Sunday, September 11, 2016

From The Far Side...of the glass. Anxiety

One important source shedding light on anxiety: Google. As reported by economist Seth Stephens-Davidowitz, searches for anxiety have doubled in the past eight years. Certain terms are typed more often: ‘anxiety at night’ is skyrocketing, while ‘anxiety in the morning’ is also on the rise.
Most interesting about Stephens-Davidowitz’s reporting is that heavily reported items—major terrorism attacks; whatever Donald Trump is barking at—do not increase searches. Obviously Google is just one source, and not everyone seeks help online. But Google offers critical insights into social functioning. What the data reveals is fascinating...

Interestingly, memory plays an important role in both addiction and anxiety disorder. With addiction, positive reinforcement creates an insatiable urge to revisit the experience. An addict’s aggressive nature partly depends on recalling the feeling of the experience. Soon this spirals into negative reinforcement, where a potential inability to return to that state keeps the user focused not on pleasure, but fear of withdrawal.
This is why panic attacks are a withdrawal symptom. If the compulsion to use is unrewarded, an overwhelming sense of dread kicks in. While this insatiable craving is not exclusive to drugs—food and sex are also powerful motivators—drug addiction is perhaps the most damaging.


Derek Beres is working on his new book, Whole Motion: Training Your Brain and Body For Optimal Health (Carrel/Skyhorse, Spring 2017). He is based in Los Angeles. Stay in touch on Facebook and Twitter.  A good one to follow...Doc

Reflections From The Past...

----My Grandpa, John (Jean) Lemoine.

Poppa John and Momma John lived just across the bayou from us. Most of the time the bayou was full of water, but my Poppa solved that problem by building a footbridge across it. A big willow tree was next to the lil bridge. Poppa came home one day with a long piece of tow boat rope that he found on the river bank. We tied it to a big limb in the willow and played Tarzan with it, standing on the bridge, giving the Tarzan yell, then swinging on the rope out over the water. We had very little, but we were proud.

Poppa John had a milk cow. She never had a name, so we called her "milk cow". Seemed like it was ok with her, cause bout the only thing she ever said about it was "moooooo". (:-).

Poppa John milked that ole cow every afternoon, and on his way to the barn he would hit the milk dipper against the milk bucket, his signal to me it was time for me to get over there.

The old barn where "milk cow" lived was a scary place to a sprouting tadpole like me, and little did I know that a monster named "JudeBa" lived there too.

On our way back to the house with the milk Poppa John always had a sip or two of fresh warm milk left in the milk dipper. He would look around to see if Momma was not around, then give it to me to drink. I found out why one day, when Momma saw him give me the dipper, and did she fuss him or what. She told him the raw milk was gonna make me sick and kill me, but hey, even though I feel dead I am still kickin.

I have to admit, when I was little, I was bad.

 One day, a new resident moved into the ole barn, his name was "JudeBa". While Poppa John sat in his rocker on the back porch, JudeBa would come a crawling out of the barn on his all fours, moaning and groaning, then stand up, a big long black coat from his chin to his feet, big wide brimmed hat, not even a hint of his face could be seen. That's all it took to hightail it back over the bridge and back home while Poppa John laughed. This happened quite often, and every time it did, Momma John was nowhere to be seen.

Life was good living next to your Grandparents. When Christmas time rolled around Poppa John would load us up in his ole car and take us down the road to Mr. Duke Rogers store in MaCrea and buy us Christmas candy, moon pies,  stage planks, and firecrackers. While he was there he would get some "Joe Lewis sausage" and "forceted meat" for Momma John to cook. We ate a lot of "forceted meat" as kids, know what it is ? (:-). He never left Mr. Dukes without a half gallon of banana flavored Borden ice cream in the round cardboard container either.

Once we grew up a bit and the bad in us seemed to water down, ole JudeBa moved on.

Momma John took down sick and left this life many years before Poppa John, then before we knew it Poppa John's work here being finished,  he went to meet Momma John in that better place.

Their old house and barn, "milk cow",  the lil bridge Poppa built, the willow tree, Momma and Poppa, their house, everything they built, all faded away into the past, but me and mine still live here, the bayou is still there too, and sometimes while I sit alone on my swing in late afternoon, I can still hear Poppa John hitting the milk dipper against the milk pail, telling me it's time to milk the cow.

Hey Poppa John, you are a handsome man Sir, and I am so very proud to have your communian/confirmation candle, and one day very soon I will post a pic of it for the whole world to see.

Tell Great Great Grandpa Marcelin hello, never had the pleasure of meeting him, nor Great Great Grandma, no pictures of them, but i have his diary, and had he not survived the war, I would not be sitting here tonight, telling the world about a milk cow named "milk cow", a "JudeBa", lost bread, and peanut butter with syrup, mixed up in a bowl, waiting in the ice box for someone to eat, because it's "good for you, get you some",,,,,,,,,,,,,,just like family history.

May you and Momma John rest in peace, never to be forgotten.

--- This post is not the end, but the beginning instead.----'nuff said, for now.

Michael Gautreaux, Sr.



Stopped To Ponder...Silence



“There are many fine things which we cannot say if we have to shout,” Henry David Thoreau observed in contemplating how silence ennobles speech. A year earlier, he had written in his journal: “I wish to hear the silence of the night, for the silence is something positive and to be heard.” It’s a sentiment of almost unbearable bittersweetness today, a century and a half later, as we find ourselves immersed in a culture that increasingly mistakes loudness for authority, vociferousness for voice, screaming for substance. We seem to have forgotten what Susan Sontag reminded us half a century ago — that “silence remains, inescapably, a form of speech,” that it has its own aesthetic, and that learning to wield it is among the great arts of living.

Of the nine kinds of silence that Sontag’s contemporary and friend Paul Goodman outlined, “the fertile silence of awareness, pasturing the soul” is the kind we seem to have most hastily forsaken — and yet it is also the one we most urgently need if we are to reclaim the aesthetic of silence in the art of living.

From The Study...a conversation about possibilities


We all carry in our heads a model of reality put there by tradition,
training, and customs. When the events of life and the behavior of
persons around us conform to this model, we are at peace; and when
they don't conform, we feel upset. Thus, what in truth upsets us is not
those persons or those events, but the model of reality we carry with us...Doc

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