Reporting in

©2021 Michael Raven

After the torrid post yesterday, I owe it to people to report in today. I’ve been busy working my ass off and haven’t really had an opportunity to post anything meaningful today. Hence, the relative radio silence.

There is also not much to report. I could have used some deep sleep last night, but loud noises in the middle of the night conspired against such plans. And when I get woken up, I rarely can get back to sleep, especially after the witching hour of 3am. So I got about four hours of sleep and I’m physically a zombie to go along with my emotional fatigue.

But, even with all of that, I am less “at risk” than yesterday. I had a few folks check in on me through private channels, as well as some very encouraging words from some of you here. I had a real good hard think about myself because of an ebook that became available from the library the day before yesterday that I was reading to get my mind off of the more sordid elements of my thought processes. Although I give scant credence to the author’s authority, it did get me thinking about some of my shamanic pursuits in a completely different light and awoke in me a different perspective than I had been entertaining until I read it.

I started considering this morning and last night what I really wanted, needed, out of the journey I have been talking about taking over the past few weeks and I think it has ended up consolidating around some new and old things.

I need to touch base with my raven friends back in Seattle. We have the occasional raven appear in Minnesota, but the covids mostly consist of crows and blackbirds, neither of which are very good at conversation. Yes, I used to talk to the ravens when I lived in Seattle. Yes, I realize how that sounds. And no, it won’t be the same ones, most likely — but I think they will remember me. I need to touch base with them, as they were always my totem and these years of being away has frayed the connection we once had, and I need to renew it to get my head back on straight. I’m pretty certain, anyway.

While I also wanted to tick off a few more states from my 50-State Tour, I am only mildly interested in California. I’ve technically been in Nevada (airport), and I have no burning desire to add Kansas or Utah to my list other than to tick the box. The lower rail line would have added Arizona and New Mexico to my list, but then I’d miss out on hanging with my friend and add more days of travel for little reward. I decided to spare my friend a visit (in Reno), at least for now, because she is a single mother with a teenage son who is severely autistic. While she invited me to stay, I know how disruptive breaking routine can be for her son and, although I would have loved to have seen her, I don’t want to add to her stress levels by showing up, although I apparently always am welcome.

So, instead, I am looking into staying in Portland for a few days instead of making that longer loop. It would give me an opportunity to check out a city I never got much of a chance to investigate, and it would feel more natural to someone used to the habits of the NW Coastal personality (versus the California personality, which is, frankly, less laid back in my experience). I want to blend in at both cities, not come off at all like a tourist. More like a curious resident. Plus… ravens.

I still haven’t entirely discounted the idea of Iceland or Finland, but I think I should probably wait until I get my crap together before attempting that journey.

So how does a journey fit in with my decreased anxiety? Well, it goes back to that book I mentioned at the top of this post. I won’t bore with the details, but the book specifically covers a specific wanderer and it triggered in me a desire to emulate that entity to some degree — although I can’t just come and go as I please as he does. But the book discussing him also gave me renewed perspective about what I need to get back into a proper state of mental health in relation to taking journeys, both spiritual and temporal. It made me realize the frayed connection with my totem. I may be a Minnesotan through and through, but I do have a strong connection to the NW Coast after my time there. I need to touch base with those roots and bring that back into my life. Honestly? I sense it may do a world of help to ground out in those places and reset my head.

That might sound weird to anyone who doesn’t feel those kinds of things in their soul in the way that I do, but it is a thing. Believe me. Even thinking about these things is soothing to me, which is strange to me; I have only found that soothing feeling outside of myself, rather than internally, for a very long time.

Photo by Tabitha Mort on

Another false start

©2021 Michael Raven

Recall those life events things with respect to interruptions that might occur with NaNoWriMo? On schedule, one arrived and, frankly, I don’t know if I have the energy to continue writing the tale I started a few days ago.

My life seems to move from one crisis to another crisis anymore. I often wonder why I bother getting up in the morning, to be honest, when faced with the likelihood that, if I am not currently experiencing some crisis, one is more apt than not to show itself within the next day or week. It wasn’t always like this, but it seems to have accelerated this past few years — whether it is the world at large, fate working, or my own admitted tendency towards idiocy.

I’ll accept the blame. Might as well. I’m certain the blame has already been cast my direction for most of the recent of a myriad crises, anyway. It usually does, no matter the situation, so I’ve given up trying to advocate for myself.

The past few weeks (maybe months), I’ve been teetering on the cusp of falling off a cliff. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit suicide or “better off dead” wasn’t in my mind more than it wasn’t. Mostly, I’m tired of the continuous crisis mode I’ve been in. If it isn’t me going through some trouble, it is someone else around me going through their own, or an unexpected and unlikely death of a pet, or any number of major fixes that need to occur when you own your home that like to show up when you don’t need or want them to show up, or coworkers with unreasonable expectations, or this, or that… It doesn’t matter — the important thing is that something is always going wrong lately. And, I feel guilty for reaching out aside from some anonymous post under an assumed name to the world at large which couldn’t give two shits about my troubles. And, even then, fearful of how it will be interpreted by someone who doesn’t know what is up (or maybe does), makes me hold back in what I do reveal.

Today culminated in another climax in the shitstorm of my life and I nearly found the courage to end it all. Surprised? My guess is most of you will remain unsurprised, while others will skim this and not notice what I just said (and hit a star on the way in through the out door), while a very tiny percentage will actually be shocked.

I told you: I’m tired AF. I don’t want to continue to be under these kinds of constant stressors, strains, and finding new reasons to doubt my worth. I’d rather stop living.

Luckily, I recalled someone who didn’t have a stake in the crisis who once offered to lend me an ear if I ever hit a breaking point. So I contacted that person and was surprised I really was worth that ear on loan. I didn’t get into the details of my situation, just the broad overview of a rough situational thing that went along with the broader fatigue of the past lifetime or two. I was told to soldier on. “It’s about to get better. Believe me.” No judgment, although one might have been given, perhaps even deserved, considering the situation itself, even as described in the most vague of terms. And honestly, it might have been just cracking the door in on a deep secret that I haven’t been able to share that helped with the building pressure and stress. I came down a bit from that cliff, decided to sit this one out for more than a few hours. That person who listened — just fucking listened without value judgment — probably saved a life today. How insane is that? We’ll see if it sticks because I’m not gonna lie — I don’t think I’m through the proverbial woods entirely. Or at all. But, as it is with my alcoholism, one day at a time. Right? Right?!?

I don’t know.

I don’t know.

But I don’t think I can write that story anymore. It was probably not going to end well anyway.

Photo by Masha Raymers on