brain

Death? Again? Noooo….

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I’m having lots of trouble sleeping. You? The mind races with thoughts about SAD, Trump, America, Social Security, Medicare, apartments, homes, health, and an ex-girlfriend whose hurtful actions can’t be forgiven

At age 73, shouldn’t another word be on that list?

As my mind raced last night that word popped into my head: Death. Wide awake and ruminating away about everything except…death (small d, this time, see the difference?).

The realization mortality was not part of my late night consternation festival kind of made me happy. Maybe, pleased with myself is a better description. Death is a constant companion in old age. When the news reports an actor’s death at 69, or the retired sports star’s life ends at 72, one can not help but think he, me, is lucky to be able to hear the news. Going to bed isn’t accompanied by the hope of waking up alive, but it is a subtext, especially if dying in your sleep is your preferred method of reaching the afterlife.

Sidebar: All morning a thought from last night has been escaping me. An important thought, I thought, but obviously not important enough for me to get out of bed and write it down. In the above paragraph it revealed itself, so I’ll share, plus many thanks to my slowing brain for not deleting the idea and making me work for it. The thought: When you die in your sleep, do you know you’re dying? Or is death just an eternal extension of sleep? Imagine being shot or stabbed, or suffering from a mortal illness. You spend at least a few moments knowing it is the end, don’t you? You may even spend minutes, hours, or days getting ready for the final breath…wishing things were different.

After reading the sidebar, it appears Death/death did enter nighttime, cranial ramblings, albeit, in a Dr. Steven Wright kind of way.

Of course, the whole point of this essay is how funny the mind works so this writing can be accepted as cogent.

Okay, I agree with myself except for the fact “cogent” refers to a well-stated “argument or case, one that is clear, logical and convincing.” So says the Oxford people. But I just read back through this jumble and can’t see anywhere a “case” or “argument” has been made.  For or against anything. Does that make the entire exercise pointless?

Let’s go with a “yes”, because an answer makes a case, makes an argument, and my inability to focus and write an essay sensible and informative suddenly becomes indisputable. I knock over your King.

With a re-read and hindsight, this gibberish fits the style of our modern news, anyway. I’m topical!

And relevant.

The real villain is SAD. “Seasonal Affective Disorder” is a real thing. A long, never-ending winter in Upstate New York is the cause. It’s been over 20 years since my life was “snowed under” by weather that saps the soul, steals the “joie de vive”, and makes an Independent Liberal long for Florida.

It won’t happen again.

My Two Brains

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For many years, now I’ve wondered if there are two brains in the body. You, too?

My vacation to the Warm South was meant to be a break from the Winter North, but also to test hopefully repaired, rejuvenated, and reclaimed physical abilities. It was during this testing, the “proof” of my second brain was finally revealed.

There have always been internal conversations–such as the infinitely confusing argument between doing good or doing bad–but I assumed those discussions were a normal personality abnormality, simple sophistry inspired by too much Devil’s Advocacy during young, formative years. It would go away with time and maturity, and the accumulation of wisdom. But the second brain discovered in North Carolina last week is different, it actually-,better tell the discovery story, first.

Sometime in the mid-morning hours of Thursday, March 27, 2025, I was in a Happy Place: a public tennis court surrounded by tennis players my own age. It was a time to celebrate recovery, patience, and give the beleaguered medical corporate establishment some credit for good work. The early moments were a time full of insults, name-calling, trash-talking, and too many hugs, all of which were greatly appreciated. Sadly, the second brain discovery happened only moments after actual physical activity was perpetrated. Yes, perpetrated. Perfect word for what happened. Look it up.

A now ex-friend hit a soon to be outlawed (hopefully) shot called a “Drop Shot”. For the un-tennis among you, the Drop Shot is a nasty trick played on mature, semi-immobile tennis players by younger, fully mobile tennis players. Given the abundance of gray hair and joint braces this morning, there was no expectation any one of us would ever have to face such a nasty play. I felt especially free from worry as I was recovering, attempting to resurrect my game, and open to any special treatment benefiting my progress. In a later post we will discuss whether or not there is honor among septuagenarians. (Full disclosure, it was our groups lone octogenarian who hit the shot, so I’ve no legal basis for claim, if so inclined.)

The beginning of the unappreciated drop shot was quickly seen by my Big Skull Brain (BSB), and  BSB immediately broadcast the signal to the entire body to move forward at a rapid pace to get to the falling tennis ball before it hit the ground. Perfect. Just right. So far.

But the next thing to hit the ground was me. The “ground”, by the way, in public tennis courts is painted concrete.

If you are at all familiar with the saying “got out over the ends of my skies”, then no more explanation is needed. For the rest of you, as my BSB issued commands, some other, smaller brain not only cancelled those commands, but did it with prejudice. As I lay writhing on the ground/concrete watching the yellow ball bounce next to my skinned knee, a comment between my BSB and the other, smaller brain was overheard. It went like this: “Move? Hell, no. We ain’t going nowhere.”

And thus a mystery was solved: we do have two brains. At least I do. A naïve, uninformed person may say the smaller brain is located in the penis of a male and it is hard to argue they’d be wrong. We will not attempt to locate the female smaller brain or even make the argument the females are equipped with one. Utter discretion. And maybe one is all they need, anyway

That NC morning’s facts are: one brain said “go” and the other said “no”. My big skull appeared to follow BSB’s directive and moved forward. Parts of the upper body followed, but reluctantly, as if the debate between big and small brain was already happening and non-brain parts were confused about which command to follow. The penis theory might be right because the lower parts followed the small brain directive and pretty much stayed in the same spot, leaving my big skull, and upper trunk to accept gravity’s invitation and topple over, risking major injury if no more action was taken. Fortunately, some sort of “emergency” system (a THIRD brain??) kicked in and my arms extended to absorb most of the impact. The upper body rescued itself and rolled over, saving the heart and lungs for later abuse.

It’s as if the small brain was punished for its incalcitrant (sic) actions as most of the medical carnage was done to knees and lower extremities. Take that, small brain. Aside: why do skinned knees take so long to heal?

You can understand how hurt BSB was, but it did a masterful job of pretending not to be hurt and graciously accepted every ounce of empathy.

It was a distracted drive home with the constant stream of debate between brains. I tried not to listen but did hear the word “insurrection” more than once.

The one, major positive about aging is the things you learn about yourself. One positive, now is—with a second brain—all the bad things done in the past are not entirely my fault…are they?

Why Now?

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Mysticism: a belief or experience involving a direct connection with the divine or ultimate reality, and can also refer to an altered state of consciousness.

No one really understands the brain. We’re close, but not close enough to mapping the 86 billion neurons making up an average brain. Add to the complexity, each neuron can have hundreds of thousands of synapses, or connections to other neurons. 86 billion times 100,000 equals…

So when someone says they have a mystical experience, what does it mean? Is it in fact a connection with the “ultimate reality” (safe way to include all deities), or is it a misfire, a malfunction of something in the synapses and neurons?

As a young man, I experienced episodes of “dazed happenings” lasting from 30-60 seconds. They were times when my mind went wandering and I let go, resulting in feelings of connection and “great peace” with the world. They faded with maturation but were never forgotten. I labeled them “Grace Periods.”

With the onset of The Calamities in 2023, and after months of drug treatments and radiation, the Grace Periods tried to make a comeback. Maybe. In the months following treatment, the “mind wandering” would start, but the first few times it continued down a darker path and felt like approaching death, so I fought the wandering and found my way back to “normal”. Subsequent UNC research revealed a name and possible cause: Orthostatic Imbalance from too much potassium. Limiting potassium and quick, body position changes ended the “Dark” wanderings

But as you can probably tell by my last post, the wandering has returned. And if the wandering is unchecked, the result is trees talk to me and there is beauty everywhere. God’s beauty, or the “Ultimate Reality’s” beauty. Its a funny thing (strange funny) to feel. “Things” disappear. Things like worry, anxiety, pain, the unfathomable, bottomless questions about “being”. All gone. Nothing but contentment. Not happiness, just a feeling everything will not just be okay, but it will be what it is meant to be. The wandering is still not understood. But, all is well.

As a senior citizen, my first understanding of why these things happen is the close relationship to death. Or closer, relationship of age. A few months back I wrote about a midnight revelation (See: “Whoa…really?” from May 10, 2024.) which may be related to the Grace Periods.

A rational, scientific mind could interpret what I’ve described as the misfiring of complicated bionic equipment and connections in an aging brain.

A mystical person, however, would revel in the evidence of a Grand Design from the Ultimate Reality, who has something fantastic in mind for one of His/Her/Its creations.

Maybe someday we’ll know but right now, both explanations sound right to me. Contentment is a wonderful thing, even if it’s not understood.