Migraine Headaches: Do Home Remedies Work?

There have been  home remedies for the cure of persistent headaches for ages. Many old people swore by mass consumption of alcohol as a remedy. This later led to the popular remedies which employed tonics containing high percentages of alcohol with peppermint flavoring. But the reality is that those suffering from chronic migraines have found no relief from the pain. This has caused many to seek any suggested method possible to ease the pain caused by their migraines. We examine some of the leading alternative treatments to alleviate the pain of migraine headaches.

Burning Paper

This remedy claims that inhaling the scent of burning paper will relieve migraine pain within minutes. Migraine sufferers often report a burning wood smell just before the onset of a migraine. Using incense and aromatherapy work because our sense of smell is a direct path to the brain. The aroma activates our Limbic System and is the reason why certain odors trigger an immediate response. Smoking cigarettes burns paper and tobacco yet has not been found to have any beneficial health effects at all.

Ginger Tea

Treat yourself to a warm cup of ginger tea to cure a headache. Grate fresh ginger and add to a cup of warm water. Allow it to steep 4-5 minutes, then enjoy. A 2011 study found when using the tablet form of ginger at the first sign of headache, the supplement helped prevent a severe migraine. Side effects from use included mouth numbness and nausea.

Antihistamine

A migraine sufferer describes how antihistamine helped her get relief from her migraines. While some claim antihistamine helps with their migraines, one of the common side effects of taking too much antihistamine is a headache.

Hot & Cold Water

eHow describes a method of filling your tub full of hot water and placing your feet in hot water with an ice pack on the back of your neck. Apparently this method employs the cold pack to cool the blood going to the head and thus affecting the constriction or dilation of the blood vessels. No explanation as to how heating the blood flow to the lower extremities affects the blood vessels in the head. No studies yet supporting the hot/cold water method.

Yoga

Some claim the relaxing and stress reducing effects of yoga can relieve migraines. The reported benefits of yoga include increased circulation, increased oxygenation via deep breathing exercises, and release of tension and stress. Each of these factors are reported to be potential causes of migraines. Again, there are no studies proving the healing power of yoga to relieve a migraine but this does appear to be a valid option.

Strong Pain Medication

The Mayo Clinic only lists pain relieving and preventative medications in the treatment of migraines. You should consult with your physician before taking any over the counter medication. You should never accept someone else's prescription medication for your migraines. All prescription medication should be prescribed to you by your physician.

Sources:

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My Six Pack Abs!

After a regular check up I reviewed some ultrasound images of my abdomen with my physician. At first glance I thought perhaps the doc had accidentally switched my images with someone in far better shape. I mentioned that those abdominal muscles in the images seemed slightly more defined than mine. He assured me those were my well proportioned healthy and fit abdominals hidden snugly under an excess of abdominal fat.

I was surprised and slightly excited. I had thought they had disappeared long ago with my hairline. I wanted to get those abdominals back in the limelight again but how? The doc looked at me with his familiar no nonsense expression and told me the key to removing excess fat is no big secret. Simply take in less fatty carbs than your body expends each day. Diet and exercise adequately achieve this goal. But where I typically have trouble is failure to follow through.

I don't necessarily have the best role models in my family. We love to cook and we love our greasy fatty foods. In my family either you eat what's on the table or you do without. I knew a salad could be made without the creamy ranch dressing, bacon bits and shredded cheese with a side of sweet whip cream and fruit. But I wasn't quite sure I could sit down at the table and munch on a bland salad while my family enjoyed veal, meatballs, Parmesan chicken and even more scrumptious sides of gravy mashed potatoes and cheesy noodles. I would surely give in and sneak back to the fridge.

Increasing my exercise to work off the delicious fatty carbs was an option. But after doing the math, I realized I'd need to run a 10k marathon everyday to make a dent. I get winded going to the mailbox. And a treadmill is already collecting dust in my basement. I stopped using that soon after my daughter hung a doughnut in front of it to encourage me to run longer. I admitted It was quite funny and grounded her.

I would need to incorporate fitness into my entire day to stick with the goal. My six pack abdominals deserved to be seen! The small changes I made in my diet as well as the exercise I incorporated into my daily routine began to pay off in less than two weeks. And it wasn't so drastic as to cause the backlash that had made me give up in the past.

Each morning I prepare two eggs over easy and two slices of toast. I included a pad of butter and dab of grape jelly for the toast. I learned later this was actually a good thing. The small amount of butter and jelly provides a quick energy boost but is not so excessive that can't be burned off during the day.

I then began to hike the 30 minute walk to the coffee shop to complete my writing assignments. No need to power walk or build up a sweat. The simple casual walk 30 minutes per day is doing its work even if it doesn't seem like it at first. This is jump starting your metabolism which is the major fat burning mechanism of the body.

I would advise avoiding coffee unless you have a granola bar handy. I carry a healthy granola bar to snack on in my bag. I allowed myself a straight medium cup of dark roast without the cream of sugar. I typically get hungry and crave something sweet such as a danish or doughnut after drinking coffee.  I get the munchies for the sweets in the display case even though I had recently eaten breakfast. I satisfied my premature munchies with my granola.

After a day at the coffee shop completing my assignments, I begin my relaxing walk home. Smart phones are wonderful inventions. I have a good play list of music that I listen to on my walk and the short 30 minute walk is over all too soon.

The good thing about salad is you can eat a lot of it and still do your body good. With salad, variety is the spice of life. There are many delicious and healthy ways to prepare salad that will not be counterproductive to your now decreasing waistline. My passion food has always been subway sandwiches. My favorite selection was the roast beef with double meat extra cheese with oil and vinegar with a healthy gob of mayo. Little did I realize that this is essentially a delicious salad.

With some slight modifications I could make a salad with oil and red wine vinegar, topped with shredded cheese and some sliced squares of salad Canadian bacon. Toss in some cherry tomatoes a slice of pickle and a side roll and I'm eating a healthy and delicious subway salad. By the time dinner is served I'm not trying to shovel the table in my mouth anymore. My dinner portions are smaller following the afternoon salad snack.

It's been nearly 3 weeks now and I am sticking with my diet. Honestly, I don't even feel like I'm dieting. But the bathroom scales don't lie. I'm 15 lbs lighter than I was a month before. Some notable unforeseen perks have manifested as well. I'm breathing easier and have more energy. Also knowing I'm reducing the workload on my heart is a great feeling. And my well defined abdominals are beginning to peak out at the sides. I can hardly wait!

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Alcoholism: The Drunken Reflection

In my younger days I could drink with the best of them. I would get drunk and my worries would float away along with my dignity. I was known to be a goofy drunk. But as time went on my drinking became a problem. I suffered through some very difficult struggles on my long path to sobriety. Today I don't even prefer to drink and I am happy to play the part of the designated driver. But as I witness my friends having a ball I am not tempted to return to my bubbly days. In fact, seeing them sloppy makes me happy to be sober.

I would have liked to have written about how nice it was to return to a night club after 10 years. Although it wasn't an unpleasant experience the revelation was sobering. I guess I first noticed the same people were still there after a decade. Like the old guard they never left their posts. I don't consider myself old by any sense of the word. But I admit I'm slightly too old to be lingering at the night club each weekend. Could that have been me sitting on the stool peering out over the crowd like some stone relic?

Each time the very attractive bartender refreshed their drinks, the relics would smile at her with red eyes and say something inappropriate. She would politely take their tips and return to refresh my coffee. In the old days I always wondered where the pretty bartender went after filling my mug. Now I know she went to stand by the older gentleman sipping his coffee near the back.

I remembered this uneasy sense of awkwardness in the old days. I felt I had to have a bottle in my hand to fit in. And I remember needing two shots initially to relax me and get me into the spirit of things. I did not feel awkward this night. I had come to accept and like myself in the years since I was last here. I no longer needed to be intoxicated to talk to people and feel comfortable in a crowd.

The night was quite a learning experience. I actually enjoyed myself. I probably shouldn't say that as a recovering alcoholic. But I had seen a different side to the nightclub that I had not witnessed previously. As I put my totally trashed friends in my vehicle, I felt a bit of trepidation when the police cruiser pulled up along side. Instead of the expected intimidating glare the officer gave me a friendly smile and said, "Get them home safely, Sir."

I walked the attractive bartender to her car and politely accepted her number. But I confided in her that I had a beautiful young lady at home. I dropped my friends off one by one. Some of my friends, I had to carry. I returned home at a reasonable hour to find my mother asleep on my couch. She had not been up all night awaiting my call from jail as she once had. I sat at my daughter's bedside and pulled her covers up to ward off the chill and she stirred awake. Her sleepy eyes peered up at me. She asked if I had enjoyed my night out. I had enjoyed my return to the bright lights and festive atmosphere of night life. But I was much happier to be home.

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Health Care Providers at Risk

I'm good at what I do because I love it.

I have been associated with the health care field for much of my life. I was a volunteer and first responder at our local fire department, EMT, Certified Nurse's Aide then attended college toward a Bachelor's degree in the nursing program. I have great respect for those that dedicate their lives to the demanding health care profession. This is not an article about my love for the field of health care. It is quite the opposite.

The term Burn Out is used often in the health care profession. It is a leading cause of good nurses and EMT's leaving the field. It should not be assumed we are simply tired and bored with saving lives day in and day out. Burn Out in the health care field refers to the monotony of constantly struggling with the unrealistic demands of administrations, medical-legal jargon and risks to our license every day we put on our uniform. The joy I felt after saving someone's life was the reward that made it all worth it. A gentleman once came to our table while I was having dinner with friends and exclaimed, "This man saved my life. I just want to thank him." I could honestly say I loved my work.

As an EMT, I enjoyed my job but the business side of the profession I could live without. We were constantly under changing administration and always having to adjust to changing policies. Supplies were difficult to keep stocked and sometimes our patient care suffered for it. 

We even had to protect ourselves from our own management who would lay the burden of failing equipment and lack of needed supplies on our shoulders. I left the career I loved after our office finally closed. After a bitter and childish rivalry between our new EMS Service and the local established service, we were left jobless. Those of us who worked for the new service were prevented from ever working with the local service. After witnessing the behavior of the local EMS administrator, I lost all respect for the man and had no desire to work for him.

While attending college toward a nursing degree I was offered a position as a Nurse's Aide in the state operated mental facility for the elderly. Our orientation was basically various insurance agencies attempting to get us to sign up for their policies. I was sent to work in the elderly ward. Again, the job of caring for my patients was greatly rewarding. All seemed well until after our first scheduled health physical.

A week following our physical examination 14 of us had been relieved of our positions with no apparent cause. A former health care worker called me later to inform me that I needed to go to a doctor immediately. Each of us that had been relieved had been exposed to the tuberculosis virus. The facility had taken insured patients with active TB and neglected to warn the staff. I started a regimen of treatment for 6 months for my exposure. I was among the few lucky to have only been exposed. Other health care workers were not so lucky and developed active TB. We had no legal recourse due to the fine print in our employment contracts stating we relinquish our rights to sue a state facility. This cost me a semester of college considering I could not go near patients while under treatment for TB. My coworkers who were now sick would spend the rest of their lives under house quarantine.

When I finally was able to attend college again I completed 4 of 5 semesters toward a Bachelor's Degree in Nursing. During my last 4^th Semester clinical, a young mother lost her baby during childbirth. All the nursing students as well as the student instructor huddled around the pediatric nurse attending to the stillborn infant. The operating physician stated the mother was losing blood. None of the nurses seemed to hear him. I stepped forward and stated that I was a licensed EMT and I would help. We stabilized the mother. The student instructor and other attending nurses did finally help him finish.

The mother was one of my patients. I was with her when she awakened and I informed her that she had lost her child. I asked her husband to come in and I stepped out. My nursing instructor pulled me into the nurse's lounge and berated me for my lack of empathy for the child and the mother. She informed me that it was my place as her nurse to remain at her side while she dealt with the emotional pain of losing the child.

I began taking off my equipment and filled the instructor in on some things she had overlooked. She and the other students whimpered over the infant that was in the competent hands of a pediatrician and left the mother to bleed out. When the mother awoke, I took her vitals and administered her medication. The task of dealing with her loss was well covered by a strong and loving husband with whom I had spoken already.

I had worked in and around the health care field since I was 16 years old until I was 30. I was considered a veteran in the field when most people my age were barely out of high school. I still love the work and I keep my EMS license current each year. But I will never do it as a profession again.

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Gall Bladder Symptoms are Not Easily Diagnosed

I was 35 when I began to experience some mild recurring upper abdominal pain. I had previously been diagnosed with acid reflux disease and was taking Nexium for symptom relief. This seemed to have reduced the pains somewhat but did not completely relieve them. The pains were getting sharper and more frequent. At my next doctor's visit I described the pains as a sharp stabbing feeling below my mid-sternum.

The doctor prescribed me Prilosec and warned me again about greasy fried foods. I had cut down on such foods but agreed to eliminate them from my diet. The new medicine and diet seemed to be working. I was having fewer symptoms over the next few weeks. I kept a bottle of cherry Rolaids in my pocket at all times. I was at work when my first serious attack hit me. I was a night supervisor at my local newspaper. We were running the early morning paper off the presses when I felt the pain in the center of my chest. I nearly fell over. I went into the locker room and knelt down on the floor. It doubled me over the pain was so intense. I really thought I was having a heart attack. It felt like something was on fire in my chest. I could barely breathe. I clocked out early and went home.

The rest of the night was a struggle. I thought if I could just get something to come up the pain would go away. This was how I best described the pain. It feels like food poisoning. On top of the stabbing burning pain you feel physically ill. When the pain would not subside, I decided to go to the emergency room. In the waiting room the pain seemed to simply go away. I was seen by the night physician who could find nothing physically wrong with me. I didn't even feel any discomfort when the area of my abdomen was pressed. It was like the pain was never there. I made another appointment with my family physician.

By this time I the sharp painful attacks were hitting me almost daily. And the tests were indicating nothing wrong with me physically. I had gotten frustrated with going to the doctor just to have them scratch their heads. No medication was working to relieve the now agonizing pain. This was affecting my work and I couldn't sleep through the night. In desperation I fastened a belt around my upper torso with a shirt tied up in a knot to keep constant pressure on my mid-sternum region. This was the only relief I could get. I was scheduled for another appointment with a gastroenterologist. A day before my appointment I began to get chills and became pale as a sheet. I collapsed and woke up in the hospital.

Only after my gallbladder had ruptured did it release poisonous bile into my system that the tests were able to record. A simple ultrasound weeks before would have shown that my gallbladder was full of stones. My physician explained there are so many different conditions that mimic the same symptoms that it's difficult to diagnose the gall bladder as the cause. I looked at him with some frustration and recommended he put an ultrasound at the top of his list of tests to perform when his next patient complains of stabbing upper abdominal pains.

Sources/Resources

Gall Bladder Symptoms

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DUI: An Officer Saved Me From Myself

The deputy shoves me hard over the front of his cruiser and cuffs my hands together. I turn around and lean against the car. He instructs me to stay as he questions my wife. The blue lights flash in my bloodshot eyes as the passing cars slow down to see what is happening. The remains of my car are scattered into the battered tree line. The deputy knows she was driving, the witnesses have already told him. But my statement doesn't match the witnesses. I continue to insist I was driving which was complicating his job. She was obviously intoxicated and open containers were found in the car. The officer is arguing with my wife to get her to admit to being the driver when I slump forward and fall to the ground. I tasted thick blood in my mouth before losing consciousness.

Deputy Chad Powell was sitting by me when I woke up in the hospital. The force of the impact had torn the lining of my stomach. This was as a result of my seat belt binding me and my precarious position at the time of impact. The bright red rash left by the seat belt still visible across my upper torso. Chad looked at me with a somber expression. "If I had believed you, I'd have taken you to jail 20 miles away from the closest hospital and you would have died. I know you pulled her from the driver's seat just before impact. The tree stabbed through the driver's seat. So she would have died. The only way your story adds up is if you were dead now in the driver's seat impaled by a tree."

I admitted to nothing but my wife had already confessed to being the driver. Chad Powell wanted something else from me. He wanted something I was not ready to give anyone. He visited me every day while I was in the hospital and even left his home number to my mother. I resented this. I had no love for law enforcement and neither did my family. But by this time, my mother had exhausted all means of reaching me. The thought of my own mother potentially turning me into the police infuriated me and ended contact with her.

My wife and I continued to have law enforcement come to our apartment as our marriage descended into madness and ruin. Each time, the Sheriff's Department was called Chad was there on the scene. He even showed up when he was off duty. I perceived it as a personal vendetta he had toward me. Sometimes officers take it upon themselves to such things. Each time he put me in the back of his cruiser I got a lecture from him. He asked me if this was what I wanted for my life. He knew my sordid family history, my time in military service and my college courses. Deputy Chad Powell had done his homework and I felt the weight of his influence. He informed me that my mother was worried about me and cried to him. I kicked the cage separating us in his cruiser to get him to stop talking.

Each court date I was to appear before the judge Deputy Chad Powell was there. He nearly had me denied bond on one of my pending charges related to a prior DUI. I was found not guilty of the charge and my attorney cited harassment against Deputy Powell. I smiled at Chad as I passed by him leaving the courtroom. It was possible I could get him fired and he knew it. He looked at the floor with an expression of strengthened resolve and said nothing.

I had decided to separate from my wife. I had not been rehabilitated of my ways but could not afford another fine or court case. All was well for a few weeks until she returned to my apartment and broke through my kitchen window. I had been drinking alone and she had been drinking all night. Our heated exchange spread into the parking lot and the Sheriff's Department was called. A deputy took my wife and Chad took me. He was in plain clothes and had nothing to charge me with that would stick in court. I smiled as I told him, "I'll have your badge for this."

It quickly occurred to me that he wasn't taking me to jail but driving out of town. I assumed it was time for Deputy Chad and I to come to blows. I asked him if he was sure he wanted it to come to this. He said nothing as he pulled into a darkened church parking lot. He exited the car and opened my door and walked ahead into the cemetery to the side. I exited the cruiser and peered around mildly confused. I saw he had stopped at a headstone. I stepped beside him and read the name on the headstone. It read, David R. Powell.

Chad explained to me that his younger brother would be my age. He was addicted to cocaine and drank heavily. One night he drove his car over an embankment and flipped three times. His vehicle was unrecognizable but he appeared to be unharmed as the highway patrol arrived. They leaned him against the patrol car awaiting the ambulance and moments later he slumped over and collapsed to the ground. He died on the scene. Chad explained I had done the exact same thing the night of my accident. And he couldn't allow me to meet the same end as his brother. "I don't know why I took you on as a personal project. I guess I saw so much of David in you. I couldn't save my brother so I guess I'm trying to save you. I'll take you back home now and you can do what you want."

Deputy Chad Powell was one of the people in my life that helped me make a change. He honestly is the example of what it means to go above and beyond. He is a very dear friend today and I owe my life to him. This experience taught me that alcoholism doesn't only affects the lives of those we love. It deeply affects the officers and EMS personnel that witness the tragedy every day.

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Alcoholism: Confessions of a Designated Driver

The wolf pack welcomes back its alpha male.

I think my friends are overreacting somewhat. So I don't party as much as I once did. In fact, I cannot remember the last time I've gone out with the boys. I adopted my daughter two years ago and it's taken me this long to get my life geared toward being a father. I had been working two jobs the entirety of those two years and have only recently settled in a more rewarding career. As I sat before them It did not escape me how much I sounded like my father.

My friends were not against my decision to adopt my child. In fact, when it seemed the little girl had run out of options I had made a very responsible and selfless decision to offer up my own life for her. My friends reminded me how they all stepped in and helped me through that difficult time. They loved my daughter as well and felt like co-fathers.

My friends warned me that my 30th birthday was fast approaching. I had well earned the right to enjoy my remaining years of youth. Perhaps we could recapture those iconic days when we owned the town and women swooned! They admitted the hunt had never been the same without me in front leading the prowl. I felt eyes upon me from behind. Those of you that have read my works that mentioned my daughter know well by now that she is an adept eavesdropper. I confided that no intervention would be complete without all parties affected weighing in. I invited my daughter to come sit with us.

I was impressed at how well she presented herself. She reminded everyone that it had been addicted and partying that led to those tragic events before her adoption. She also cited that I had only recently turned from the brink of alcoholism when she came into my life. How many times had the pack prowled themselves into jail for drunken debauchery? She suggested they take a closer look at their alpha male. He remained as powerful a presence as ever. Except now, young ladies no longer shuddered uneasily when he loped by. They now know him to be a tamed and gentle provider.

My friends conceded to her wisdom. It seemed their leader had made the best decision for his life. My presence among them only reminded them of their own fast approaching adulthood. Soon they all would be tamed. My very wide daughter proposed a solution.

Meridian, Mississippi is what most considers a retirement community. It's true the city representative would consider a predominant population over 50 years of age the ideal. There remain only a few night clubs here and the police sit like predators across the street every weekend. They follow you all the way home even if you are legal to drive. My pack agreed the perils of the prowl were many and they had each narrowly escaped capture. My daughter suggested they needed a designated responsible party to lead them in the hunt.

My friends agreed this would be the best compromise. I really had no desire to return to my days of debauchery. But I had missed my friends and the adventures we shared. If I was committed to the task, it would bring the pack back together and work well for everyone. My daughter told them of a program her class had covered in school. The designated responsible party program offers certain incentives to those that agree to remain 100% sober and serve as the responsible party for others. A bright orange sticker goes on the bumper and the driver agrees to speak with an officer at any time during the course of the night. It was settled.

Over the next few weeks I ran with the pack as often as I could. I had actually enjoyed the police attention and learned they consider the designated drivers sort of an extension of the law. I developed a sort of pride to be doing my part to keep my friends safe and the community as well. Freed from the prospect of capture, my pack stepped up their ferociousness and raided the night clubs mercilessly. Many young ladies swooned again!

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Dream Interpretation: A Walk-Thorugh

Before I begin, I admit to having some college level teaching on the subjects of psychology and the nature of dreams. But these were not my primary fields. And I do not claim any professional authority as a basis for this telling. Neither do I claim to be a professional authority on how to ride a tricycle. But I have had the ability to become cognitively aware within my dreams, as well as ride a tricycle, since I was a small child. This is a scenic tour of my dream cycle from the moment I close my eyes until I awaken. And not once will I drift off into slumber during this tour.

When I work intensely for prolonged periods of time, the constant ringing in my ears will gradually become so intense that I cannot hear anything other than the mental feedback of my own mind. This is when I know I need to take a break. The medical term for the intense ringing in the ears is called tinnitus and can also occur as a result of taking too much aspirin. But the same effect has occurred with me since my earliest childhood and has nothing to do with any physical condition or substance. The intense ringing is simply my call to sleep and download what I have experienced into my subconscious mind for processing.

Once I close my eyes, the swirling images I see on the back of my eyelids are not random or imaginary. I have seen each image at some point between the time I woke up and the time I closed my eyes. These images appear to swirl and float before my mind's eye. This effect is caused by the speed at which the subconscious portion of my mind processes the raw data. This is too rapid for my conscious mind to see clearly. Simply focusing on the blur of images will allow me to take a mental snapshot and view the data. I often recognize the snapshot as a pen or a stapler or my keys. This downloading of data is vital to our ability to understand our surroundings in the abstract. These abstract concepts must be processed and reinforced daily or we lose them. When we are no longer capable of processing our daily data, we see our keys but can not grasp their function. This is what it's like to suffer from Alzheimer's. Things we have known our entire lives are lost during the course of a day.

Once I understood the importance of the downloading/processing stage I stopped taking any sleep medication or substance that would induce sleep. Also I avoid going to bed mentally exhausted. The moment the mind loses consciousness and enters sleep the downloading stops and all data not yet processed is lost.

After the data is completely processed the mind will begin shutting down stimulus to the body. This prevents me from getting up and physically acting out my activities in my dreams. My ability to remain cognizant during this stage results in tingling that turns to a numbing sensation or feelings of strong vibrations. There is no metaphysical aspect to this state. My mind is simply preparing my body for sleep. When this is completed I am effectively in a state of full paralysis. I can panic, become claustrophobic or will myself awake and regain function of my body.

Once control of my body movement is shut down I enter what is known as REM sleep. I have read books stating one should focus on a point to maintain cognitive awareness. This is precisely what causes me to drift off. Distraction during this stage is a type of hypnosis that causes the mind to drift into deeper states of sleep. People become immersed in the scene playing out around them. It is the same effect caused by the pocket watch a psychiatrist dangles in front of them. Reaching the REM state while cognitively aware, and doing so repeatedly, is the only effective way to lucid dream at will. During REM sleep, the portion of the mind that is active while awake does not shut down. It simply takes a back seat to the portion that becomes active and dominant during sleep. Maintaining a cognitive awareness of my external physical surroundings is vital to the completion of my goal. My goal for this experiment is to remain fully aware until I reawaken the following morning.

While still adjusting to the REM state, I am never beyond the effect of the pocket watch. At any moment I can become mesmerized by some distraction and drift off. While in this state I am highly susceptible to suggestion. Again, where books tell me to focus, I find it more stabilizing to not focus on anything at all. I describe this like walking through a hallway of mirrors ignoring the images within them as I pass by. Practice makes perfect and repeatedly achieving REM sleep while maintaining cognitively aware will eventually ensure you remain aware for longer periods.

I can not use auto hypnotic suggestion to induce this state at will. I stated earlier I am highly susceptible to suggestion during REM sleep. This is not spoken suggestion. My now dominant subconscious does not recognize any written or spoken language. It does not discern colors or sounds. My subconscious responds only to emotion and desire. I can not verbally say I want to go somewhere. I must desire to be there. During a traditional dream all of these are superimposed on top of the dream memory by my conscious mind upon awakening. As stated earlier, remaining aware of my actual physical surroundings centers my conscious mind which is now in the back seat. It will fill in my dream environment with colors, sounds and translate the desires and emotions of my subconscious into spoken words and text as needed.

Everyone we encounter in life will elicit a unique emotional response in us. To recall the memory of people and interact with them, I must remember this unique emotion associated with them. This is not the spirit of the actual person but a dream representation of them. I have not ever considered myself outside my physical body or actually visiting a distant location. I have wandered around my immediate surroundings which appeared no different from the way they actually are. But again, I would not convey I was actually interacting beyond the scope of my own mind's recreation of the environment. Perhaps this is possible, but I personally could not say definitively.

I go to sleep twice when I lie down. After I have secured myself cognitively within the dream state, I have no worry of slipping deeper. If I remain cognitively aware in my dream state I will awaken at some point unable to return to sleep. I will not be rested and the ringing in my ears will remain. While still completely lucid in my dream state I must curl up and drift off to achieve a restful sleep.

I have always taken great care to avoid superimposing any supernatural or metaphysical connotation to my dreams. In almost every respect I have been able to discern the nature and purpose of every step of the process. I have performed many unscientific experiments that have posed more questions than answers.

I have closed my eyes and torn a random page from a magazine, folded it and placed it on my table. I have unfolded the page in my dream and then wrote down what I remember seeing after I woke up. The image was easy enough to jot down. It was a face profile of some sort. The words were not so easy. As I said before, spoken or written language is not our subconscious strong point. I could make out the bold print near the top and two rows of text. There was a gold star marking the end of the article. I opened the magazine page and it was essentially the same. The actor's facial profile grinned at the camera and the article told of his recent Hollywood activities. There was a yellow star at the end of the text.

For this reason I question the accuracy of any dream that I must recall a dialog or reading of dream text. If my higher power visited me in a dream I would convey to the masses that he has sent me to raise the dead. When in the dream he warned me I was getting low on bread. I would make a poor excuse for a prophet. I would not advise anyone to place any faith in my lottery picks either.

My tentative experiments have either been inconclusive or very surprising in their accuracy. But I still cannot discern any real world usefulness for these odd abilities while dreaming. I can sense trouble around another person over any distance but I must share a strong emotional connection to that person.

I hope you enjoyed the tour through my dream and hope this article helps you in your own dreaming endeavors.

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Dream Techniques for Child Nightmares

The untimely demise of the Shadowman.

The shadow man was my daughter's monster. He would stand over her bed or near her closet. She would be brave but he would draw nearer as she got sleepier. He was waiting for her to sleep so he could take her away from her family and everyone she loved.

I worried about sharing what some have called my gift to my daughter. My ability to become cognitively aware in my dreams has had its drawbacks. One cannot help but become affected by this experience. Highly educated thinkers have published entire books attributing outlandish theories to this quite normal process of the human mind. But my daughter's inner demons were based on very real emotional trauma. She needed my help when she was facing foster care. Now she needed my help again addressing the nightmares that resulted from her difficult childhood.

Reaching the REM state while holding on to your cognitive awareness is much like navigating a small boat through a tropical storm at sea. You are constantly blown off course. At times, you are overwhelmed by the constantly shift waves and the powerful currents of the mind. You can easily experience this turbulent barrier between reality and the subconscious even if you don't believe in the phenomenon of lucid dreaming. Simply lie down, close your eyes and refuse to move. Eventually, sheer terror will force you out.

I explained these common pitfalls to Claire. I wasn't even sure I could show her how to lucid dream. I pulled a reading chair into her room and positioned a small lamp behind me as to not disturb her sleep. Even if she did not master the process, at least I would be here should the shadow man come. She scooted down in her bed and lay flat on her back as instructed. She was lying perfectly still without moving and without drifting off to sleep for as long as she could. She peered up at me and asked how long would it take. I knew the answer but did not want to spoil the surprise.

Her first dive lasted 45 minutes before she sprang straight up in her bed gasping and breathing heavily. I checked her pulse and it was steady and strong 90 beats per minute. I knew she had reached the edge of the barrier. I asked her to tell me what she experienced.

"I began to tingle almost from the start. I kept feeling like I had to move to get comfortable. Then I began to feel my toes go numb and this feeling spread up my entire body. I was cold at first without the covers over me. But you were right. I began to feel hot very quickly. Then I experienced the feeling of being on a roller coaster you described. I tried to hold on but it was getting too scary. I felt like I was being tossed around. When I bailed out I instantly felt frustrated with myself for giving up."

It was a good first attempt and I felt confident she would easily get accustomed to the turbulent waves that exist near the barrier. I told her that was all for the night and she should get comfortable to sleep. I remained in her room and she was in REM state within 10 minutes of curling up on her side. If I had told her this was part of the training she would have had expectations and not fallen to sleep as easily. Her fingers began to twitch slightly and her breathing deepened.

This was exciting for me as well. I had never thought to witness someone learning to breach the barrier. It was like watching her learning to swim or riding her bike without training wheels for the first time. When she had startled herself awake earlier she was not really awake. Her mind was still in a state of sleep prep. By waking up for a moment and then rolling over to sleep again she had primed the chemicals so to speak. She would drift through the barrier without effort and then it would simply be a matter of becoming aware of the other side.

Claire slept for 4 hours. I had returned to my book when she awoke with a hard jerk. I reached over and placed my hand on her shoulder and she peered back at me wide eyed for a moment unsure if she was awake. I smiled at her and said, "The conscious mind is a trickster. It wants to stay in control so it snatches the bed out from under you. "Claire blinked at me still groggy from sleep. Then she furrowed her brow in frustration pounding her fist into the pillow, "Aw Man!"

Within a few days, Claire was able to overcome her fear of the shadow man. As I suspected, he was a memory rather than a monster. She had not yet reached the ability to become cognitively aware in her dreams. But she had been able to reach over and turn on the lamp I placed by her bed. Her dream room lit up and she saw the face of the shadow man. It was daddy. He had been watching over her while she was going through the most difficult time in her life. She did not dream of the shadow man again and she was saddened by this. "Now that I know the shadow man was daddy I want him to come back to watch over me again."

Previously Posted on FullofKnowlege.com

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Losing Time: Forgetting Loved Ones Is My Greatest Fear

If one has no memory of their past experiences, how is that different from never having lived them? I had not considered it before but I have lived quite an extraordinary life. I have overcome much and found peace within myself and come to peace with those around me. I guess I'm living within that brief but blissful period that my mother, aunt and great grandfather had experienced as they approached their elderly years.

At last I reached a point in my life where I can say I have no regrets and enjoy each day I have been given. But I have begun to notice I am losing items more frequently. My glasses seem to get up and walk away. My phone vanishes from its charger beside my computer. Even my coffee cup disappears from its place on my desk. It's not so much the misplacing of things that worry me but the places I find them. Why would I find my glasses in the refrigerator, my phone in the yard and coffee cup in my vehicle? I'm concerned that I have no memory of having placed these items where I find them. This is an indication that I am losing time.

I often sit at my computer to work with intent to reach a certain goal within a given timeframe. I will work for what seems like an hour or two and look up to see five hours has gone by. I review my progress and find I have certainly not done five hours of work. Could it be I have been sitting here in a trance for an entire three hours? My family thinks me mad but I have asked them to keep an eye on me. If I seem as if I have blanked out give me a nudge to bring me back.

Another thing that concerns me is my inability to remember names of those I've known my entire life. This doesn't occur with everyone. But certain acquaintances if I haven't thought of them in a while, I will forget their names. Their names will not be on the tip of my tongue but totally wiped from my memory. This makes me feel like an idiot when they surprise me at the store. Sometimes I can play it off. I remember who they are I just don't remember their names.

I think of my aunt during the years after my uncle passed away. Her memory progressively deteriorated to the point where she would ask me repeatedly during the course of our conversation where I worked. By all other respects she was sharp. She could refer to the topics we had discussed yesterday or last week. Just that one thing she could not remember ever having asked me. My daughter, Claire, assures me I haven't been repeating myself or asking the same question repeatedly. She did admit I have a tendency to worry excessively but this was not a new thing. My daughter will not always let on she is concerned. My mother, Claire's grandmother and I have learned she will make a point to accompany us to our next doctor's appointment if she is worried about us. Claire sat with me in the doctor's office and listened intently as my physician assured me it's only natural to experience some memory loss with age.

In light of these new concerns, I value my writing even more. At least I can read my own works and be reminded of my most important memories. And this is the crux of it. I'm not so worried for myself but for how my friends and family will feel if I ever come to no longer remember them. My daughter put her hand on my cheek and smiled lovingly at me as I told her, "If I could only keep one memory in my mind forever it would be of you. Please never forget how much I love you, even if no longer remember myself."

Previously Posted on FullofKnowlege.com

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First Impressions: Recovering Alcoholics Have a Different View

I've always been consciously aware of my own shortcomings. As I grow older but seem to have more. My hairline is receding, my teeth are bad and I could stand to lose a few more pounds. I often wonder if others are aware of my shortcomings as well.

While returning from lunch, I was walking with a co-worker toward our place of work. As an attractive lady approached, my co-worker gave me a nudge and nodded toward her bust line.

There's nothing wrong with the natural male senses. However, the woman was smartly dressed and appeared to be returning from lunch herself. I had noticed her but purposely pretended not to. As would be expected, she passed by both of us without even a glance. Typically women make a conscious effort to avoid eye contact with a man. However, a majority of men make a mental assessment of every woman they see. It is simply in our nature and we may not always be conscious we are doing so.

When we make our mental assessment of the opposite sex our point of reference is based on personal choice, history and sometimes our values.  Women of this compulsion as well I have been told to simply choose to hide it. Even if one is in a committed relationship this compulsion does not stop. Our mental assessment of others does not stop with physical attraction.

We notice if someone is nosy, weak or strong, easy to fool or someone we admire. We make these initial assessments before we even know the person.  It does not take a scientific study to know this method is inherently flawed. Our first impressions of a person must often wrong. But why do we continue to do this when nothing logically suggests our observations tell us anything about the person?

Jokingly I asked my co-worker, "How was she?" He peered at me for a moment and began to laugh. I continued to press. What were her favorite foods?  Does she prefer action movies over romance? He knew I was working on an angle and asked me what the point was.

I generally wanted to know what he had learned from her with a simple passing glance. I encouraged him to be imaginative. We spent the next few hours of the shift discussing the stranger on the street. In his brief assessment he was able to conclude she was attractive, smart and perhaps a bit full herself. What type of person does not even smile or say hello to someone they pass on the street?

I played devil's advocate. Perhaps the woman has something pressing on her mind. Perhaps she was working out a solution to a problem at work. Perhaps she used to be very open and friendly yet this was misinterpreted as being forward. My co-worker shook his head and accused me of being too optimistic. I agreed, perhaps he was right?

Later that night I attended my weekly alcoholics’ anonymous meeting. The attractive lady we passed on the street approached me as I was getting coffee. She placed her hand on the shoulder and asked me how I was holding up. I informed her I was working on my exercises to have a more positive and optimistic outlook. She had encouraged me a week before to always try to assume the best of people when I have no other reason to believe otherwise.

She then apologized for not saying hello earlier that day on the street.  She said that she had been clean from drug addiction over a year.  Unfortunately, the stigma of her deeds still followed her. She did not know if my friend was aware of whom she was. She simply did not want her bad reputation affecting mine. Ironically, I was thinking the same thing but only being conscious of my own shortcomings.  Our meetings are called anonymous for a reason.

Previously Posted on FullofKnowlege.com

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Counting Bodies

Inside the Mind With Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

A knocking at the door is, for a brief moment, not that at all. Its the concussion sound of a .50 caliber weapon. The silent spaces between the isles of a department store become the blind alley where a fellow soldier died years ago. Every car that passes by is a reminder that nothing can ever be taken for granted again.

Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a type of anxiety disorder. It can occur after you have gone through an extreme emotional trauma that involved the threat of injury or death. The clinical discussion of post traumatic stress disorder has been well covered. This is a view from the inside of the mind of a man suffering with PTSD.

I first met Vincent when I was in my early teens. He lives in a fenced enclosed house on my country road. As a kid, I remember his five bull mastiffs staring at us intently as we passed quickly by. His windows were always darkened and the drapes always pulled. He rarely came outside unless it was to get the paper or check his mail. And his lawn was never kept. On occasion, parents in the neighborhood would have altercations with Vincent and more than a few times the police were called. Vincent was the stereotypical neighborhood recluse and no one wanted to cross his path. For the most part, he was quiet as long as he remained undisturbed. A few years ago, I had the misfortune of disturbing Mr. Vincent.

It was late in the afternoon and not yet dark as I was returning home from work. I had only taken my eyes off the road for a moment when a young deer darted out in front of me. I had no time to stop and was upon it in an instant. I heard the loud thud and saw the animal twisting to a stop ahead of my car. I pulled to the shoulder of the road and inspected the damage. I live only a mile outside our city limits but our road cuts into the thick pines that define our region of Mississippi. Deer are common here and you are more likely than not to encounter them during the early morning or late afternoon as they forage for food.

Like many in the south, I am licensed to carry a firearm. Retrieving my weapon from my glove box, I dragged the injured animal from the road. As I chambered my weapon and was about to put it out of its suffering, a gray Suburban SUV approached over the hill. I put my weapon behind me under my shirt. The Suburban slowed to a stop and the passenger window rolled down, I could see it was Mr. Vincent.

I had only recently moved back to the neighborhood where I grew up. I had been away for some number of years. Looking back, I guess I was probably regarded as a stranger to most that lived on my road. I can only explain what occurred next as simply an unfortunate series of events that combined to a near tragic end. Mr. Vincent called to me from inside his truck inquiring what I was doing standing near his house.

In fact, his house was atop the hill approximately 200 yards away, I was standing over the dying body of a deer with a cracked and bloodied head lamp. I didn't consider his question to be rhetorical. Again, looking back, it probably wasn't a good idea that I called him by name when I told him I had hit a deer. He seemed agitated that I knew his name. He did not know me. He exited the Suburban and slammed the door. Rounding the front of his truck he was upon me with a small handgun leveled at my face. I had not even remembered ever reaching but we were now pointing our weapons at each other's heads.

It was surreal. His eyes were transfixed and intent. I could tell he was not frightened of me. I was terrified. He asked me again very calmly who I was and what my business was here. I raised my hand and lowered my weapon and pointed toward the deer and then to the broken head lamp. For a moment, I could not speak. Vincent's eyes narrowed and he seemed to recognize me. He lowered his handgun and said, "You're Ms. Judy's boy aren't you?"

I helped Mr. Vincent put the deer into the back of his SUV and we talked for a while about the changes in the neighborhood over the years. I told him of my years away and that I rented a house near my mom's as she was getting older in years. I didn't realize it at the moment but Vincent was letting me calm down from the experience. He explained that he had been robbed months earlier and the criminals were never found. They had killed his dogs to gain entry into the house. He admitted to me that he wasn't worried so much about the property they had stolen as what would have happened had they known he was in the house while they browsed through his rooms. The thought chilled me.

Mr. Vincent explained that he kept his house predominantly dark as the medication he was on for his PTSD made his eyes light sensitive. The light causes headaches and the medicine only work to keep him in a perpetual state of dulled consciousness. You see, Mr. Vincent never left Vietnam. To him, every day is no different than a day in that war. Even many years after returning home his memories are still very vivid and clear. "If they dropped you, untrained as you are, into a war zone you'd likely get killed. Even though you can relate to the reality of your situation, your mind would still question why are they trying to kill me?"

I had studied health science in college and I was aware of the clinical psychology of his disorder but one can never really know it from a text book. Mr. Vincent explained that he was standing in his closet with a knife as the teens looted his home. He pulled it from the sheath on his belt. It was a long razor sharp curved blade. Most likely this weapon was very illegal to have. "I feel like I am trained for war and I've been dropped into a lie. I can relate to the reality of my situation as a veteran that has come home. But I can never accept any of this as real."

After my experience with Mr. Vincent on the road, I couldn't help but think of how horridly the situation could have ended if the teens had discovered him. I would have not feared for Mr. Vincent. I felt confident he was quite capable of handling four teens should it have come to that. In a similar situation, anyone backed into a corner could be frightened enough to pull a trigger. Mr. Vincent stood there in the dark with his blade drawn and was not frightened. Had one of them opened the closet door, Mr. Vincent would have slaughtered them all without any remorse. It is doubtful the teens realized just how close they had come to a brutal and savage end.

Resources/source

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

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