Asthma and arrogance

Of the two, I suppose arrogance is the most dangerous. Take tonight, for instance.

Before going to bed, I spent half an hour grappling with a seemingly insane comment to my blog, where the reader has read something I could not possibly intend to write.  I got irritated, which is good in the sense that it shows me that there is something in myself that needs to be pulled out into the Light. But it is bad in the sense that it triggered an asthma attack.  Albeit a small one so far.  Still, the “good” old tightness in the chest and the characteristic wheezing toward the end of the out breath  were there, so it was definitely an attack.

As late as in the 1950es, asthma was seen as a psychosomatic illness. That is to say, it was thought to be caused by factors in the mind only, or predominantly. The pendulum has swung far to the opposite side now:  It is seen as a mechanical reaction from the body to allergens.  Since the wheezing was not getting better, I got out of bed again and went downstairs to check on the Internet.  I should probably not have done that, since all the asthma sites were filled with pure scaremongering:  If you get an asthma attack, you must immediately inhale drugs or you will die, pretty much that was the impression I got. I know that for some people this is literally true, but we did not have inhalators when I had childhood asthma.  I took some tablets (which tasted so bad that I had to take them with jam even though my life presumably depended on it), but mostly I breathed over steaming water for a long time until the attacks were over.

Anyway, it was a great opportunity for self-reflection.  My first impulse during the doctor visit had been to reject drugs completely, since I could simply avoid triggering an attack and continue living my comfortable life.  So in response to this, God or my subconscious or some such arranged for this attack to teach me that no, I cannot necessarily control all things that happen to me.  Behind my seemingly noble wish to live a naturally healthy life lay an arrogance in the form of conviction that I could simply decide and it would be so.

When I lay in my bed listening to my wheezing breath, I thought that perhaps I should have gone to the drugstore today after all with my prescription.  Oh well. I did not do that. In fact I had planned to not do that until I had talked to my regular doctor and got a second opinion. I know that he is a big fan of exercise as the solution to all health problems except perhaps appendicitis and such.

Now, barring divine intervention of the more direct kind, I think it is pretty clear that there is a mental component to some asthmas after all, including mine.  But then again there is to pretty much everything:  For instance, men are far more likely to break their legs during the first months after a divorce.  I assume they become careless.

Ryuho Okawa believes that a great majority of health problems come from “negative spiritual influences”, basically possession or lighter forms of the same by the dead people in hell.  That is a somewhat extremely religious way of looking at it, but that the complexes in our minds can influence our health is beyond doubt.   I don’t think these complexes actually are the souls of the damned, but I believe they are of the same nature.  The kind of thoughts that dwell in these dark cellars of the mind – arrogance and irritation to take the flavor of the day – are such that leads a human to a state of spiritual suffering unless we admit them and judge them.  Whether that suffering continues after death is a matter of faith, but I don’t intend to test that out. Rather, I will clean out these thoughts and feelings now while I see them.

So I am glad this came along, but I would have been even happier if it had not been necessary.

Specialist visit

An unexpected outcome indeed.

Today I dutifully went to the ear – nose – throat specialist my main doctor had referred me to. (Yes, in Norway they really are called “ear – nose – throat” specialists.  I don’t know what the corresponding specialists are called in English. You tell me.)

First we talked a bit about the symptoms, when they started, and what situations they arise. Then, after a couple minutes, the doctor jumps to the conclusion.  He has observed me speaking, and I am doing it wrong.  I speak too much on the last part of the breath; I don’t bring enough air through my vocal cords for the amount of sound I wish to make, so I have to use more effort in my throat to actually create the necessary sound. The problem is either that I have bad habits, or my lungs are not working as they should. Just to be sure, he looks quickly in my ear, nose and throat.  My vocal cords are a bit red, but there are no irregularities.  This is not his problem.

But as it happens, the neighboring office has a lung specialist, and she is willing to see me right away.  She writes a list of numbers on my arm with a ballpoint pen, adds a drop of liquid near each number, and pricks a small hole in my skin inside the drop.  Then she conducts an interview about my family history of allergies and asthma, which from the outset is her main suspect.  (Even though at this time she is not aware of my childhood asthma.) I also have to blow through some measuring tube that records my lung function.  She is not impressed.  I have to do this 3 times, while she tries to get me to just keep blowing.  But I already blow my lungs so empty I am afraid of not being able to breathe again.

My lungs function on 78% of the capacity expected by my age, gender, height and weight. This is not good.  (Really?  Almost 80% is not good?  There must be pretty low expectations then.  Most people make a good living with less than 78% of my brainpower, so you’d think I’d be able to earn my bread with 78% of their lung power, especially in an office job.)

The interview has pretty much concluded it already, but then the allergy tests all turn out negative.  I have no problem with any of the normal Norwegian pollen, dust mites, dogs or cats.  (I also seem to be more or less immune to needle pricks, as at first I was not sure whether she had actually pierced the skin.  My lack of reaction caused her to cut deeper in the final drops, something I can see now hours later. But still no allergy.)

What I have is exercise asthma.  (It seems to be called “exercise induced asthma” in English, if Google is not misleading me.)  It is evidently quite common, especially in people who had childhood asthma and grew out of it, like I did.  The unusual thing is that it is in such a “pure” form, without an obvious allergy component.

I already knew that I had exercise asthma, but since I am not doing sports, it has not bothered me.  I don’t need to have an athletic body since I am not doing manual labor or, more likely in this age, soliciting sexual intercourse.  My weight is already ideal (or was, before it started going down again.)  It never occurred to me that I would need to be near the optimal lung function for my age in order to answer telephones.

But never despair, Big Pharma is here to help you!  The lung specialist (shouldn’t that be “bronchies – lung – diaphragm” to fit the pattern?) was disturbingly quick to write prescription for two types of inhaled medication, one to take in case of symptoms, and one to take anyway, morning and evening. They both contain some kind of powder to inhale.  That cannot possibly be a good thing, inhaling powder.  Who came up with that in the first place?

The thing is, I did inhale one of those things after the first blow test, and after a while I did a second test, which showed no change.  And she still wanted – insisted, really – to prescribe both of them.  I felt as if I was sitting in front of not a doctor but a salesperson from Big Pharma.  The one I should take every day anyway (for the rest of my working career, I suppose) was a brand new product which could not possibly have side effects.  Isn’t that what they always say, until users die like flies and someone finally manages to launch an investigation that shows that they knew this from the start but it paid so well, they are still in the black even after losing in court?  That said, when Vioxx (the pain med) was withdrawn, I wished I had stocked up on it.  Of course, I don’t need that kind of low-level pain meds anymore now that I use meditation and brainwave entrainment.  For some reason, though, meditation has not improved my lung function.  Something must be done about that.

But what to do?  The obvious answer is to exercise more.  It should be possible to get closer to the trigger level (and thus breathe more deeply) without actually going far enough to trigger an attack.  This should improve lung capacity.  Perhaps I’ll do that starting tomorrow…

No, seriously, I did start exercising today (then again I do that every day after work, just a little) and found that my pulse was once again around 20 beats higher than normal.  Perhaps I am running an infection in the background, in which case the test today may not be accurate, at least if it is a respiratory infection.  Or perhaps this is a reaction to the powder I inhaled, or the extreme exhalation tests.  They really felt like an asthma attack at the very end there, when I had no air and could not breathe out more, and they did cause me to start coughing.  I kept coughing up mucus for a while after I returned to the city.  Whether that is good or bad, I cannot say, but I felt pretty much like I do in the hours after a light asthma attack.  (I have had severe attacks in my childhood.  The ones I have had from training have not been that bad, but then again I stopped immediately when I recognized them.)

I suppose my immune system may even have been mobilized from multiple breaks of the skin. Although they just look like small red dots, it is not something I experience every day.  If I were in charge of the immune system, I would probably ramp it up too after a day like today! So I exercised less strenuously than I had planned, and only for about 40 minutes.

More dreams

Tonight I actually did dream about Hell, but only in the most tangential manner. I dreamed that I was in class, college or at least the final year of high school judging from the age of my fellow students (I did not think of it while the dream lasted, so I don’t know for sure.)  Our teacher asked us if we knew what “helvete” meant. (That is really the Norwegian word for Hell, and the whole dream was in Norwegian. The word means the “realm of Hel” or “punishment of Hel”, Hel being the Norse goddess of the boring dead, those who die by sickness or old age rather than in war.  Corresponds largely to Greek Hades.)  I explained the etymology of the word, but in the dream my communications skills were insufficient: The teacher asked the class again, even though I had already answered his question.  The students then came up with various theories, and soon several people were talking at once.  The teacher looked like a liberal, by the way. I don’t think anyone considered that he might be asking for the classical definition of Hell as taught by several of the world’s great religions.

I had several other dreams this night, because I slept in.  The first of them was about the death of someone I have known quite well in waking life. It was kind of sad but dignified. I will not give any details of this because this would give away who it was.

There were a couple more dreams, but they were lost in the hour of delta brainwave entrainment that followed.  They seemed less poignant anyway.

Land of mass confusion

Picture from the so-called “real” world today.  Not a bad place, I guess. At least for me.

This morning I woke up before 7.  I am not built to get up at this time, but that’s what happens when I go to bed before midnight. I woke up from a dream, and in the interest of checking on the status of my soul, I tried to remember it.  I only got the last part though:

Together with a female friend, I went into a shop where I hoped to get a job, as they were looking for a new employee and I felt that I might be qualified. However, the woman in charge rejected me out of hand, because I owed them money for stuff I had bought there and not paid.  She immediately produced a paper detailing the goods and the amount.  I had no memory of this, but started to explain that I had not intended to cheat them and of course I would pay it at once.  Then I looked at the amount and did a doubletake.  It was way too high, thousands of dollars, and when I looked at the specification, there were several TVs.  I haven’t had a TV in my lifetime.  In fact, it was all consumer electronics, and the shop was a clothes shop for men. For good measure, there was no name anywhere on the paper.  It had nothing to do with me at all.

At that point, I realized that I had not been rejected for the job – I had disqualified myself.  It was a test:  If I was honest enough for the job, I would immediately have realized that it could not possibly be true under any circumstances, and would not have started to think of excuses or reasons, I would just simply have stated that it could not possibly be true.  Because I had reacted differently, they knew that I was the kind of person who had problems with money, and they could not safely hire a person like that.

By the time this all sank in, I was already awake.

So yeah, still not Heaven I guess.  Although I suppose the Hell of Rejected Job Seekers is rather a pleasant stay compared to the Hells of classic lore with their pitchfork-equipped demons and stuff like that. Still probably depressing if you stay there long – I have a good friend who is depressed and going through that experience in real life now, and I remember collecting a couple hundred rejections myself when I was young.  It wasn’t particularly pleasant in itself, but not a Hell in any meaningful sense.  At least not in Norway, and at least not to me.

The world of dreams reminds me again of the expression “Land of Mass Confusion”, which I heard in Chris de Burgh’s When I think of you, the song where he portrays an infatuated, inexperienced and quite possibly insane (or at least mentally challenged) person in love.  Of course, it is hard enough for normal people to tell infatuation and insanity apart. And in a sense, each of us is also insane every night, unless your dreams are enormously more boring than mine.

Huston Smith is also convinced that our dreams take place in a real but different plane of existence.  Our subtle (“energy”) body parts way with the gross (physical) body and goes on to have its own adventures in its home realm.  Of course I don’t mean energy in the scientific sense, but the word “energy” has been used in the other sense long before modern science.  So let us not mix these up.

Anyway, that is just one way of seeing it.  Biologically, dreams are caused by a bioelectric storm in a small part of the limbic system. As it spreads outward from there, it stirs up all kinds of activity, first in the instinctual deep parts of the brain which we share more or less with reptiles and birds, then with the emotional brain that is approximately like that of our furry friends, and finally all the way to the “big brain”, the neocortex that has our personal memories and tendencies stored.  This is also true.  But this is like looking at how electricity moves through a computer, and make conclusions from this about the nature of Windows or iTunes.  The software is not really part of the computer, and the mind is not really part of the brain, even though each of them would be pretty useless to us without their hardware.

Huston Smith points out that the impact of dreams is largely their intensity, as each dream is the first.  There is no habituation, we experience everything as if for the first time.  Even when a dream repeats, we usually don’t notice until afterwards. Inside the dream, it is still new, whether it be pleasure or terror. They take us unaware, and that is their strength. Their weakness is that they are disconnected, fragmented, unmoored.  They take us away to a land of mass confusion, and we don’t know what to say when they are there.  Like infatuation or insanity.

The same is my impression of childhood, from my memory of it. It was a time of mass confusion, but also of mass novelty.  I am probably still very childish for someone my age, but it is not as if each day is filled with confusion anymore.  But when I look around, I see confused people everywhere. Mostly the young, of course, but not only them.  Some of my best friends are confused on a regular basis. I wish I could do something about it.  I wish I could help them wake up.  But I probably need some more waking up myself first.  “The obscurely spoken is the obscurely thought” after all.

Perhaps I can say something more systematic tomorrow. Then again, that was what I thought today too.

Private chaffeur

Since this is slice of life anyway, have another almost-spring picture. Yes, those white points are more spring flowers.

On my way home from work, I became so immersed in reading Tales of Wonder, Huston Smith’s autobiography, that I did not notice that the bus took a different route that did not pass my home.  This was a mistake on the part of the driver, but if I had been watching, I could still have told him as soon as we started down the wrong road, and he would have found a place to turn around.  As it was, neither of us noticed until a while later, and it so happened that I was the only passenger that was to leave on that stretch.  (The roads come together again before the town of Mandal where the bus has its final destination.)

The bus driver promised to drive me home after we reached the town, and he was good as his word.  So the bus took an extra trip just for me!  I joked that I could now boast to have my own private chaffeur, and we were both without resentment for what had happened, so it is all good.  It is not like I have hungry kids waiting at home either.

The fire further west in the province is many days away from here and may already be more or less under control. We cannot even smell the smoke.

It’s been a long week and I’m going to bed early.  One can always hope this becomes a habit. ^_^

A (weight) loser is I!

I know, I am not expecting much sympathy for this one.

I’ve lost another pound. I mean, pounds come and go, but I was a pound deeper into the territory I have not been since I recovered from 2005. A new minimum for the last few years, in other words.

Losing weight is usually a cause for celebration in the western world (and then some) these days, and I think this says something profound about our civilization. Perhaps I should expound on that, given the opportunity. But I don’t feel like it today. Just like last time I wrote on this topic (on April 15), I have done nothing to earn this.  I have eaten as much as I dared without getting sick.  I have not exercised more than before.  I have not changed my diet noticeably since before I moved. I have not started or stopped taking any drugs. To the best of my knowledge, the only difference is that I live in a slightly different house and have a somewhat longer commute.

I am aware that involuntary weight loss can be a symptom of very severe illnesses, but I cannot put my finger on anything else that would hint in that direction.  So for now, all I can do is wait and hope that this will be for the good.  Perhaps it is just my inner self that is manifesting in the physical world… if so, I will probably become very skinny indeed, for there is probably not (yet?) all that much in there. Still, I find that inner place more interesting as time passes.  This may be a good thing, given the five certainties that many Buddhist monks recite daily:

It is certain that I will lose my youth.
It is certain that I will lose my health.
It is certain that I will lose those I love.
It is certain that I will lose all things in this world.
It is certain that I will lose my life.
All this simply by virtue of being human.

Buddhism is such a cheerful religion, don’t you think? ^_^ It is true, though. All things that are made of parts will come apart.  This includes my body, but I am in no hurry to experience it personally. I am perfectly willing to take that on faith as long as possible! But is it best to lose everything in one clean stroke when the last certainty comes true… or is it perhaps better to lose it one pound at a time?

Almost spring now!

Meanwhile, back on Earth: Spring is coming to Riverview, but slowly.  This picture was also taken on May 1. As you can see, the trees are in no hurry to put on their green dress, but at least the grass has begun to grow a little.

There is no deeper meaning to this, except perhaps “believe in the coming Age of the Sun.” That is probably no great encouragement to those who live in the south and are already running their air condition.  But for us up here, it is a time of great beauty and hope. Although Norway is mostly a post-Christian country now, one of our national hymns is still popular in May. It  says, quickly translated: “These are beautiful times, when spring comes here in the North, and once again, like a miracle, new life grows from death.” Even though most Norwegians may intellectually reject the tale of the Resurrection, emotionally it still makes deep sense, especially to us who live in the countryside. For each spring is, if not a resurrection, then certainly a rebirth of the land’s life. And it strikes a deep chord in our hearts.

Attachment and love songs

Picture from last summer.  It’s the same sun, though.

Ryuho Okawa repeatedly writes about the danger of attachment. (Of the mind, not in e-mail. Perhaps I should write about that one day…)

Lately I have noticed that I am starting to look forward to reading his books in the morning. (Commute is my primary reading time.) So, starting last Friday, I am switching to Huston Smith for a while. I have had his autobiography for weeks or more now without getting started on it.

After I wrote this, the voices in my head started playing a song by Chris de Burgh, that starts like this:
“There is something on my mind
And I’m losing concentration…”

Checking. It is When I think of you from the album Quiet Revolution. It is basically a love song on behalf of the mentally challenged or extremely inexperienced. Relax, I don’t love Okawa that way! But the song is indeed a hilarious example of attachment. I must commend my invisible friend subconscious for excellent taste in entertainment. Of course, it is roughly the same taste as me, since it is me in a sense. Or the other way around.  Anyway, you can listen to it on YouTube or from my record collection while thinking “this is your brain on attachments”. In that perspective it is quite enlightening.

For contrast, the same CD has a much more mature love song, which is a pretty good example of  “love that gives”.  Love that gives is not an attachment. In the Greek Bible, there were 3 words for love, in Japanese there are two, so it is a local and temporary problem that we are mixing up our loves.  If we think of them as “love that gives” vs “love that takes”, it is pretty easy to tell them apart.  If you listen to it on YouTube or from my record collection while thinking “this is your brain on real love”, it should make sense.

And if you’re crying inside, remember that I will be here;
and like the same sun that’s rising on the valley with the dawn
I will walk with your shadow and keep you warm;
and like the same moon that’s shining through my window here tonight
I will watch in your darkness and bring you safely to the morning light.

See how the focus has shifted from “me, me, me” to “you”.  In the first song, it is the “I” who is on the receiving end, who is the subject and the center of attention.  But in the second song, the “I” has become an object, or more exactly a servant, a source of love, hope, strength and courage. And even a love that transcends distance and time itself.  This is what we seek to become.  Light willing.

Hectic game calms the heart

In the foreground Itlandsen the Peacebringer.  Does playing a superhero improve your physical body?  My tentative experience so far is, yes, slightly. This seems unlikely, but what is the alternative?

It happened again. I came home from work and almost immediately hopped on the exercise bike. I stopped after a few minutes though, because my pulse was almost 20 beats above my norm for the warm-up. This is usually a sign that the body is busy fighting an infection, although it also happens the day after a particularly hard exercise or physical work.

So I got off the bike and also cancelled the long walk I was planning afterwards. I made a light dinner, read and wrote a little, and logged on City of Heroes, the superheroic online multiplayer game. I logged on with my Peacebringer character, as is good and proper, since this is an archetype whose powers are all based on light.  ^_^ It is also very team-friendly. My character can transform into a giant space lobster that can draw enemy fire away from more vulnerable team mates. I joined a team with 4 other random players, we spent two hours saving the imaginary city from imaginary evil cyborgs.

After this I checked my pulse again, and it was back to normal. Now, doing this task force is pretty hectic, since I am not responsible only for myself so I cannot take breaks or slow down. Despite this, my body had somehow regenerated during the evening. OK, perhaps it was the dinner rather than the game, but that is not much more credible. (I was not so hungry as to be anxious or anything, I am not really prone to hunger weakness etc, I eat when my stomach gnaws or occasionally because I have good leftovers.) And this is the second time I notice this, although the first time I was duoing at a more relaxed pace. More testing is in order!

(Oh, and I spent a long time looking for the earlier entry about the same topic. I did not find it, but I read a whole lot of other interesting entries. Well, interesting to me. I sure have written a lot!)