Humility’s gentle grace

My life—until recent years—mimics a pendulum’s widening arc of extremity, hinting only the slightest hesitation as the center oscillates past quiet with confounding predictability.

Recognizing prior patterns of hollow value does not magically charm foibles into fables, and perception alone only summons the rigid reward of hardened belief. Authentic humility’s hushed wisdom is what opens the door.

Tutoring conviction elicits the mind-as-tool prison, lending it unbalanced weight while ignoring the heart’s treasure of softening judgment. Humility’s charity balances both, vanquishing neither.

The metaphor is incomplete, as are all portraits of the soul, an entity aching to be seen, patiently awaiting the pendulum to swing toward humility’s gentle grace.

Part Three: Parkinson’s helped resuscitate my soul.

“The Lost Intruder, the Search for a Missing Navy Jet” is largely about shedding old identities, which allowed me to create fresh characteristics and behaviors based on who I wanted to be. Wiping my identity slate clean was daunting. But merely existing without the foundation of an internalized self-portrait, as I did for some time after Parkinson’s Deep Brain Stimulation surgery, was profoundly disturbing, especially while trying to avoid being defined by the outside world.

Working through the emptiness, I experienced honest, unfiltered emotions for the first time in decades. Not since childhood had I felt such stinging gut reactions, real-time feedback that inspired serious reflection on what was important in life.

The solitary time spent on the water combing the ocean bottom encouraged introspection, and with my mind temporarily free of a lifetime of knowledge, logic, and reason, a pair of feelings filled the void: kindness and love. It became evident to me that nothing else mattered, that all man’s rantings and ravings served as distractions from our true nature. I didn’t choose a new identity; it chose me.

Science and technology, man’s tools of understanding, can answer complicated, practical questions, but only human insight—a soulful exploration of the essence of things—can shed light on why we exist and suggest how we might act to realize happiness. To disregard one as trivial is to risk losing the whole point of life.

I have no answers. I do, however, acknowledge my feelings as the most essential part of me, and kindness and love make me feel good. And after all, isn’t that what we are ultimately striving for as we embark on mindless quests for power, money, and fame? To simply feel good about ourselves?

#peterhuntbooks #thelostintruder #livingwithparkinson’s #dbssurgery

Part Two: When even coffee turns—Parkinson’s sneaky demons.

The reconstitution of Parkinson’s Disease (PD) symptoms after Deep Brain Stimulation (DBS) surgery is slow, but the path well-worn from previous travel. My single prescription medication, Rytary, is a Levodopa-based drug like the Sinemet that had grown clumsy in 2014 due to the large doses required. Levodopa is essentially artificial Dopamine, the neurotransmitter that goes missing in a Parkinson’s patient.

I carefully time my dose of Rytari at five intervals daily. The goal is to keep the body functioning in the Levodopa “sweet spot,” bracketed between the fluid, writhing of dyskinesia associated with too much Levodopa, and dystonia’s angry spasms and foot-dragging shuffle. Levodopa loses efficacy over time, however, requiring ever higher doses, narrowing the space of calm until it is eventually gone. DBS temporarily widens the sweet spot, but for how long is anybody’s guess.

Fatigue, caused by the triumvirate of insomnia, the disease itself, and Rytari, factors into every aspect of daily life, and any lengthy task risks ambush by a debilitating sleep attack. Coffee unpredictably either energizes my body (normal reaction) or heightens the sleep attack’s intensity (opposite of normal). Still, I tempt fate’s caffeinated roulette wheel daily; screw it, I like coffee.

After 13 years of living with PD, other symptoms recede into the shifting background clutter of routine: a propensity to choke when eating or drinking, rigid, slow movements, loss of dexterity, joint pain, and others. There is a great deal of time for reflection, meditation, and hanging out with the dogs, but the loss of energy leads to apathy, which can result in exhausted boredom.

No alcohol, healthy eating, lots of exercise, and contact with nature provide the raw materials to cope with recurrent depression. Careful contemplation helps define the underlying reason for despair’s crude urges, allowing them to be at least partially released. I choose to avoid the pitfall of obsessing for a “cure,” to either depression or Parkinson’s, and instead live to learn from them.

There are natural pains in life that are meant to be with us, unmasked by alcohol or other drugs. Melancholy, that delightful sadness of marveling at life’s unfiltered authenticity, is perhaps one of them. The contrast heightens my overall happiness and sense of well-being: the payback is worth it.

#peterhuntbooks #thelostintruder #livingwithparkinson’sdisease #dbs #parkinson’sanddepression