Paralysed in the South American jungle waiting to be eaten by cannibalistic ants

So, life’s been pretty shitty lately.  The project that was going to save my bacon vanished into thin air and then the back-up plan obviously figured that looked like jolly fun and promptly followed suit.  My body decided this would be a good time to throw a hissy fit so exercising, my usual happy place, was a no-go area.  The kitchen ceiling is leaking.  The dog bit me (again).  And, to cap it all, one of my eyebrows decided to emulate Denis Healey’s.

But, worst of all, I lost my spiritual mojo.  Gone. Vanished (probably following the money). Effed off.  And I found myself…bereft.  No, not bereft, because that implies a depth of feeling that I simply couldn’t feel.  Numb. Empty. Blank.  Not comfortably numb – not blissfully distracted; but numb in the way I imagine one might feel if one became paralysed from eating wild honey in the South American jungle and were awaiting death by cannibalistic ants.  Did any of you ever read that story, by Horacio Quiroga?  No, thought not.  J

You know me…I love to meditate, to hike into the universe, to shimmy my chakras, to walk through the woods and go, ‘Ooh, look!’ imagining oneness with leaf and stone, finding supposed meaning and synchronicity and surprise and wonder.  And, instead…meh.  Nada.  Just the numbness and that sense of waiting for ants.  An eternity of ants.

And the mind starts mocking…well, aren’t you the prize numpty?  So bloody arrogant with your fine spirituality and…for what?  You have burned your bridges with the mundane, the ordinary, the everyday and you are left with…nothing.  A cosmic joke?  Except there’s nobody playing it on you except yourself.  All your worldly ambitions seem…stupid, childish, pathetic.  And all your spiritual ambitions seem…boring.  There is just a creeping apathy that spreads over your will.  

I’ve been here before, of course.  But before I’d have been racing through that jungle, stumbling over lianas, flinching at giant spiders.  Or I’d have been violently sobbing into some innocent pond or flailing my puny fists at a bemused bystanding tree.  I’ve never been quite so numb. 

So, what do you do?  Well, I suppose everyone finds their own way but I have been doing…nothing really.  Just reading mindless books and watching mindless TV and drinking wine and eating toast mindlessly. And sleeping. Lots and lots of sleeping. And then more sleeping. Mindless sleeping.  And laughing my head off at really deeply silly things on the Internet.  And I have been avoiding people who would, I know, offer well-meaning solutions. And yes, there are tons of people in far worse situations. And yes, one can live moment by moment, in the Now, being terribly Zen about it but really…(and yes, of course, nothing is real except when one feels it) there are no easy pat solutions. No Battersea Dogs' Home for Lost Psyches. And that word…solution…made me think about chemistry which made me think about…well, Breaking Bad actually…(and isn’t that a bleakly mesmerising series?) but then it made me think about alchemy and it occurred to me that one could - at a push - think of this state as a kind of fermentation. 

And if it is fermentation (and not just a common or garden state of depression brought on by being a washed up fifty-something with a sagging jawline) then the next stage should be sublimation, followed by radiation.  Well…beam me up, Scottie. 

Just more mind games probably but still...What else can you do, right?  

Btw, I'm still sort of fermenting (thank you kindly) so any suggestions for good mindless (as opposed to bad mindless -  you get the distinction, right?) TV series or movies or books are welcomed.  Along with any funny mindless Internet thingies...

Oh, and if you're wondering...yes, of course a fermenting fifty-something woman can still be a holistic hero! For pity's sake (if nothing else) - do vote for me...see right for the voting button thingy.