ambulant

perturb

that follows

in the moment

and aftermath

the mind takes off

like a straight

jacket

or halter

on a siren

the more it thinks

the tighter it seems

the more it takes

to fall through

the sieve

and then

at every station

tests of dynamics

change of pressure

and flow

ears pop

listening

for a pulse

at the wrist

watch

09.15.2024

Turbulence challenge @Last

Osborne Reynolds, the Ninteenth Century scientist, lived his life in turbulence.

His "number," i.e., the "Reynolds Number," is the ratio of inertial forces to viscous forces within a fluid subjected to different fluid velocities.

You don't have to remember that.

At a low Reynolds Number, flows tend to be laminar—sheet-like; alternatively, a high Reynolds number portends for a flow that is turbulent.

You don't have to remember that, either.

Any bonafide turbulence involves intersection of different fluid speeds and directions. The chaos that results can even counter the direction of the flow, creating eddy currents.

That's funny, because my name is Eddie, and I am unable to go with the flow.Like my name, eddy currents churn the flow and increase the risk of cavitation. Not good.

That's what you should remember!

I take blood pressure medications because the eddy currents in my arteries risk cavitation, especially in my brain—relevant because of something that happened to me just this morning.

Right after my morning coffee (which, unfortunately, raised my Reynolds' Number), I was minding my own business, walking the short walk to work. Distance from work, pursposely orchestrated when considering a mortgage, can favorably impact one's Reynolds Number. Mine was short, countering my coffee-induced Reynolds Number increase.

That's when I crossed paths with my ex-wife.

It had been a particularly acrimonious divorce, fraught with bad arithmetic relegating me from the royalty of my castle (as, per Sir Edward Coke in 1604, when he wrote, “Every man’s home is his castle").

She approached. With another man on her arm. They looked good. Even royal. I retreated into my serfdom and my number rose.

"Hey," she offered with a wry smile, "how's it going?" For the record, wry raises the Reynolds Number.

Turbulence ensued.

Cavitation began. And while a cavity in your tooth, among the teeth you gnash, can be filled to make the tooth right, especially the eye tooth I would have willingly given up to never seen her again, cavitation in the brain is not so remediable.

I could have recovered from my stroke, but the fact that if I died, she'd get over it fast, pushed my number to the point where I did just that.

A serpent's shadow slips my mind,

Yet I see where it went;

Its scaly tail reminds me

Of what I lost,

Of what its swallow sent

To the ocean floor below.

But when I looked,

I thought it best that I not go;

Yet what else could I know

Than that which passed behind?

And that which did remind

My sorry soul

To stop the show?

It's too quiet

The air's too still

The birds are silent

But the ant hill

Is frantic movement

Sets of six legs scurrying

Hither and thither

They know something

I sniff the air

It smells of pollen

And fresh cut grass

There's no insects

Humming as they fly

Or scent of rain

But the farmer fertilises

She knows something

I make some tea

And when I sit again

The sky has changed it's outfit

From blue, to striking grey

Storm clouds billowing

As tall as skyscrapers

Thunder growls

And fat drops of rain

Begin to fall

It's empty on the ant hill

The farmer - disappeared

The tractor's roar silenced

And now I smell the rain

That fresh, metallic smell

And hear it's awesome crescendo

As it pelts down

And washes everything

Drops turn to rivulets

And tiny pools to puddles

And still the torrent falls

Until it's gushing

Gushing - in the gullies

Gushing from the gutters

And splashing on the windows

And the whole world turned opaque

Thunder roars and groans

Lighting stings and strikes

Cloud sweep across the skies

Those violent, angry skies

And I curl up on my lounge

To watch the fury unfold

To marvel at my smallness

In the face of such turbulence

flight from Denver to LAX

girl next to me

shaking so hard her hands

were in fists, sobbing so

that you had to look twice

to know she was mentally paralyzed

head bent down

whispering to someone

not there, though surrounded

by strangers, she was completely alone

her own consciousness

not able to accept the circumstances

of turbulence, of her public disintegration

I think of her now when I fly

if I should have said something

to calm her down

but then I realize

we're all dealing with our own minds

and their constant humming

stuck in a jet stream

anxiety screaming, but not publicly

a rattling, an impermanent life sentence

that consumes and lies to us

Swirling rolling mountain streams

Waterfall rapids, challenging dreams

A kayak, skims between rocks and cliffs

Nimble, certain, faster than skiffs

An eagle flips a sudden roll

A mere pinpoint, wings out of control

The falcon folds her feathers tight

Diving with unpredictable might

The first time a child is told no you can’t

A teenagers heart broken by furious rant

The loss of your soul mate through unfair fate

Turbulence counters faith and calm’s safe state

turbulence is bitter, squash

the queasiness, a stomach feels

on crushing the house fly

and seeing yourself, through

compound eyes, fleeting calm

all business like, of daily grind

discomfort not yet knowing,

the backwards, taking off

Turbulence a resounding dissonance resonant and pounding on my heartstrings. Threatening to destroy me.

In an instance I became who I don't want to be.

I don't want anything not given to me.

I don't want to manipulate or pressure, I just want a feeling that is not there in you, and as I see this it wrecks me.

Too true this empty feeling washing over me,

The ideology of loneliness being taught to me.

And I learn.

I'll learn and I've learned before, but life keeps insisting on teaching me this lesson and not keeping score cause the game would be over if it were to be tallied.

So the pain in this absence,

This sharp dissonant punch

It awakens me.

This is my reality.

When someone feels as if their life is ebbing into a stagnant, still pool of monotony, a subtle feeling of foreboding often emerges in them. The mundane pattern of their daily life will seem to gain a shadow of its own. Uncertainty lies behind each constant action and continual habit. 

The human psyche is a complex entity. 

It is hardwired to expect difficulties, strange situations, pain, and grief– so when the mind is comfortable for too long, it upsets itself. It is attracted to monotony and familiarity. When the monotony and familiarity are all there is, the qualities become repellents.

This phenomenon is because, with a history as arduous and persevering as the history of humanity, the brain becomes nervous in the face of a life too easy. Too simple. It knows, from generations of struggle, that life is not a walk in the park.

So it attempts to steel itself. It puts itself on edge and makes your insides churn with growing uneasiness, because no- it really cannot be that easy. Survival is not that simple.

Elliot D. Cohen says “As is well known, Freud divided the human psyche into three functional parts: the id, ego, and superego. The id is a ´dark,´ ´inaccessible´ (unconscious), a non-rational component of the psyche that seeks pleasure. The superego, on the other hand, is the moral conscience arising from internalized parental authority. Its demands are absolutistic and inflexible, and, therefore, in conflict with the capricious id. Accordingly, the ego’s function is to resolve this internal conflict such that the id can satisfy its drives in a socially/morally acceptable manner. To accomplish the latter function, the ego maintains a grasp on reality (the external world), navigating the headwaters of reality to fulfill its function.”

The ¨id¨, according to Freudian theory, is the section of the brain that contains the most basic primitive impulses. It could be understood that this obscure concept is to blame then; one of the most primitive impulses can be called the fight or flight instinct. It is the stress response given by the amygdala when in an emotionally or physically taxing situation, in which it triggers the two ideas of fight or flight: escaping, running away– or staying, and going head to head with whatever the issue is.

When this stress response is inactive for a lengthy period, as said at the beginning of this piece, the mind grows confused. This inherent drive for complexity and struggle reminds us that even in the quietest moments, our minds are attuned to the balance between comfort and challenge.

08.16.2024.