Reply to Monique

This is the funniest and perhaps wisest line I've heard recently:

"Have drastically reduced my work load and stress levels this year since my house burned down."

I can relate to that in a way, without having had the fire. I am doing well, thank you! I'm only 80% retired at present (I still come in 2 days every other week) but it's good to operate at such a reduced level, after so many high intensity years, and have a lot of time for myself and other pursuits. The clock is ticking and we don't have forever to do what's personally meaningful. I'm not taking any more forensic cases and am leaning towards retiring from seeing patients in May. My license is renewed until July 2019, so I could still do some professional work if I choose to after that. It's difficult to let go of my practice entirely but it has to happen one of these days. I think I will be glad when I do it.

It's surprising there are so few books about PTSD happening to doctors. No one is immune. PTSD with therapists who deal with trauma is talked about in professional PTSD circles. I've been fortunate not to develop it with all the terrible things I've looked at and listened to. I believe I was protected from it because I have the will and desire to look at the world honestly without fearing my own thoughts and feelings and because I didn't take it on myself to be responsible for what happened or for somehow making it "ok." Humility is the beginning of wisdom, I like to say. Humans also do a lot of good and cool things and we can only screw the universe up so much.

What did happen to me was "compassion fatigue" where I couldn't feel for people as I'm used to. That's what told me I had to cut back, which resulted in me regaining that capacity again. I view the path to inner peace and reconciliation with self and world as a life task. I don't look for some final stage where one becomes the Buddha, I'm ok with staying on the path and seeing what happens. Of course, if I do wake up to enlightenment one day, I'm sure it will be interesting.

So keep working on it. I didn't get an attachment with your message. Could you send me the link again? It's good hearing from you and you're welcome to remain in touch if and when I do retire fully.

Yours truly,

Owen

Notes on Bob Dylan's "Chimes of Freedom"

A few days ago, something got me thinking about Dylan's well known 1964 composition. Friends of my sister, Scottie, who was known as Kay at the time, introduced me to early Bob Dylan around 1965 when I was 13 years old. I was a huge fan of the Byrds from the release of Mr. Tambourine Man and I may have heard the Byrds' 1965 cover of Chimes of Freedom first. In any case, I acquired and listened repeatedly to Bringing it all back home, Highway 61 Revisited and older LPs, as well. Ballad of Hollis Brown, The gates of Eden and The times they are a-changin' stick out in my memory as spare and riveting songs that made a lasting impression. I've often said, "Bob Dylan confirmed that things were as screwed up as I thought they were." Dylan's creative us of language to create poetic images delighted and amazed me. To this day, I know all the words of Mr. Tambourine Man, Stuck inside of Mobile (with the Memphis Blues again), I want you, Leopard Skin Pillbox Hat and most of the words to many others.

I don't recall what got me started the other day, but Chimes of Freedom stayed in my consciousness. Fifty-three years after its release, the song is current, timeless. I listened to the original, some outtakes, the Byrds' live and studio versions and I watched a video of Bruce Springsteen performing it in Sweden.  Although it's difficult to shake the 4/4 rock beat favored in most covers, I found myself playing around with the song going back to the 3/4 time signature of Dylan's 1964 recordings. I began developing a concept of how I could sing the entire song. Most covers omit some of the verses, particularly verse 4 ("Through the wild cathedral evening....") To fit the song onto Top 40 radio, the Byrds sang only verses 1, 5 and 6. I suppose I'm a purist but it feels wrong to omit any lyrics in a song of this magnitude. After two days of obsession, I began recording my version, adding a drum loop, a bass track and faint electric guitar chords to the hypnotic waltzing of my acoustical guitar. I managed a rendition I feel good about. I shared it with one of my favorite people in the world and she liked it.

I also wrote the following analytic notes:

In the first verse, Dylan presents the listener in three lines with the vignette of a group of friends caught outside at night during a thunderstorm in what I presume to be New York City. They "duck inside the doorway" for shelter as they wait out the storm. The narrative begins with Dylan's awe "as majestic bells of bolts struck shadows in the sounds." While appreciating the power and beauty, Dylan sees greater meaning. He is thinking about the invalidating oppression inflicted on the innocent as the price of civilized life, the overwhelming suffering that compassionate people feel helpless to address. The lightning and thunder appear to him as "the chimes of freedom flashing" to affirm the downtrodden of the world, the few who are widely known and the vast majority who are anonymous. Against the backdrop of nature's power Dylan begins a roll call of the marginalized, the oppressors appearing only indirectly, anonymous middlemen in the calling out of humanity's indifference to humanity. The verse flows seamlessly into images of war turned ironically into salutes to "the warriors whose strength is not to fight," to "the refugees" and, "to each and every underdog, soldier in the night." Seven lines have framed the narrative with the eighth setting up the repetitive, echoing theme, "An' we gazed upon the chimes of freedom flashing."

The song winds in waltz time slowly through six verses, each acknowledging and affirming a class of unappreciated heroes while celebrating the "wild cathedral evening" with its "mad mystic hammering of the wild ripping hail." Nature is revealing itself the greatest of artists: To the delight of the group of friends huddling inside a doorway, "the sky cracked it's poems" and "the rain unraveled tales."

As he reflects compassionately upon many embodiments of the unjust suffering, Dylan at the same time is uplifted by the grandeur of the storm, in comparison to which human artifice and superficial religion, "the clinging of the church bells" celebrating a wedding, are puny, blown away by the breeze while the lighting and thunder still reverberate through the skies.

Dream

I had a recent primary care visit where I discussed my dysthymia with Harold Brandt, my long time primary care physician, and Hillary Gelpi, NP. whom I've been seeing more often than Harold. But Harold considers himself to be as competent as a psychiatrist in treating mental disorders. Hillary suggested trying Welbutrin, which I thought was a good plan. Harold, however, wanted to increase the trazadone I've been taking for many years and see if it helps or just sedates me further. So I went up from 150mg to 200mg HS. I've definitely been sleeping more soundly and maybe feeling a little more energetic during the day. I'm also experiencing feeling loggerheaded in the morning as well as having more vivid dreams that I regularly remember. This morning I dreamed I was one of three or four leaders conducting an event for college athletes. The young men and women were filtering in and lining up at the back of a large classroom. One of the group leaders asked who was going to facilitate the event. I stepped forward confidently. My idea was to discuss parallels between athletics and war. I began by asking for a show of hands: How many of you run track? How many are football players. Before I could get very far, a white male student who stood out as older and less collegiately stylish than everyone else, began a loud and distracting conversation with another student, asking about something unrelated to the event. I was very annoyed and I asked him if he realized he was being rude. The man was hostile, showing no intention to comply. "OK," I said, you'll have to leave the room now. The man refused. "That's it," I said, announcing that the event was over and dismissing the students. As I walked away, I felt I had been impulsive and could have taken a lower key approach to the problem, possibly getting better results. I realize now as I record the dream, I didn't confer with the other leaders at the event but simply assumed control.

Is Roquan Smith the second greatest Dawg of the modern age?

I'm generally not fond of "who was the greatest?" arguments, since there are many greats and many ways to be great. However, some players (whether it be football or guitars) do stand out for their combination of superhuman performance and charismatic personalities. I had the opportunity to see Herschel in action close up only once but it was a memorable once: Oct 10, 1981 against Ole Miss at Oxford. I had been in grad school away from Athens but did my internship in Jackson, MS. A friend on internship from UGA suggested we get tickets and drive up to see the Dawgs. Herschel carried 41 times for 265 yards that day leaving the Rebel students chanting his name by the end of the game. It's a great accomplishment to have a seasoned writer like Bradley rank you just below number 34. Roquan Smith is an amazing linebacker and he certainly stands out on a top flight UGA defensive unit. It's a lot more difficult to do that at his position that at RB. I have no objection to Bradley's weighing in- all I will say is, I'm really glad we have Roquan Smith on our side going up against another tremendous player, Baker Mayfield (I'm watching a replay of the Big 12 championship game as I write), in the biggest game we've played since... well, last week.