The Seclusion Muffle

The Seclusion Muffle By Diana Grippo I am looking at the squidly man with tentacles coming out of his sleeves and ink-black hair. He is evil, and the dark hair is just the beginning. He is shrouded in evil, and I need to save him. Some of the dark people need saving and the light needs to stream in and scream in and redeem him. The voices have told me that I need to jump into the bushes when I see the headlights coming. Even though light is good, the headlights are minus good. If I keep walking when the darkness comes and I don’t stop, this is good for the shrouded people, because they know not of the light brigade. I am part of the light brigade and it’s unfortunate that others of the earth don’t understand that I am here to help. Next to the squidly man is a barren heap of flesh who is so far gone, it is doubtful even I can help him. They both have the same sweatshirt with the same three letters, and since I was at UCLA in the other life, I know which fraternity they are in. This is powerfake, and I know they are of the darkness even though the world has decided they are golden boys. The barren heap says to me, “Hey, blondie, what a cute little baglady you are.” He obviously has not clued in to the fact that I am here helping the chosen few, of which he is not one. Barren Heap spews, “How are you planning on getting any shopping done at three in the mornin, darlin’?” It is so evident he is a Lost One. “You are a Lost One, and that is damaging, but it is not up to me,” I inform him, but alas, this is beyond his comprehension, and he knows nothing but the crucifixion. He knows not of the resurrection. That is why he does what he does. The squidly man and the barren heap of flesh are joined by the un-rinsed one. He enters flogging. “Sweetie, you need some of what we got. C’mon! You guys, we’ll take her back to the house, but we should get a preview of coming attractions. Bring her over here.” Now Squidly and Barren Heap and Un-rinsed One are grabbing me and telling me to get in. “I don’t need to enter the transportation of the doomed. Doomed I am not.” “@#$%, she’s nuts, you guys! This is perfect.” He thinks I have reached the perfect state, which is complimentary, but not quite accurate, because I am still striving for the nirvana-mind and have not quite entered in. Now I am sitting in the transportation of the damned in between Barren Heap and Un-rinsed One. Squidly is driving. They are fascinated with the womanly sustenance-givers and are squeezing them thinking they can find sustenance there. But try as they might, there is none. I explain to them that they are not providing food now, that it is a function of a dependent that makes them give milk. They are howling and suckling and trying to still find food, and I am yelling at them that there is no needful one now, so they are dry, and that is not going to change any time soon. “Dude, look at that sign and see where we are. We’re pretty far out. I think this looks good.” They think they are going to achieve nirvana-mind but they know not that even I am still striving and have not reached. It takes not much scrutinization to realize this. “Put her in the back of the truck. Man, is it ever dark up here.” Now Un-rinsed One comes and flogs me, and though he knows not what he does, he is still a ghastly one. He will not thrive. His arms are pinning me to the bumpy metal on the bottom of the truck and his littlebrain is jamming into my thigh. The littlebrains can make men forget the resurrection and can keep them in the powerfake. They think they have power with their littlebrain, but don’t they know that we have the power? We don’t experience powerfake because without the obsession of littlebrain, we think with out hearts. Without me, his littlebrain would be shrivelized. He needs to know this so I tell him. Ow. Un-rinsed-ghastly-one is a violent-maker. I’ll need to just keep yelling at him to stop being a violent-maker and to open the gates. There will be a glimmer when he opens the gates. “You guys, you gotta’ come share the love. It’s nice and tight in here.” He knows not what evil lurks inside of him. I must just keep telling him. “Shut the @#$% up! Can’t you just be quiet for two seconds? -Dude, your turn.” “Ow! @#$%! The little bitch kicked me. Take her boots. Throw them in the cab. I can’t believe this crazy bitch.” His littlebrain is next and he thinks I should appreciate the fact that his littlebrain is bigger than Un-rinsed One’s littlebrain. I tell him they are both extremely little littlebrains. They do not have the intellect to accept this fact and Squidly slaps me harder than Un-rinsed One. I pity their powerfakes. All the wars in the name of littlebrains and powerfakes. All the hatred that permeates the powerfakes, and they question it not. I make sure to keep yelling about the powerfakes: “Don’t you understand that authentic power is exemplified not by violence and intimidation, which is a powerfake, but by compassion and empathy? You will awaken one day and realize your powerfakes are in vain. Your littlebrains will shrivelize and you will realize it is authentic power you yearn for.” “Oh, man, this chick will not shut up, and it’s really getting old. She’s psycho. I’m outta’ here.” And Barren Heap didn’t even have the guts to enter his littlebrain. I scared him. Ha! Fear not, light brigade. I am here still and their fists were not victorious. * * * * * I can’t believe they took my shoes. The darkness is winning, and my insides are ruptured from their littlebrains, and I don’t have my shoes. How could the violentmakers have kept my boots? My boots were made for walkin’ and I will walk all over their souls. My soles will quiet their souls. It doesn’t take much scrutinization to realize that enlightenment enters through the soles and not the head. Or the brain. Why do all those tribal civilizations dance to become closer to the gods? They are not thinking to the gods. They are dancing to them. It is the soles that enlighten the souls. “Excuse me, Miss! You shouldn’t be walking along here.” Luckily, I have spotted the headlights in time and have anticipated the shroud of darkness accompanying them. I am safe and no longer seen. “Where’d you go? Miss? Do you need help?” I am detecting the absence of light from this being. “Oh, there you are, ma’am. Do you need some help?” How does he see me? I am safe and no longer seen. He is pretending he sees me. He is tricking me. I will not permit another littlebrain rupture inside me. Their evilseeds are sprouting in me right now. I will need to find a book on how to kill the evilseeds. “Ma’am, are you okay?” “Can’t you see? I have no shoes!!!! Obviously, I was doing what any normal person would do under the circumstances. I am walking on the yellow paint because it is softer on my soles, and softer on my soul, and the me that is me, is lost beneath my soul.” “You can’t be walking in the middle of the freeway, ma’am. Why don’t you just go ahead and get in the car, and tell me where you need to go.” He is showing the characteristics of a violent-maker. I will need to fight for my soul. It is time for the end of the powerfake. “Ow – ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to get in the car. Stop. Stop swinging your arms. I’m going to take you down to the station and maybe you can call somebody from there.” He knows not of the resurrection. He is another littlebrain that has come to spread his evilseed. I will not let him rupture me. No one is permitted. I control the gates. I am the gatekeeper. “You are not permitted. You have been scrutinized and I have detected the vestiges of danger lurking inside you and I will not permit your powerfakes – DON’T. YOU. TOUCH. ME. Don’tyoutouchmedon’tyoutouchmedon’tyoutouchme!” “Ma’am! Stop it! You need help. I’m going to take you down to the station and then we can maybe –” “Don’t you DARE take me to the Land of the Shuffling. I WILL not go. I will NOT go. I will not GO. Hell, no, we won’t go. Hell, no, we won’t go. Hell –” “… mentally unstable – yes, Sir, she – what? No, we haven’t arrested her for anything. She did? She is? All right, I’ll take her in and we can get her on a 72-hour or something.” “No 72-hour hold. No! I will not go to the Land of the Shuffling. The Land of the Suffering. The Thorazine Shuffle. The Haldol Scuffle. The Seclusion Muffle.” “Apparently, you’re in some trouble, ma’am. I talked with another officer who said that a few hours ago, you antagonized some people in a restaurant, ordered hundreds of dollars-worth of food, ate a bit, and then left. You were also said to be using sexually explicit language and were displaying promiscuous behavior. You – ” “Oh, shut the @#$% up. Explicit promiscuous explicit promiscuous. I guess that deserves the littlebrain ruptures. I guess it was Hannibal’s code and my insides are fertilizing the evil seeds as we speak because it is simply karmic. I see. So it sounds as if you agree with Squidly and Barren Heap of Flesh and the Un-rinsed One. I – ” “Ma’am, you are clearly confused. You need to cooperate. We’re on our way to the station, and from there, we’re going to take you to County General. There, you can rest, and – ” “Ha! Rest! Rest in restraints! Rest in restraints! Rest in restraints! Rest – ” “We’re here. Be quiet. Get out of the car.” * * * * * “Hello, officers, I am in trouble because I am explicit and promiscuous and ruptured and soleless. It is, alas, Hannibal’s code. I clearly deserve it. Now I am going to go rest in restraints. It is always very restful for me to have my wrists and ankles bound together. Just the thought of it makes me want to drift off into a peaceful reverie…” * * * * * There’s blood all over these sheets and I think I’m dying. “Nurse! Doctor! I’m dying! I’m bleeding! Please let me out of these!” I can’t believe how screwed they are. Why would they come? They left me here yelling and screaming, so what makes me think they’ll somehow have a flood of shiny, happy feelings and come in here? These leather straps around my wrists are digging into my flesh and my skin is all raw from trying to get out of them. I remember last time I did get out of them. I just have to pretend they’re really tight and painful before they’re actually that tight, and then I can wriggle out. I’ve gone AWOL a couple times actually. No better feeling than that. I remember climbing over the fence in one nut-house and just walking all night. Freedom. The straps on my ankles are ripping into my skin and I know I’ll be all bruised up again. It smells like pee in here. “Doctor! Come in here!” No response. “Someone needs to come into the seclusion room! Someone needs to come in here! Someone please come here! Someone help me! YOU STUPID @#$%! GET IN HERE!!!” Ohmygodohmygodohmygod. I can’t do this again. They can’t lock me up in here again. They can’t keep me here. They can’t put me on a 72-hour hold. They can’t. Why do they think they can mess with my destiny? My destiny is not to be locked in a psycho ward for the rest of my life, yet I keep coming back here, and it’s been two years, and how long is this going to last? They say IT’s drugs. I was two years sober when IT happened. I started hearing voices. They said I needed to leave the apartment. They said they had a job for me to do. God had a job for me to do. I sometimes see things and sometimes they’re there, and sometimes they’re not. I know there’s blood on my sheets though. I may be crazy but I’m not stupid. They’re not going to come in here. I can scream and cry and thrash and cuss all night and they’ll just leave me here. How do these people live with themselves… * * * * * “She’s out of it. She almost made it out of those restraints and then the Haldol must have kicked in. She’s sound asleep now.” “So, Dr., what appears to be the probem?” “Not a big deal. She appears to be menstruating.” * * * * * I’m sitting at my desk working on a whitepaper. I’m in PR at a Silicon Valley start-up. I see homeless people and talk with them at lunch. I’m interested to know how they got where they are. Because I got there accidentally. I didn’t decide one day that I was going to rebel against society and buck the system. I didn’t OD on drugs. I just got sick. Now that I’ve been “stable” on medication for a decade, I’ve decided I didn’t make it through several years of that life only to be a nine-to-sevener (no such thing as a nine-to-fiver in Silicon Valley.) I’d really like to do something to help. I think that we could improve so much if we decided to teach peace. It sounds Pollyanna, and we all like to say, “That’s the parents’ job,” but guess what? If the parents could do it, they would. Let’s admit that there are some overwhelmed parents who are on survival mode and are doing the best they can. They just don’t have the capacity to teach manners and ethics and kindness and compassion. If they could, they would. Let’s just decide it’s an important enough concept to actually teach in school. We know right from wrong. It’s a matter of whether we decide to act rightly or wrongly. Kids need to learn how to make decisions that will make them feel good about themselves. Helping others increases self-esteem, but we don’t teach that in school by encouraging competition. Compassion can change the world. All sorts of wonderful things are done by compassionate people, but we don’t teach that in school by glamorizing war and war heroes. I need to remind you that Squidly and Barren Heap and Un-rinsed One were “educated” fraternity boys. They were not street people. The people on the streets are often very kind. They're just sick. The ones who hurt me are the ones society accepts without question. That's a misconception that makes me very sad. Squidly and Barren Heap and Un-rinsed One are products of their environment. We are not teaching children one of the most important things they need to learn: kindness. # # # # #