The Sacred Becomes the Profane.

 

Sc/een.e from a Balcony 2-11-25 7:30am

The morning view ..... nonthreatening calm as the morning commute begins 5 stories down. Uneventful .... moving on ....

Moral Dilemma and Retirement 

Today is the day I formally retire from my position as senior psychotherapist with the CWC, after 6 months ago experiencing  rapid onset of neuropathic deterioration resulting in gout, making it difficult to ambulate safely and without pain. I have been living with the constant companion of neuropathy since 2010 when I began to notice extreme changes in the normal operations of my flesh suit. I don't focus on the pain, but I do know it's there, ever reminding me.

So when this most recent flare up occurred, at a level previously unmatched, I was order tests by my PCP, and after being tested, it was determined that I now have full blown gout, most strongly in my right foot. Wonderful! Welcome to the world of aging, decapacitation and disability. Yeah I think I just made up a word to describe the process that is occurring in my particular brand of physical decline. 

Be that as it may, in light of, and in tandem with the current obliteration of the universe as we 'know' it, (each in our own way, yet with a common view of reality -- ????), had I not made the decision 6 months ago to not renew my license and formally retire, I honestly attest to my belief that it would be necessary to retire if only on matters of principle alone.

When I trained to become aligned with the mission of the American Counseling Association's ethical code, I felt relieved of previous internal crises of conscience that had been programmed as a result of being raised in a tribe of extreme conservative believers, taking cues from the Roman Catholic playbook on matters of faith and morals.

Becoming enlighted through education and exposure to the methods of science for determining fact from fiction, I was finally able to deconstruct the 'me' that had been forged in the crucible of shame, and reconstruct a 'me' that was more truly aligned with scientific priniciples .... i.e. 'truth'. Enter the ACA Code of Ethics. What a relief, I no longer had to wrestle with religious values, I could now replace these a simple set of humanistic values and ethics that are often though of as humanistic, though they could also be characterized as derivative of the "Golden Rule". I have no issue with that .... It was definitely a load off to be free of the internal stress,  to have a set of clear decisive guidelines/recommendations for managing human relationships, which preserved the balance of power between self and other in the I/Thou dyad embedded in every relationship, with things both animate and inanimate. 

These professional values provide a conceptual basis for the ethical principles enumerated below. These principles are the foundation for ethical behavior and decision making. The fundamental principles of professional ethical behavior are

• autonomy, or fostering the right to control the direction of one’s life;

• nonmaleficence, or avoiding actions that cause harm;

• beneficence, or working for the good of the individual and society by promoting mental health and well-being;

• justice, or treating individuals equitably and fostering fairness and equality;

• fidelity, or honoring commitments and keeping promises, including fulfilling one’s responsibilities of trust in

professional relationships; and

• veracity, or dealing truthfully with individuals with whom counselors come into professional contact.

 As I head into the meeting later on in the day where I will be honored for my services to the CWC, I carry with me a sense of grief and loss of an identity that is no longer deemed valid by the current political agenda of obliteration, shock and awe, as it levies it destruction on everything that was once (and still is) considered sacred, beyond religion....... what was sacred has now been deemed profane in the eyes of the government. 

Even if I were not physically disadvantaged, I would have to question my ability to be completely unbiased as I worked with others who come to the couch seeking support with managing themselves amidst the pressures of their own disintegrating psychic structure, facing an existential crisis not yet fully understood. Yes, retirement is the best choice to address my physical decline, and my lack of ability to work within the aegis of these ethics  that I have adopted as my moral code. 

As I move on I ask myself "Who am I?"; I may not have the full understanding of that question, but in writing these journals, I can, in review, observe patterns of choice and behaviors that may give hints of clues to the motivational thrust behind them. 

Finally, for your enjoyment:

Elon and F-elon

On the continuing inner game of drama unfolding now

 

Sc/een.e from a Balcony 2-10th -25 7:30am

Nothing to see here...... drab and slightly overcast morning. Meh ....  

Feeling Unmoored: what's real? what's ever been real?

I'm just gonna let my mind ramble here ...

In light of the confluence of my life stage shift, co-mingled with the annihilation of my historic psyche narrative  relative to the current political upheavals, I am really feeling the longitudinal impact of not only losing a role, an identity,  in retirement, but also sensing the obliteration of everything that was rooted in my psyche which provided a groundwork for building a solid sense of who I am and who I have been throughout my life trajectory. 

What any of it real? and  how have I played small in taking 'the easier softer way'? Thinking a bit more deeply, I wonder how things could have gone differently. One major change might have been to choose not to have bought in to the heteronormative pair  bonding  directive embedded in the then socio-religious family culture that bore and bred me. 

The interesting thing about this retrospective moment, is not so much about any regrets that might potentially be inovoking this excessive occupation with 'me', where I stand in the relinquishing of a life I had committed to when I stood at the altar and said "I do", when I really didn't, and knowing that, typing it out, and having it glaring back at me  from the page, leads me to eschew denial that my life would have played out quite differently had I followed my heart and not 'tied the knot' nearly 50 years ago.

What might have happened had I not spawned 3 children who became the sole meaning of my existence, not primarily out of a sense of accountability and responsibility (that too!), I remained committed to the consequences of my actions, blindly chosen though they were. 

Typing that offers a third person glimpse into the values that characterize who I am as a person, and truth be told, I don't give myself enough credit for the allegiance I've paid to my morals and values; very real human values, not ones fabricated by the enforced demands by some parental super power. It is the one thing that will follow me as I traversed the many many bridges that have  dotted the peaks and valleys of my life line, and realizing this dissolves any  doubt I have that my choices were wrong, and that I wasted my potential. It seems reasonable to conclude that when you're at the door of awareness that at this stage in my life my powers of capacity and ability are slowly, surely receding, and underscores the fact that the brain, while plastic, has its limits pertinent to its growth and expansion potential. 

It's hard to accept that I have a diminished level of power, and that is not something that can be reconstructed at this stage. Welcome to the world of the Serenity Prayer writ large: grant me serenity to ACCEPT things that can't be otherwise, COURAGE to change the changeable, and the WISDOM to know the difference. 

The nescient world of the unthought known beckons like a huge middle finger in the screaming silence of the void. 

Celebrating the memory of a matrix

 Sc/een.e from a Balcony 2-9-25 7:30am

life on repeat

It's that time of year when there's not much variety in early morning sky. It's comforting, whenever stepping out on the balcony this morning, to feel a lack of frigidity and welcomes an intrusive thought urging me to get out for a nice pleasant walk. 

Remembering Mother

Today, I celebrate the birth of my mother (r.i.p. Aug 6 2012).

Lois was  the second born of the same gender in a conservative family of 7, (four girls and a boy) who aligned with the Roman Catholic belief that birth control was immoral and unnatural. She spawned a brood of 12 in the first 13 years of marriage (only 8 survived), and each of her sisters seemed in competition to beat each other to the top of the 'who can have the most births' mountain. It was a tie with her third sister, though ultimately, both she and her sister, in addition to losing pregnancies, also lost a son who were well beyond the latency period. (r.i.p. brother Bill and cousin David).

Mom, seated, with sister Barb:
the winners of the race!

My mother was the inspiration of several of the songs I wrote in my early life.

    Loireschu ©1975 by Ron Schulz

Loireschu I can't believe what I am seeing, in silence you dance through your sorrow.

Living these years in a love so unfulfilling, and dreams for a brighter tomorrow.

In your voice I hear the song of my Lord, a voice I can't afford to ignore.

Loireschu, I can't believe what I am hearing, they've plundered your fountain of youth.

They have challenged your wisdom and scrutinized your glory, the bindings, once joined, now, are loose.

Eight eyewitnesses that don't give a damn, and I've watched your dreams turn to sand.

Loireschu I can recall when life was younger, when life was a mere feather bed.

Then my rose colored glasses got trampled in the scuffle, dark changes that passed through my head.

Still your hope remains a beacon in the night: a promise of the days dawning light.

In your voice I hear the song of my Lord, a voice I can't afford to ignore any more.

 Loireschu

 

Two other titles with allusions to the imprint mother made on my psyche are : 

Seasons of Your Soul © 1975

Roses for the springtime

she sacrificed her own and took his name

Promising to never love another more

Planting seeds in fertile seasons

was agreed would be reason

to keep love alive

to help prolong the family tribe

She bartered wealth for peace

according to that western bible's bribe

When the summer lures you

away into the arms of feeling proud

Unaware, this is where the past begins

Then in loving's vague endeavor

Summer loses you forever

to the charms

of a richer bounty's arms

Denying shelter in the safety of

that western bible's bribe

Fall-

the harvest is taken in

The cold winter wind begins to loom

while naked in the moon

bare trees are natures tombstones in

the seasons of your soul

Now the frozen river

skaters skim the surace while below

prisoners gaze through empty eyes of soorow

Campfires blaze, still bodies shiver

Hell is just a frozen river

and it will remain

till springtime comes around and then

She'll plant her seeds again according to

that western bible's bribe

and 

On This Ship ©1975

I remember when love was just a letter 

   And life was just a lesson to be learned

On this ship and this never-ending journey 

   On this never-ending sea where time's concerned

Building bridges would soon amount to nothing

   That middle-class association theme

Plagued my mind with it's misconcepted theories

   They never proved to be quite what they seemed

   But the Wind, She is my Savior

   And the Sun, She is my Guide

   And my Soul it magnifies their Glory

   Children without homes this world has grown

   Destined to sail their empty seas of time alone

He was lonely, a poor boy in trouble

   Who knew not how or why the sun should shine

She was simply a stronger individual

   Just a-lookin for someone to stand behind

I survived my parochial existence

   And all the fears induced upon my youth

Given orders but never explanation

   They thought I was was too young to know the truth 

   But the Wind, She is my Savior

   And the Sun, She is my Guide

   And my Soul it magnifies their Glory

   Children without homes this world has grown

   Destined to sail their empty seas of time alone

In my lifetime I've known a lot of people 

   They've put their faith in books and magazines

And their children they've raised them up in light of the

   Stories that they've seen on their TV's

As for me, well I hope for new direction 

   for everyone involved in life's parade

On this ship where we learn from all the errors 

   that the one's who sailed before us might have made

   Hey,  the Wind, She is my Savior

   And the Sun, She is my Guide

   And my Soul it magnifies their Glory

   Children without homes this world has grown

   Destined to sail their empty seas of time alone

Losing track of days .. how do people do it!??

 

Sc/een.e from a Balcony 2-8-25 8:00am & Drudgery

I'm actively losing tack of days; I've had to backtrack in my memory to remind myself how these 24 hour periods are linearly connected. It's both daunting and freeing.

On one hand there is relief, freedom from the drudgery of habitual behavior, but noticing a telescopic perspective embedded in 'freedom from drudgery’; makes we want to look a little deeper in he nature of the 'drudgery'.

Oxford defines drudgery as "hard menial or dull work". Looking at that I have to wonder to myself if 'drudgery' is a bit extreme, and in the wondering allow myself to become curious about the disaffection with 'shiny glittery things'. Like work for example. And how does sitting in a chair talking with people about their mental wellness constitute 'drudgery'? Truth be told, it's not the work, but my perception of how it holds me hostage in a prison of my own narrative.

What is that prison, pray tell?

It may feel like solitary confinement, and maybe that's the ticket? The associative inertia embedded in the prison of the life's frame. I've worked hard to pursue the dream of this particular 'prison' —- for years in fact. And now that I've tried it, I have decided it's too confining and has yielded a net result of 'drudgery'. Same thing happened in my previous 35 year career in music.

This is not new, it’s an age old attachment there —- and many people experience the situation where a passion becomes a demand, the love affair fades. But thinking more broadly, is this how all romances begin and end? In my song "Let's Not Talk About Love", I referenced this process as being a tongue in cheek nod to the stage frame of love (not only romantic but all cathected connections) and its envelop :begining to end.

"Let's Not Talk About Love  (©Ron Schulz 1985)

Let's talk about hearts and flowers

Let's talk about romantic hours

   spent in the dark

   lovers by heart

But let's not talk about love

Let's talk about your indecision

Let's talk about my tunnel vision

    My periscope eyes

    Will tell you no lies

But let's not talk about love.

     Let's not resort to vague expressions

     Of worn cliches and true confessions;

     Let's talk about a simple progression:

     Inspection to Affection to Connection to Defection

Let's talk about your inclination

To try to steer the conversation

     to rings and bells

     and organ swells

But let's not talk about love.

Before we cease communication

Just let me make one proclamation:

      "I had a great time--

       the pleasure was mine"

We didn't say a word about love"

And so all things end as the once began and we move on to the next shiny object that catches our attention and promises hope for another new, next revival of one's psychic state.

When next in the lineup of new, next revivals for me and my aging 72ish self???? That question is not only rhetorical, but also expects some recommendations from others who have faced this dilemma. How have others done 'it'. How have you graduated from the school of drudgery, retiring successfully FROM something TO something?????  

And you thought retire would be easy? think again ...... and again...... and again, and again etc.

More Harp Journal stuff:

I have been digging into my repertoire folder lately (since I've had the time.....) and revisited this lovely tone poem (as I like to think of it) Gymnopedie by Erik Satie and dedicated to my pal Franciose Severin across the pond. 

 

I'm currently working in the D Major folder and polished up Enya's Watermark recently, and currently tackling "Canon in D", which will soon be ready....... in about a month..... at a snail's pace....

Happiest of Anniversaries: Births of a Son and Brother (r.i.p.)

 Sc/een.e from a Balcony 2-7-25 7:30am

Another day of respite from the expected frigidity of Eastern weather. Today is clear and crisp, and quiet; it's also the very first Friday  post retirement.  I'm already losing track of days and times. It feels good on one hand, that on the other, it feels unmoored from anything continuous, constant and stable .

 Birthdays galore .....

Though I'm l'm losing track of days; upon waking  the first thing on my mind was this date: February 7th  

Brother Bill on graduation from high school 1969

FEBRUARY 7th

This was the date that my eldest brother(r.i.p. 1975) was born and my son Xian shares this birthdate. 

Xian is like his father, a musician. He, however,  is much much more. He's also the owner and Chef of the locally acclaimed Oak Hill Post, which began as a pop-up restaurant titled Menuette, which Chris opened with his partner Rebecca right before Covid began. They survived the pandemic and even opted up the restaurant at its height, making safe, socially distanced deliveries. 

Proud dad and son Thxgiving 2024

 Here is a picture of the crew taken last year, prior to the announcement that the restaurant would be closing as Chris shifts his interest toward other passions. 

THE PITTSBUGH CITY PAPER published a  paene to the restaurant's closing stating 

"Bottomline: Schulz and Nicholson ran a gourmet greasy spoon with the same kind of friendliness and efficiency as a fine dining establishment. I figured I would have many opportunities to make OHP my go-to nighttime destination.

Sadly, on Jan. 24, Schulz announced its permanent closure on social media.

“We knew that this business wouldn’t last forever,” he said. “After seven great years we have decided that the time to hang up our aprons is now. I understand that this may come as a shock, and some may lament the loss of a great restaurant. To me, though, this is not a time for sadness, but a time of celebration. Oak Hill Post was a huge success, and one of our greatest achievements in life. We are grateful that we were able to share it with you all.”