that are determined by physics? If thoughts are not purely a reaction to the current environment then maybe thoughts arise as a direct result of a free will mechanism that is not verbal, or has become subconscious prior to being verbal? 

Maybe the first few years of childhood is a period where a system starts to develop that allows for self-observation and mental manipulation. As the system for self-directed behavior matures the person is consciously learning how to learn, how to speak, how to listen to themself, how the world works, how to imagine multiple outcomes, and how to choose different directions. This system of different sectors of the brain networking together to create something new allows for the development of consciousness and the potential for free will. 

As time passes the act of willful self-determination becomes almost entirely habitual and because humans do not develop the concept of consciousness until later in life the subjective perspective that includes both the verbal and nonverbal streams of consciousnesses we collectively call consciousness is almost indescribable. The brain is both emotional and intellectual and yet its functions are elusive to the observer. The system becomes habitual enough at an early enough age that the experience of directing our bodies is forgotten. It goes underground but still provides a mechanism for free will.

As language develops a child begins to incorporate verbal communication into the preexisting paradigm. Self-expression begins to become codified, constrained, and efficiently communicable. As one interacts with reality and develops a language to communicate with others one begins to see the world in a different way.  In a way that is constrained by language. When one is aware of one's own attempts to direct one's own path via the verbal route then consciousness becomes possible to communicate about but is not the sole arbiter of free action. 

In order to understand this concept of a mechanism, rooted in consciousness, that allows for free will one has to overcome the habituation process and redirect the flow of verbal consciousness, knowing that it isn't the only controlling factor. Learning to control one's emotions becomes another skill in strengthening the potential for free will. Another skill that is needed is the ability to examine past failings and plan to correct them with repetitive thoughts and actions. 

If one finds that every time they encounter a certain emotionally distressing situation they act in a way that is dysfunctional then they can make a plan to change how they think about this situation, how they act before, during, and after the situation occurs, and try to understand the underlying emotional states that the situation produces. The more one is self-aware the more they can alter the way they react to situations or attempt to avoid them altogether. This kind of self-awareness is not entirely concerned with internal states but also takes into account the environment that they exist within. The ability to engage in free will is tempered by a person's understanding of everything that can and will affect them. 

The concept of responsibility is not the same as the concept of free will. People are responsible for their actions, generally speaking, regardless of the perception that they are in control of their actions. A drunk person is responsible for the consequences of their actions just as a psychotic person is responsible for the consequences of their actions. They may not have any insight into the conscious thoughts that existed prior to or during the act but from the perspective of others, they are the ones to blame. They are the ones to set apart and deal with. Attempting to accept all actions as a matter of fate is a recipe for chaos and discounts the ability of people to control themselves, even without a well developed moral system or strengthened free will. 

In conclusion, in regard to thoughts, we are mostly unaware. When we are aware we have an opportunity to self-direct and with enough repetition, we can create new automatic or partially automatic habits. We can consciously control unconscious behaviors through this process. I postulate that before language this ability may have been more open to us and over time our subconscious takes more and more control. Our relationship to consciousness changes as we acquire language. Or maybe it is only after we acquire sophisticated language and maturity that we start to be able to review our thoughts and bring them into some kind of control. It is difficult to halt the momentum of cause and effect that propels us forward but if one can reflect on and redirect their thoughts they just might be able to make lasting change in how they think, how they act, and who they are. 

Photo Journal 10/26/2020

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100mm Macro Lens

Sandy River Delta

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Book Review: Anathema by Channing Cornwall

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Channing Cornwall's latest novel is another example of his diverse style and ability to span genres. From westerns to fantasy and now to Anathema, Channing continues to push the boundaries of what his readers should expect. Anathema straddles the line between the genres of horror and noir mystery where the world of the spiritual and profane are explored while nestled in the unnerving arms of dysfunctional family dynamics. 

Anathema takes place in the small town of Neskowin, Oregon in the early 20th century. The Galloway siblings are all grown up and reunite at the family estate to bury their father, whose sudden death becomes increasingly suspicious. This all occurs years after the suicide of their mother, Anna, who spent the last years of her life painting depictions of the nearby island of Anathema. The island's inhabitants are a mysterious group of religious zealots that only come to shore to recruit new members and have lost most of the color in their skin, which is not the oddest thing about them. 

The Galloway siblings are accompanied by a Chinese woman named Song that is convinced that a higher power is guiding them to the island to discover and deal with the supernatural occurrences that are plaguing the nearby village of Neskowin and the Galloway parents more directly.  In their pursuit of the truth of their parents' deaths, the Galloway siblings struggle with each other, as their personalities and lifestyles clash, as well as with the forces that brought them all together. 

I enjoyed this book and I appreciate Channing's take on a genre that I don't normally take to. His writing is a breeze to read and the pacing doesn't allow for dull excesses or boring exposition. The journey builds toward a climactic standoff that is both horrific and satisfying. I would say more but I don't want to give anything away. The fun is in the discovery of the truth. I recommend this book to anyone that likes the intrigue of mysterious deaths, ghostly apparitions, and unearthly realms. 

Get the book on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.com/Anathema-Channing-H-Cornwall/dp/B08F6X4QFK

More reviews of Channing's other books:

https://jdgnotes541.blogspot.com/2016/12/book-review-hell-came-with-her-by.html

https://joesnotesblog.com/blog/book-review-the-world-carried-on-by-channing-cornwall

https://joesnotesblog.com/blog/book-review-breathed-out-by-god-by-channing-cornwall

30 Days of Heroes: Day 2 The Gossip Hero

Annie's blond hair flailed all around her face as she struggled to hold her new blue dress against the strong wind as she walked down the dusty main road toward the shop with the wooden sign with a lady's shoe on it. She came to the town of Battle Mountain by train a few days ago but this was the first time she was able to come back to it from her uncle Pete's ranch. She had stepped off the train and immediately noticed the shop with the woman's shoe on it and she knew she would have to come back to see it. She only had a few minutes to greet her cousins and uncle before they would have to head back to the ranch. "Can't be away too long, there's work to get done," Uncle Pete said with a smile while he stacked Annie's luggage with the supplies, tools, and dried goods he had purchased earlier that day. 

"I'm very pleased to meet you cousin Annie," the little nine-year-old Delila said with a curtsey. 

"I'm even more pleased to meet you cousin Delila," Annie said. She smiled and curtseyed in return. 

"Are you married?" Delila asked without preamble. 

"Deli! Don't ask that. She just got here," Uncle Pete said with a half stern tone. 

"It's ok," Annie said with a look of acceptance toward Pete. "I'm not married Deli! If I was then I would be happy to have my own little girl just like you!" Annie poked Delila's nose and then turned around with a swish. When she turned back she held her hands to her belly where there was now a pregnancy bump. 

"I'm already pregnant!" Annie exclaimed and pretended to attack Delila, who screamed and they ran around the train station. 

"That's enough of that. We ought to be heading back now. It'll be getting dark soon," Uncle Pete said when the two cousins came back by the wagon.  

"When can we come back to the city, Uncle Pete? I want to shop a little," she had said to her uncle on their way out of town. "We can make a trip in a few days," he said and she smiled for the entire bumpy three-hour trip to the ranch. She was still smiling when she entered the store with the woman's shoe on it and as she entered the small yellow-tinted room the sound of the wind dissolved and her hair was again a slave to gravity. She brushed herself off and straightened her hair as the two women at the counter turned to see what had interrupted them. 

"Well, she is pretty." Annie heard one of the women say in an attempt at a whisper. 

The women had continued their conversation and Annie began to gaze at the delicate wares. She passed a rack of beautiful silk covered and feather laden hats and a counter with thin belts made of black, red, and brown leather.  

"Have you ever seen a panther?" Annie overheard one of the women ask.

"A Panther? You mean a lion, I think." The other one said, in a soft Scottish accent. 

"Maybe but I read in the paper that a white panther killed one of Old Henry's prized stallions. Read that the horse was lost for two days and when they finally found it there was white fur everywhere and claw marks the size of Bowie's knife."

"Cougar! That's what they're called here." The Scottish woman said, excited about her revelation.  

Annie continued to look at the pretty things but was having a hard time remembering to shop as the conversation about a dead stallion and white panther was very interesting. She looked at the long dresses with their diverse patterns but her mind was elsewhere. 

"Billy told me Henry's men asked the miners to volunteer to hunt it down. But my Billy said he could make more in the river then goin off to get killed by a cougar." The Scottish woman said. 

Annie admired the dark red hair of the woman speaking as she stood at the counter. Annie quickly looked away as the red-haired woman turned toward her. Annie looked down to see a large assortment of exquisite shoes. She sat down to try on a pair of blue short boots and when she looked back both of the women were looking at her intently. Their mouths were moving but Annie couldn't hear what they were saying but it was likely about her, she thought. 

She took the blue boots off, put on the shoes she came in with, and moved toward the counter. 

"See something you like, then?" The woman behind the counter asked as the red-haired woman stepped aside, still staring at Annie. Before Annie could answer she added, "What's your name, you're not from here."

"No, I'm just visiting from college. I just love your little shop. I'd like to buy these shoes." She said and put the shoes on the counter with a big smile that seemed overly confident to the woman studying her. 

"Yes, of course." The woman said and wrote something down on a piece of paper. "Those shoes will go well with your dress. They aren't cheap though, three dollars please." The woman said but didn't look up.

Annie took out her small purse and put three dollar bills on the counter without hesitation. "Thank you very much." 

The woman behind the counter looked up and smiled dryly. "Thank you, miss..." She waited for a response. 

"Can I have a receipt please," Annie said, ignoring the pregnant pause. 

The woman handed her the piece of paper she was writing on. Annie took it and started toward the door when the Scottish woman asked, "What did you say your name was again dear?"

Without turning around Annie said, "I didn't," and walked out into the windy streets. 

With her new boots in hand, she made her way to the general store to meet her uncle and cousin. When she arrived she could see that her uncle was talking with the store clerk so she slowly made her way closer to listen in on what they were saying. Her uncle saw her and gave her a nod. Little Delila was too mesmerized as she was examining the sweets near the counter to notice Annie.

"The paper said that savages took Jim Ness's youngest boy, I forget his name now. Took him while the sun was high and no one saw a thing. Just disappeared while they were playing out back of the schoolhouse." The older man at the counter said to Uncle Pete. 

"I read a different paper that said it was that group of Mormons that come into town every so often to trade. That they took him to ransom off the Jim. Those Mormons are always up to something." Uncle Pete said back. 

"Well, Paul got a posse together to go look for him but it's been nearly three days since. Jim couldn't go on account of his leg being broke from a donkey."

"A donkey?" Uncle Pete asked. 

"Heard he was trying to shoe the donkey, for some reason, and got kicked." The man said. 

 

"Well, he deserves it, trying to shoe a donkey," Pete said. 

Delila turned around to see Annie rummaging through some serials and ran to her. "Annie! Annie! Did you see? They have licorice again! The black kind too. Do they have licorice in Boston?" 

"I assume so," Annie said as Delila took her hand to show her the glass jar full of black licorice. 

"Can I have some Papa?" Delila asked her father.

"It's not in the budget this time darling, sorry," He answered. He was always a frugal person and if he didn't plan on buying something he simply didn't. Delila frowned and looked down trying her hardest to look put out. 

The man behind the counter walked over and pulled one piece of black licorice out of the jar. Delila's mouth opened like a puppy waiting for a treat. "Can she have one piece, Pete? It's my treat."

"Yes, That's fine, John." 

The shop keeper gave the piece to Delila and she savored it in small bites. 

"Say thank you Deli. Remember your manners," Pete said. 

 

"Thank you, Mister Tompkins," Delila said.

They all left the store together and on their way out of town Annie surprised Delila with a small paper sack full of black licorice. Delila hugged her and they all made their way back to the ranch with the dust and wind swirling behind them. 

When Annie returned to town with Pete a week later the town was bustling with activity. Uncle Pete stopped the two-horse wagon in front of the telegram and post office and got out. 

"I'm going to check the post." He said to Annie who just smiled and nodded to him. 

She was focused on all the commotion going on outside the saloon. There were two groups of men facing each other yelling and most of them had their hands on their hips. One set of men had on black coats and trousers along with tall black hats. They all had beards and white undershirts. The men that faced them looked dirty and unorganized. They had no coats and just brown or blue trousers. They spat at each and kicked up dirt. The wind wasn't as harsh on this day and Annie couldn't help herself. She got out of the wagon and made her way closer to the men. 

"Mormon bastards!" She heard someone yell.

"Your man started the fight!" She heard one of the men with the black coat say. 

"Sherrif Paul was a good man!" Another said. 

"They killed that boy!" She heard a woman who was watching yell.

A crowd had gathered around the street outside the saloon but not too close as it seemed guns might start going off. While everyone was interested they didn't want to find a stray bullet in them. 

"Just leave us be! We didn't have nothin to do with that boy goin missin," Another man with a tall black hat said. 

Then, as Annie stood in her new blue short boots one of the men pulled their pistol and in a moment a flurry of blasts erupted from each man's revolver. Flashes of light and smoke emanated from the circle of men while onlookers ran for cover. Annie was too shocked to move. She had never seen such rapid and explosive violence. 

After a few seconds of fevered trigger pulling it was over and three of the five men in black suits were still standing. They stopped to check their environment and saw an entire town full of angry people. They were obviously not the favored group and the townspeople started to boo them. As the Mormon men gathered up their wounded and dying friends the townspeople started throwing rocks at them, from a safe distance of course as none of them really hit their mark. The men were not wanted there and they knew it now more than ever. 

Uncle Pete came running to Annie and pulled her to him, shaking her out of her daze.  

"Are you alright? I heard shooting and you were just standing there in the street," he asked, clearly shaken. 

"I don't know," Annie said in a monotone voice that showed how confused and stunned she was. "They were gathered around each other yelling. One said something about Mormons and a killed boy. Then they just died." 

"Are you alright? You could've been killed, standing there in the street!" Uncle Pete said sternly. 

"I'm sorry. I didn't know!" Annie said and then the relief and stress all hit her at once and she started to cry a little. 

Uncle Pete hugged her and said, "It's ok. It's ok." 

The townspeople were still booing and throwing rocks at the Mormons as they road out of town. A small group of scraggly young boys rushed over to the dead men in the street and started to pilfer items off of them but before they could do too much damage a man came out of the saloon with an apron on a started to hit them with a stick. He hit one hard enough that Annie could hear the thud against his skull and the boys ran off. 

Uncle Pete took Annie away from the saloon to a small cafe and they both sat at a table. An older woman in an apron with her dirty blond hair tucked up in a bun came over to them. 

"Howdy Pete. Such a ruckus out there," She said looking out the window in the direction of the previous ruckus. "Those Mormons aren't to be taken lightly, that's for sure. They killed Sheriff Paul and the whole posse a few days ago. They were out looking for Jim's boy, that was taken. One paper said it was the Mormons but one paper said it was definitely Indians. Lotta death either way. Anyways, what can I do for ya?"

"Yeah, none of my business really. Just needed to get off the street. But I'll take a coffee and a biscuit if you got a hot one ready," Uncle Pete said. 

"I got hot coffee and hot biscuits for ya Pete," the woman said and then turned to look at Annie. "I'm Lucy, by the way. Your uncle isn't good at introducing people I guess. Maybe he just forgot my name. Seeing as he only comes in here after men are dead in the streets." She smiled and winked at Annie. 

"This is Annie, Lucy. I know your name and not cause you just said it either. Annie is visiting from Boston, she's a freshman studying math, of all things." Uncle Pete said, very proud to introduce his niece. 

"Well, pleased to meet you, Annie. What can I get ya?" Lucy said. 

"Please to meet you as well, Lucy. My Uncle is just shook up from all the gunslinging. He isn't much of a shooter," Annie said with a wry smile. 

"I can shoot when I need to," Pete said softly, now reading the paper he got from the table next to them.

"Do you have tea?" Annie asked.

"In fact, I just got in a supply just yesterday of something called black tea. Anything else darlin?" Lucy asked. 

"Can I have a scone?" Annie asked. 

"I don't know what that is but I've got biscuits," Lucy replied. 

"I'll take one of those!" Annie said with a big smile. 

"Coming right up!" Lucy said and then turned around to fetch them their order. 

Annie's smile faded as she read the headline that faced her coming from the newspaper in Uncle Pete's hands. It read, "Unknown Blond Gets Back Alley Abortion!" 

"Can I see that when you're finished Uncle?" Annie asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"I'm pretty well done with this now anyway. Here," he said and handed her the paper. 

Lucy came over with their drinks and set them on the counter. 

Annie turned the paper over to the story about the blond. She read that some "out of town whore" with blond hair came into town pregnant and was seen a few days later without her belly. They were now questioning the town's doctors, veterinarians, and anyone else who might be capable or know someone capable of administering such a criminal and abominable procedure. Also, there was a twelve dollar bounty for any information about who the mysterious blond was. There was even a sketch of the blond and it looked uncannily like Annie. 

Annie's heart was pounding in her chest. She remembered pretending to be pregnant as a joke with Delila when she arrived on the train but didn't presume that anyone had been watching. And to think that there was a manhunt involved now. Just because of some unfounded rumor. She was furious but also embarrassed. Such a scandalous accusation wouldn't stand. Her uncle knew the truth but Annie wasn't sure if he could help and he might be mad about it anyway. She wanted to go to wherever the paper was produced and tell them the truth and to print a retraction but she didn't know where that was. 

Steam floated above the biscuits as Lucy brought them to the table. Lucy was about to leave when she noticed a small hole in Annie's dress. "Annie. Can I show you these new teacups I got the other day?" Lucy asked. 

"Sounds good. Need to let these cool down anyway." Annie said, putting the paper down with the article about the blond face down. Pete took the paper with one hand and his biscuit in the other. 

When they were away from the table Lucy pulled a teacup from a shelf and started to look at it. "I didn't really want to show you these old teacups. I noticed that there is a bullet hole in your dress and I thought I would tell you before Pete notices and freaks out." Lucy said and then handed Annie a small pin. "Use this to hide the hole." 

"Oh my," Annie said in a whisper, as she looked down at the quarter-sized hole in her dress. She folded the dress a little and put the pin in it. She looked back to see her uncle reading the article about the abortion and her eyes opened wide. 

"I assume you didn't actually have an abortion," Lucy said in a hushed tone. 

Annie's mouth opened to match her wide eyes. "Of course not!" She said a little louder than she wanted. 

"I didn't think so. Someone that has had an abortion wouldn't be so spritely and happy as you are today. Half the stories in that paper are complete hogwash. The problem is people in town tend to believe the malarky. I would recommend getting out of town until the people around here move onto something new to sink their teeth into." Lucy smiled and took Annie's hand which took some of the shock away from the recent events. Annie took a deep breath and nodded at Lucy in thanks and for her understanding. 

Uncle Pete slammed the paper down on the table as Annie walked over to him. 

"This is unacceptable!" He yelled. "These pig-faced lying deadbeat wastrels!"

"I'm so sorry Uncle. I was just playing with Deli. I was pretending." Annie pleaded with him. 

"I know that! You think I wouldn't have noticed if you were pregnant and had an... abortion?" He said but whispered the word "abortion" and looked around. There were no other people in the room other than Lucy. 

"We should just go back home, Uncle. I don't want anyone to cause a fuss over nothing," Annie said and took her uncle's arm. Uncle Pete nodded and grabbed the other biscuit and stood up. 

"Thanks, Lucy," Annie said. "Thanks for the tea." 

"No problem Annie. So nice to meet you. Be careful out there. Never know when then boys will stir up the dust again. Don't be a stranger Pete." Lucy said. 

"The biscuits were great Lucy. Don't believe everything you read, Aye?" He said, put some money on the table, and turned to leave. 

"I don't believe most of what I hear, let alone read Pete!" Lucy said as they left.  

Annie and her uncle made their way down the dusty street toward their wagon. Annie felt like everyone she saw was looking at her and judging her. They passed a group of three women who all turned to look as Annie and Pete walked by. Annie tried to ignore their glares by looking down. They arrived at the wagon and Pete helped Annie step up into the seat. 

"There's just one thing I need to get before we leave. I'll be quick. Do you need anything?" Uncle Pete asked. 

"Please don't leave me here, Uncle. These people are animals!" Annie said with disdain. 

"You'll be alright. Just stay in the wagon. I have to get what I need or this whole trip will be a waste." Uncle Pete said while holding Annie's hand reassuringly. "Here." He said and pulled a small Deringer pistol from his pocket. "I always bring this, just in case. It's got two shots. Just like we practiced before. Pull the hammer, then pull the trigger. Just don't shoot someone that ain't trying to kill you first." 

Annie took the small silver gun and put it in her lap as Pete walked toward the stables. For a few minutes, she sat in the wagon in the hot sun hoping no one would see her but before long a small group of men was standing outside the saloon noticeably looking in her direction. A small boy walked up to the group of men and then someone leaned over and whispered something in his ear. The boy ran down the road and into the store with the woman's shoe on the sign. A few minutes later Annie saw the two women she had seen before when she overheard the story about the cougar killing the horse. The women walked down toward the group of men, stopped, and then turned toward where Annie was watching. She saw the woman nodding and pointing in her direction. That's when her heart sank and she felt an incredible urge to drive the wagon out of town. She sunk down in the seat but not low enough to disappear. 

When Annie looked again she saw a few of the men were walking down the middle of the street toward her. She moved into the driving seat and grabbed the reigns. With a smack and a whip, she hit the two horses' backs and they attempted to move forward but their efforts were thwarted by the hand brake that forced the wagon forward in a lurch and then stopped abruptly. Annie frantically looked for the handbrake but before she could manipulate it the group of men were there, grabbing at her. She reached for the Deringer but dropped it as one of the men pulled her out of the wagon. Dust flew up around her in a cloud of yellow and orange. 

One of the men grabbed her by the arm and dragged her away from the wagon. 

"Whore!" She heard someone yell. 

"Sinner!" She heard another yell. 

Then she heard the crack of a whip and felt a stinging pain on her back. Then another. 

"Fornicator!" 

"Murderer!"

A crowd of about twenty formed in a circle around her as she was whipped, spat on, and rocks were thrown at her. Annie curled into a ball as she shielded her face from the onslaught. It seemed to last forever until she heard a gunshot ring out somewhere nearby. The crowd stopped and looked to see who had shot the gun off. 

Uncle Pete was standing in the street with a newly purchased rifle in his hand, a small amount of smoke emanating from its barrel. He pointed the barrel upward and shot again. 

"The next one is going into someone you hear me?" He yelled at the crowd that was now slowing backing away from Annie. 

The men who had initiated the vigilantism stood their ground and now had their hands on their pistol hilts. Uncle Pete walked slowly toward them with the sights directly on the one with the whip. 

"This is God's justice mister!" The man at the front of the group said. 

"She ain't done nothing to warrant any of this, you dimwitted miscreants!" Uncle Pete yelled back. 

"The paper said she murdered her unborn child and we got witnesses!" The frontman said. 

"Liars and gossips! My niece arrived unspoiled and she will be leaving in the same way! Now you men back down and we'll be on our way!" Uncle Pete said, now only a few yards away from the frontman. 

"You're just coverin' for your kin!" A different man yelled and pulled his pistol. Before he could raise it high Pete's rifle rang out and the man's face had an extra hole. The back of his head had an even bigger one. Pete racked the lever, ready for another but the frontman held back, along with the rest. 

"Hold!" The frontman said to the other men. "This ain't worth dying over!" He slowly pulled his pistol out and dropped it on the ground. The other two living men did the same and the man with the whip dropped it and stepped away. 

"Annie, I need you to get up and go to the wagon now." Uncle Pete said, with his rifle still at the ready. 

Annie struggled to get up but did so and then brushed herself off. She glared at the one with the whip and then walked with her head held high to the wagon. Uncle Pete walked to the wagon with his eyes on the men but there were no more incidents. Uncle Pete looked at Annie's dirty and bloodied face. Anger filled his heart. Without a word, the two rode out of town. A few minutes into the bumpy ride Annie began to weep. 

Early in the morning Uncle Pete and Annie road into town just in time to catch the first train back to Boston. Uncle Pete had his rifle again and the few people who were there certainly had heard the story of his incredible display of marksmanship. Whispers and frowns accompanied their farewell. 

"I'm so sorry," Uncle Pete said as he hugged his niece. 

"It's not your fault, Uncle," Annie said, trying not to cry. 

After the hug, Pete handed her the small Deringer pistol. "Take this, and don't drop it next time." He said with a smile. 

Annie took the pistol and put it in her pocket and smiled back. Annie watched her uncle wave to her through a window as the train made its way out of Battle Mountain, Nevada. She felt the bruise on her back as she struggled to get comfortable in her seat and as the train made its way she looked down at her new blue short boots. A few miles down the road an elderly man in a tall black hat turned to her and from across the aisle said, "I'm done with this, you wanna read the newest gossip, young lady?" He handed her a newspaper.  

"Hell no, mister," she said with a smile.

Photo Journal 10/12/2020

  Shot with Canon 80D

100mm Macro Lens

Powell Butte

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Microdosing Mushrooms

I hadn't taken psychedelic mushrooms in a long time for many reasons but mostly because I was afraid of having a bad experience. I wrote a blog post a while back about two experiences I had with large amounts of magic mushrooms. One experience was great and one was horrible so when thinking about taking mushrooms again I always worried about having another bad experience. Earlier this year, though, I decided to try them again but in a more deliberate way. Another reason to take less is that mushrooms can make you vomit or have diarrhea and that didn't seem like a pleasant experience, especially out in the woods. I decided to microdose instead of taking a larger amount and just see what happens.

On a couple of backpacking and camping trips that I went on earlier this year, I brought along some mushrooms. I brought enough to take a large dose but I didn't want to create unnecessary anxiety in a place that I knew I was already going to feel anxious. Sleeping in a tent in the forest provokes a lot of anxiety for me regardless of whether I'm alone or not and whether I'm in a campground or not. When I lay down in the dark my mind goes to work creating a series of fear-inducing imaginings and contemplations. I usually just accept the situation and try to convince myself that I'm ok and that I'm being irrational. 

The total amount of anxiety has gone down over the years with continued backing and camping trips but I still experience fear. Sometimes I just wait until I am completely exhausted or drunk but that isn't always preferred and I don't want to always rely on self-medication to deal with my negative mental states. That being said I decided to try some mushrooms this year to see if it would add to my enjoyment of the great outdoors. 

The first experience was on a fairly strenuous backpacking trip with my two friends. We trekked deep into the damp Washington wilderness where there didn't seem to be anyone anywhere nearby and made camp off the trail. It was lightly rainy most of the time but we didn't bring any dry wood so a great deal of effort was made in creating a suitable basecamp which included putting up a tarp for a dry area to eat and attempting to create fire from the horribly wet environment. 

It was late the first day and I took just a few bits of mushroom and started to roam the forest looking for pieces of wood that might help start and maintain the fire. After about ten minutes I noticed a definite change in both my visual perception and my mood. My vision seemed to widen and the trees around me became more vibrant and alive. I smiled when I realized that the mushrooms were working and the smile led to a deep feeling of joy. I was so happy to be in the forest, with its peaceful silence and earthy smells. 

Prior to the mushrooms, I had a somewhat serious demeanor that was focused on accomplishing goals related to setting up camp and thinking about what was next. After the mushrooms took effect I felt that the moment I was in was that only thing that mattered. Any sense of potential anxiety faded away and throughout the night I felt elevated happiness. Even while I was in my tent anticipating the inevitable anxiety of trying to sleep I felt that the only anxiety I might be feeling was a remnant of my expectation and a memory of past anxiety. There was no authentic anxiety which freed me up to meditate on other things as I fell asleep. 

The next evening I microdosed again and had a less intense version of the same experiences of the previous evening but still experienced an obvious change in mood. It seemed that either I took less or I had become slightly tolerant of the effects but they were definitely there. Less visual disruption but similar mood elevation. It all reminds me of a time when I took a supplement called New Mood from the company Onnit. New Mood is a product that is supposed to increase serotonin production in the brain which has an effect on many things including mood. 

My experience of taking New Mood was intensely powerful and my mood was elevated while I took it. I felt happy in an almost manic way but without any cognitive chaos. The problem was that when I didn't take it I felt a very intense sense of depression. Not taking it for just one day seemed to reduce my mood to something worse than before I started taking it at all. The supplement was very expensive to be taking every day and I knew that I didn't want to rely on it or have to pay for it forever so I had to stop taking it altogether. Taking it periodically would have created a roller coaster of emotional states that I think would be worse than feeling slightly depressed all the time. 

I don't know what the effects of continual microdosing mushrooms would be for me but I don't like the idea of relying on anything so much that I become a slave to it as a solution to issues that might be addressed through more sustainable means. Activities such as exercise, eating well, and generally taking control of my life have done more than any of these drugs or supplements have done for my mental and physical health but I still like the idea of altering my consciousness and experimenting with things that others have gotten value from. The experiences I had with microdosing were positive and I will likely do it again and maybe I will up the dose or try something else in the future as well. 

I do not recommend people microdose mushrooms or take any other drug at all. I don't care what others do with their bodies or consciousness but it seems that people are curious about how substances and activities can affect personal perspectives so I am glad to share my thoughts on this topic. I am glad that more research is being done on the benefits of psilocybin and I think that it is immoral to criminalize drug use of any kind. Knowledge of the effects of substances helps foster safety and efficacy and destigmatizes the unknown. There are reasons to take drugs and they aren't always pragmatic. Sometimes taking a risk in and of itself is valuable and we should all be free to live in a way that generates personal and interpersonal peace. 

 

Here is my previous post about a good and bad mushroom trip:

Re-Post: Shrooms: A Good Trip and a Bad Trip

Photo Journal 10/4/2020 (Blue Lake Park)

  Shot with Canon 80D

100mm Macro Lens

Blue Lake Regional Park

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