Living in a Body

Join the Conversation!In the post below, I give a brief update and reflect on my mantra of the current season — “Slow Down.” I recognize that Spring is typically more of a time of ramping up than slowing down, but I hope you’ll consider sharing an area in your life where you have successfully slowed down. Tell us. Have you reaped the benefits? Or… Share some area of your life where you’d like to try slowing down this Spring. Join me in the life changing practice of going slower and share the journey with us. It may be a new feature to some of you, but I hope you’ll join the chat conversation on Substack by clicking below. If that’s too fast-paced for you, leave a comment as usual. Now, Even SlowerIn hopes of easing the twisted, crashy feeling in my gut, I lie belly down on the bed. My face is smashed to the pillow and turned to the right. My knee is bent and pulled up to the side. It’s quiet in my second floor bedroom on South Chestnut Street but I can hear the cars passing by outside. I’ve heard that it’s sunny and Springtime in Ohio this afternoon. I’m lying here in the dark.The phrases I choose to say over and over again in my head change from season to season. Since my 60th birthday a few weeks ago, “Slow down” has been the mantra. Under my breath, I whisper, “Slow down, Hal.” Then I ponder what it means , I relax my breath, I smile and I follow it up with, “now, even slower.” It’s hard to believe that a guy in my circumstances could go much slower, but I can. I’m very aware of an old pattern of urgency in my inner world that ME/CFS is calling me to address. There’s this little Hal voice inside that says, “whatever it is, I want it now.” These days, I’m interested in slowing down on a cellular level. I’m not really sure what that means but I have a feeling it’s one of the keys to my survival of this illness. My 60’s have gotten off to a rough start. After about 8 months of milder symptoms, a series of “crashes” have left me in another deep state of illness. Since December, I’ve gone from mostly housebound to mostly bed bound. It’s been brutal. I’ve spent these first couple weeks of Spring behind blackout curtains and an eye mask seeking relief from the neurological sensitivities of this baffling illness. My full-time job has been avoiding any of the seemingly innocent activities that could possibly cause further crashes. That includes pretty much everything. My business these days is resting and digesting. My English girlfriend Emma Kitchen, who also has this condition, speaks wisely of deep rest. Especially after a relapse, she says how crucial it is to let go of all “doing.” Only after settling in to a new baseline do we bring back small amounts of doing over time. Emma’s experience has been that if we use this precious time to dwell in the quiet spaciousness of the present moment, illness can be a doorway to something profoundly beautiful. I believe whole heartedly in her approach, but I follow it imperfectly. You know how much I love a project. I love the creative process. I love making things. I love doing... possibly at times to my own detriment. Thankfully or not, I’ve gotten lots of practice in this chronic illness way of life. I keep being forced to adjust to what is. I’m learning to take my luck as it comes and after some terrified moans and groans, I eventually fit myself to it. It’s fairly remarkable how quickly I’ve adapted to this recent reality. Time and time again, the illness asks me to slow down. Over and over, I find out that I shoulda’ slowed down much sooner. I like the “if only I knew then what I know now” game. Just for fun, I’ve been imagining what would have happened if I had taken seriously the concept of slowing down back in 1991 when ME/CFS first came into my life. Maybe I would’ve transcended by this time. I’d probably be a meditation guru... or a super humble teacher of gentle yoga. Instead, I’m bed bound, I have a burning passion for productivity and I’ve got three and a half million followers on TikTok — but not enough energy to record a video. When I was in the worst of it a couple weeks ago, upon awakening, the first thought that crossed my mind was, “I’m fucked.” The feeling that goes with that thought reminds me of the time I got swept into the ocean by a rogue wave in Kauai. On one side of me were turbulent waves crashing against sharp lava rocks. On the other side was the infinite gray ocean that reached out as far as my eyes could see. Beneath me was an undercurrent that felt like a rushing river pulling me out to my death. I remember the baffling depths of terror that I felt as I realized how deeply fucked I was. Miraculously, in that situation, the right wave came along at the right time and helped push me to safety. The guy that had been standing right next to me didn’t have such luck. His daughter had to attend her dad’s memorial service there on the ocean with the seals and the wind. I, on the other hand, got this bonus life that I’m still living today. Maybe I’m not so fucked after all. The truth is, in so many ways, I’m blessed. But there’s no denying it. ME/CFS is one of the rougher ones. I don’t wish it upon anyone. In those earliest hours of the morning with intense symptoms overwhelming my nervous system, I can pretty easily convince myself that it’s always gonna be like this and it’s probably only gonna get worse. Instead, I’m grateful to say that I’ve seen small signs of improvement over the last few days. The more days that I get to live in this body, the more I learn the importance of changing the “I’m fucked” thought to something more productive. So I turn to one of a handful of my favorites -- thoughts like “Yes” or “Thank you, God” or “This too shall pass” or “This moment” or no thought at all. During this recent downturn, The one I’ve gone to most is “Slow Down.” Hey, that reminds me of a song. Remember this one? Sing it with me.Slow down, you’re movin’ too fastYou got to make the morning lastJust kicking down the cobblestonesLooking for fun and feelin’ groovyLadldeea da da da dum, feelin’ groovy.-Paul SimonHaving raced through much of my life with self-important busy-ness and an inner drive of urgency, “Slow down” points me in the direction of the truth. It brings me back to the moment. I slow down my breathing. I slow down my thinking. I imagine my heartbeat slowing. I picture all the cells in my body relaxing. Then I smile and I say, “now, even slower.” I like slowing down cause it requires patience and I’ve got little patience. I’m certain that patience is a good things to have so I get to spend these long days in bed practicing. I take a bite of food and then I slow down. I practice patience. I knit a single round of a sock and then I rest. I practice patience. I write a few sentences of my next Substack and then I pause. I practice patience. I lie belly down with my face smashed to the pillow and my leg up to the side and I think, “Slow down, Hal” I breathe slower. I think slower. I smile and then I whisper, “now even slower... even slower.” I practice patience. I practice trust. I practice surrender. In Letters to a Young Poet, Rilke says it so beautifully. He writes: “Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like the tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer. It does come. But it comes only to the patient, who are there as though eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly still and wide. I learn it daily, learn it with pain to which I am grateful: patience is everything.” Thanks so much for reading. It’s a been a joy producing this publication and I’m so glad that you’re a part of it. Enjoy living in that body of yours. See you next time. H Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. This Saturday, March 7th at 2:00 pm EST, I’m hosting a Zoom gathering to celebrate my March 5th birthday when I’ll be turning 60. You’re invited. Find details and a Zoom link below. Please click the PLAY button above to hear the intended PODCAST version of this episode. Find the complete transcript below. Thanks for being here! ❤️ Hal When: March 7, 2-3:30 pm EST. (notice time change from previous announcement) Where: Zoom Meeting: 870 0553 2132What: Open House followed by playing, “Friends are Human - a game that brings you closer to your friends.” Note: Stay for 5 minutes or stay the whole time. Sugar MountainGuess what!? I’m turning 60 next week… and you’re invited. I’ll tell you about that later, but for now, I just want to settle into the reality of getting older. It was 40 years ago that I turned 20. That was 1986. At the time, I was loving the Neil Young song, “Sugar Mountain.” The first time I ever heard Neil Young something changed in me. I’d grown up taking piano lessons and listening to Casey Kasem play top 40 music on the radio. But I went away to college and heard the sound of Neil Young playing the guitar and the harmonica at the same time and I thought, “That’s what I want to do.” I was blown away. I heard him play “Sugar Mountain” and that became my anthem for a little while. “You can’t be 20 on Sugar Mountain, though you’re thinking that you’re leaving there too soon.” It goes… “Oh, to live on Sugar Mountain, with the Barkers and the colored balloons. You can’t be 20 on Sugar Mountain, though you’re thinking that you’re leaving there too soon. You’re leaving there too soon.” - Neil YoungI loved that song so much. It was my coming of age song. I was growing up, I left home for college, I was growing my hair long and I was coming into my own. The reality was that I was a history major at Northwestern and I didn’t want to be there. “Sugar Mountain” helped me tap into the kind of life that I wanted — a free life on the mountain with a guitar and a harmonica. I wasn’t really cut out for academics. The liberal arts education was what my dad recommended, but I see now I was meant for being out on the Frisbee field, creating with my hands, crafting and making — playing music. I wasn’t cut out for reading history books in the library. I wanted to be free. I didn’t want to be locked to a desk with chains . I wanted to wear my hair long and have a girlfriend and wear hippie clothes… and be free. Lately, I’ve been reading a diary that I wrote back in 1985, 41 years ago. It’s been a fascinating read, a glimpse into my 19 year old brain. I was so insecure and so critical of others — desperate for a girlfriend. My big aspiration was to live among the homeless. I just wanted to roam the streets of Chicago. I wanted to be free. I’m gonna read you a little bit of the diary. Here’s an excerpt. “The last couple days have been incredible. Right now, I’m rather confused and I have a kind of sick feeling and I can’t wait to talk to dad to get his opinions. It all started by reading ‘Illusions’ by Richard Bach. Last night, I was to the point of crying, saying, ‘I have to get out of here. I have to get on my bike and ride.’ I spent most of the crying time thinking what I would tell dad to convince him how confused and unhappy I am. I have friends and all, but I’m 18 years old and I will soon be 80 years old, and I have to do what I really want. At this point, what I really want is to learn how to ride my bike and throw a Frisbee. I was to the point last night where I honestly didn’t think I would be here next quarter. As I look back, it sounds like a big excuse to not do homework. But it’s still true today. I don’t know what I should do. I think about taking all those s**t requirements.This morning, I was convinced that I would transfer into the music department and really learn how to play the piano. That would be cool — riding a bike around the world, playing the piano. Guess what? This is the next day, and I’m gonna drop out of school. Actually, I have to talk to dad first. But as of now, I’m a member of American Youth Hostels. I’m gonna dress real warm and head south, hitting all the hostels, reading a lot, practicing Hacky Sack, riding my bike a lot. You know… I’ll find a place to stay, then unpack, then train on my bike. I was studying Russian last night, and then I stopped and read “Illusions” and I convinced myself. I’m thinking that maybe I’ll find out the standards for transferring to the music school, but I’d still have to go through all this s**t of being nervous about finishing things. If there were no grades, people would study when they want to study. Some people wouldn’t study, but they would be happy. It’s impossible to not care about grades when there are grades. I can’t seem to have fun without thinking I should be doing something else. If I took a bike trip, I could do things like go into small town high schools and pick up an ultimate game. I could talk to people at hostels and I could sit back and read and write letters, making people think that I’m a great guy. I have to do it. Tonight was calmer than two nights ago. That night, I almost got sick and I cried and screamed, “I have to get out of here.” I’m gonna ask Harold Walker III of the future a few questions now. One — Did you take a break from school and take a bike trip? Two — Are you over the confusion of what to do with life yet? Three — Are you well educated? (not necessarily academically.) Four — Did you do the right thing? Five — Have you found something to really love and dedicate yourself to? I have to get out of here. Today and yesterday, I convinced myself that I would transfer to theater, but tonight, as we prepare for the coffee house, I’ve discovered that I’m not an actor. My body is so big and uncoordinated. S**t! I can’t do anything. There’s nothing in my past worth remembering and unless I get out of here, I can’t foresee anything in the future. I’m so scared. What should I do? Right now there’s nothing that I love to do but play ultimate… and I love Barb so bad, but I have nothing to say to her. Whenever we see each other, we part so abruptly without saying “goodbye.” On that bad night when I had to get out of here a week ago, I wanted so badly to talk to her and cry to her and have her comfort me. I got there and she wasn’t home and I went over to J.K. Sweets and there she was with her boyfriend. She looked so cold, and there was no way I could have said anything to her. I can’t wait to take off on my bike, taking my time, having no rush to get anywhere. I’ll stop at Ohio Wesleyan and Ohio State and Miami U. And I’ll move on South and possibly stop by Granny and Grandad’s in Birmingham. But they would probably die knowing that I had dropped out of school and had long hair. Oh s**t, I was just humiliated….”Anyway, it goes on and on for many, many pages. 1985. Well, Hal Walker of the past. It’s been a lot of life since then — 40 years as a matter of fact. You didn’t drop out of school, but you did go on the bike trips. You had a few girlfriends, you got married, you had a daughter named Hallie and you got divorced. And then two weeks ago, you started knitting. You’ve entered your knitting phase. Turning 60. Gettin’ started on knitting. It’s been a good one. It’s been a good 40 years. I can’t wait for the next 40. I’m turning 60 next week. That gives me 40 more years to 100. I haven’t been listening to any music lately, so I don’t have a “coming of age song” for 60. I guess for me, it’s more of a coming of age activity — knitting. Yep… learning to knit. My English girlfriend, Emma started knitting socks, and I said, “I want to learn to knit socks.” So we’re knitting socks together. I jumped right in and bought some yarn and bought some circular needles. I’m really enjoying it. I can’t believe it took me so long to get into knitting. I guess I had to slow down first to the pace of knitting. Of course, you know the way I roll. I’ve started with three knitting projects. I’m doing two pairs of socks and a hat. You know, my mom’s an artist and a knitter, and I realize, with all the art and knitting that I’ve been doing lately, she rubbed off on me more than I ever thought. Hal of 1985… Yep, you found your thing — Islamic geometric patterns and knitting. And by the way, you got free. Yeah, you’re free, man. It took a while, but you got free. Just in time. Birthday Zoom - You’re Invited. So anyway, next week’s my birthday, and you’re invited. Here’s what I’m gonna do. Next Saturday afternoon, March 7, at 2:00 pm Eastern time, I’m hosting a Zoom and you’re invited. For the first half hour, it’s just an “Open House.” Stop in for 5 or 10 minutes just to say “Hi” and connect on Zoom with me and whoever shows up. Then at 2:30 Eastern Time, for those of you that have the time to stay and want a deeper, more intimate connection, we’re going to play this game that I love called, “Friends are Human — a game that brings you closer to your friends.” And that’s what I want. That’s what I want on my birthday… is to be closer to my friends. And YOU are my friends and you’re invited. So we’ll gather and connect. Let me just pull out one of the questions. It’s basically a deck full of questions. I will pick out my favorites and we’ll take turns answering them. There will be no pressure to speak. You can just listen. But if you want to make yourself vulnerable and share, you’ll have the opportunity to answer the questions. For instance, “What’s a topic you wish you knew more about?” These are just random. “What parts of your life do you hope will be the same 10 years from now?” Nice. Here’s a deep one. “How has your understanding of love evolved as you’ve grown older.” And finally… (there’s 140 cards to choose from) Here’s one up my alley. “If you could learn any new skill instantly, what would it be?” And finally, “What’s something you’re passionate about that you don’t get to talk about very often.” So we will have some time together on Zoom. Stay as long as you want or as short as you want. It’s my 60th birthday. Please, no gifts. Actually, my birthday is on March 5th and this event is on March 7th, but that’s okay. Everyone, thanks so much. Thanks for being here. I hope you’ll come. I’ll leave the Zoom link above on this post and I hope to see you there. In the meantime, enjoy living in that body of yours. It’s not going to be around forever. I mean, we’ve only got 40 more years. We’ve only got 40 more years, and the last 40 went by so fast. “You can’t be 20 on Sugar Mountain, though you’re thinking that you’re leaving there too soon… Now you say you’re leaving home ‘cause you want to be alone. Ain’t it funny how you feel when you’re finding out it’s real? Oh, to live on Sugar Mountain, with the Barkers and the colored balloons. You can’t be 20 on Sugar Mountain, though you’re thinking that you’re leaving there too soon, you’re leaving there too soon.” - Neil Young Thanks for listening. I appreciate you. I’ll see you next time. Bye, Bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi! I’m Hal. Thank you for your patience. I’ve been moving pretty slow lately. I know it’s been a while since I’ve posted. I’m glad you’re here. Please tap the PLAY button above to hear the intended PODCAST version of this episode. Find the full transcription below. Enjoy. Color Theory (Part One) I’ve recently discovered color theory and I’m hooked. Have you heard about it? Complementary, monochromatic, analogous, split complementary, triadic, hue, value, tint, shade, tone — all the things of the color wheel. It’s called “color theory” and I love it. I’ve always been drawn to the theory of things. I remember coming home after graduating from Northwestern as a history major and realizing that I wanted to be a musician. I figured maybe the right thing to do would be to go back to Kent State as a post-undergrad and get a degree in music education. So, in order to prepare for the music major, I bought this programmed textbook called “Scales, Intervals, Keys, Triads, Rhythm and Meter” and I ate it up — the theory behind music. Finally, after years of piano lessons, I learned all the key signatures and I learned how to analyze a piece of music. It was like coming home to a language that was mine but I’d never known before.Due to the onset of ME/CFS in 1991, I didn’t finish that music education degree. But for the next two years, I was signed up for that 8 am music theory class with Dr. DeVore. Until I got sick, I used to ride my bike over to Kent State every morning from my mom’s house. I loved it.In high school, I had three years with the best grammar teacher in Ohio, Mr. Pollock. I learned how to pull apart a sentence. Mr. Pollock taught us a system for writing an essay — the introduction, the three body paragraphs and the conclusion. Well, if you know me, you’ll know that I love anything with a system. I love to follow directions. Give me some directions to follow and I’ll follow them. Even though I always thought I was a hippie and the rules didn’t really apply to me, I learned later in life that I love a system. Give me a structure and I’ll thrive inside of it. I’m drawn to things that have a system. I love to learn the theory of things. And I guess that’s the s**t part about ME/CFS. There is no system. There’s no theory. It’s just a brutal illness with a mind of its own doing what it wants to do. Like my girlfriend Emma says, living with ME/CFS is like walking a tightrope and you’ve got a blindfold on and the tightrope is constantly moving and you have no idea how far of a drop it is to the floor. 2026 has started off rough for me with this illness. After a handful of months of significantly milder symptoms in 2025, since the beginning of the year, you might say I’ve fallen off the tightrope a few times. The falls have come in the form of these things we call “crashes” — catastrophic, sudden onsets of intense illness. They come out of the blue and then they last for days or weeks or months… possibly a lifetime. That’s the thing. You never know. With ME/CFS, there is no theory. There’s no system. I guess like everybody else in this world, we live in the unknown. We’ve got a monster in our beds and we really never know when it’s gonna strike next. For me, it struck hard this year. It’s been brutal. I’m mostly bed bound these days. I went from being mostly house bound to definitely house bound to mostly bed bound. For the second time, I had to cancel a trip to England, I’ve had to let go of most of the things I enjoy and I’ve had to spend many hours writhing in a bed. I got the numb-f**k in the brain, I got the deep weakness in the hands and the legs and I got that awful burning weakness in the core, always on the verge of a crash. It means I’ve got to spend most of my time in quiet time — legs up, head back, looking for some good in the murky chaos of my inner world. Fortunately, I appreciate quiet time and I know there’s great benefit in the stillness and the quiet and the solitude. I’m spending most of every day alone, in the dark, with an eye mask on. Truly, it’s remarkable what I’ve adapted to over the last four or five years. I mean, you should have seen me back in 2019 and 2020. I went non-stop. (lol) I never stopped. I ran constantly — constantly in the car, loading up, heading off somewhere, always making urgent plans trying to figure out how to keep building the Hal Walker Enterprise. In many ways, I’ve let go of that enterprise. A very important person in my life has encouraged me to “practice being insignificant — one among many.” That speaks to me. For a guy like me, that’s a big deal. But I believe in it. I’m giving it a try. I appreciate being able to tell my story here on Substack. Thanks so much for being here.During my better months last year, I set up my dining room table to be an art table. It’s still covered with art supplies today while I lay here in bed. But, as you may have learned in my last episode, I’ve become very interested in Islamic geometric patterns. This kind of art touches my brain in such a beautiful way. Back in 10th grade, I loved geometry… and then I forgot about it for about 40 or 50 years. But I love me some geometry. I love shapes. I love angles. I love circles. And I love tessellating patterns.So I signed up for a couple online classes at the Global Islamic Art Academy led by Mohammed Al Janabi, who teaches a very systematic way of drawing these traditional patterns. He’s been doing it for about 70 years, I think. He learned it from his father. I’m learning to follow very precise instructions to create circles and stars and rosettes and kite shapes — coming together to form these gorgeous, intricate, traditional, repeating Islamic patterns. So I was creating these patterns and filling the shapes with something called stippling — thousands and thousands of tiny dots. I was quite satisfied with the glassy panes of various shades of gray. Gray was enough for me. You know, I’ve never been a big color guy. When people ask me my favorite color, I say “shades of brown.” My wardrobe always tended toward brown and gray and maroon, all the neutral tones. All the walls in my house are shades of beige and brown… and yellowish. So when I’d show these patterns to Emma, with all the stippling, she’d say, “Hal those patterns are screaming for color. They’re dying for color. Put some color in there.” Her walls are turquoise and purple and pink. In my explorations of Islamic art, I’ve found Instagram to be an amazing place for meeting wonderful artists doing beautiful work. One day, I was scrolling on the Islamic geometric art feed and I came across a single photo by an artist named Charlotte Dilly. It’s interesting to me how this humble photo jumped out at me as being something important. This was a technique that I needed to learn. This artist had colored a pattern with colored pencil using a very beautiful gradient technique that I had never even imagined before. I mean, for me, colored pencils were just something to scribble with. I never imagined the beauty that they could create until I saw that photo. I was immediately drawn to it. I was like, “Oh my gosh, I didn’t know you could do that with colored pencils. I’ve never seen that kind of depth. I’ve never seen that kind of warmth. and subtlety.” So I went to my direct messages, and I messaged Charlotte Dilley. I said, “What are those pencils? I need to know?” And she said, “they’re Faber Castell Polychromos pencils.” I learned that Polychromos pencils are an oil based pencil. They’re nice, but they’re not super special or anything. I mean they’re just colored pencils, but “Wow,” I thought. “I need to get me some of those.” So I loaded my wheelchair up onto the rack in the back of my car and I drove over to the All Media store on the other side of Kent. All Media is an art store that’s been there for like, 50 years. It’s old school, locally owned and I remember going there as a kid. I encourage you to go spend some money there. And guess what? At all media, you can buy individual Polychromos pencils for just about $2.50 a piece, they’ve got about a hundred colors to choose from. Amazing. So I sat there in my wheelchair and I picked out my first palette. I basically copied right off of Charlotte Dilley. Here’s what I got. I picked out the Polychromos Burnt Carmine (a nice deep red), Prussian blue (a real nice blue), Terracotta (kind of an orangish something), Chromium Green Opaque (kind of a seaweed green), then gold and warm gray no. VI. Those six colors made up my first palette of Polychromos pencils, and I raced home to see what I could do with this special shading and gradient technique that I had seen in this single photo of Charlotte Dilley’s — dark and layered on the outside, fading into very light on the inside, giving it a real sense of depth and warmth. Right away, a whole new world of color opened up to me. It was so satisfying… and my girlfriend was so pleased. The photos that I sent her in WhatsApp were no longer gray. They were all kinds of beautiful color — polychromos. I spent the next couple months with a compass and a straight edge and I followed that up with coloring. And every few days, I’d load up my wheelchair and head over to the All Media store to pick out a few more pencils. The manager got to know me there. I was the guy who showed up in the wheelchair and went straight to the colored pencils. Sometimes I’d spend a half hour picking out my colors. So, up until that first dreadful crash of 2026, I was coloring. I was coloring, coloring, coloring and I’m gonna show you some samples here in this post. Compared to this eye mask I’ve been wearing for the last couple weeks, it was really a vibrant, colorful time. I’m grateful to be able to share some of it here with you today. And this is just part one of “Color Theory.” Next time is going to be part two. (And we’ll actually be getting into some of the theory that I’m talking about.) But for now, I just gotta quit. My brain is completely toast — fried. And I’ve just got to stop. That’s one thing that I often don’t know how to do, is to stop when I’m on a roll. So I’m going to stop and we’re gonna make a part two next time. Thank you so much for being here. I’m looking forward to telling you the rest of the color theory story. It’s very interesting. Thanks so much. I appreciate you sticking around, not losing hope. I know I haven’t posted for a long time. I’m really glad to be here. And I’m still going… still going. It hasn’t been easy. I look forward to seeing you. I look forward to seeing you in the springtime. Maybe we can all circle up and hold hands and sing a song together. That’s what we need. It’s been quite a time in the world. I’ve been watching it here from my bed and I’m shaking my head a lot. Wish I could be out there doing more. I wish I could be out there doing more service. But here I am learning about color theory. All right, see you next time. Thank you so much. Oh, by the way, remember, enjoy living in that body of yours today. It’s not gonna be around forever. Take advantage of what you got. Okay, have a good one. I love you. Bye. Bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

StipplingI’ve been stippling lately. I had to pull myself away from stippling to record this podcast today. In the last two days, I’ve started three new stippling projects. In the last couple months, I’ve stippled for many, many hours. Yep, I’m a stippler. I’ve entered my stippling phase.If you don’t know what stippling is, I’ll tell you it’s using thousands and thousands of tiny black dots to create beauty. All the dots come together to give the illusion of smooth, glassy shades of gray. It requires precision, a steady hand, and tremendous patience. I discovered stippling several months ago, and now I’m a full fledged stippler — hours and hours of stippling, thousands and thousands of tiny dots. I keep asking myself, “Is it worth it?”It started a couple months ago on Facebook when I came across the term “sacred geometry.” I thought, “Hm.” And I started exploring. What is this “sacred geometry?” When I was in high school, I loved geometry. I remember the circles. I remember the triangles. I have a vague recollection of loving the formulas. It’s all the distant past by now, but I just remember that I loved that class. And the idea that sacred geometry exists in art got me excited.So I headed down the YouTube rabbit hole. The term sacred geometry led me to the world of mandalas. I bought myself a compass and a straight edge and I made a few of ‘em myself. And the world of mandalas led me to the world of Islamic geometric art, traditional patterns of repeating lines and tessellating shapes. And that has been my focus and my passion for a couple of months now.I’m fascinated by the interaction of the shapes, the squares, the stars, the almond shape, the circles, the pentagons, the octagons and all the shapes in between. They all fit together to unfold a beautiful sacred geometry.Many of the people who are doing Islamic geometric art are using watercolor to make their design come alive. They build the construction of the design with pencil and then add the color to make it pop. But I, on the other hand, am using “stippling” to bring life to the pattern. With stippling, I’m working with about five shades of gray when all these tiny black dots come together. It’s these glassy panes of gray that turn a complex geometric pattern into what I consider to be a living, breathing, ever changing kind of vibrant, brain=friendly, solving-a-puzzle piece of art.As I construct these patterns and fill them with shades of gray, I’m finding great satisfaction and enjoyment. Very slowly, I’ve been filling up this beautiful “Seawhite” sketchbook with tiny black dots. And the whole time I’ve got this nagging question. Is the result good enough for the amount of time that I’m putting into this? Is it worth it?Islamic art is brand new to me and I’m really excited. Next week, I’m going to be attending an all free, online “Islamic Art Week.” If you’re interested, you could join me. I can’t wait to see all the different flavors of design and calligraphy and geometry. These are ancient patterns, hundreds of years old, that were found on mosques and other architecture in the Middle East.I wish I could say more. I’m just at the beginning of the journey, but from what I understand, in the mosques of Persia, which is Iran today, they weren’t allowed to display images of people. So instead, they displayed these geometrical patterns of shapes that intertwine and tessellate and repeat to form these amazingly complex, symmetrical and timeless works of art. I’m finding that these patterns touch my brain in such a beautiful and satisfying way. It’s like my brain has been craving this kind of geometrical activity. I love it so much. The 10th grader in me from geometry class comes alive with a compass and a straight edge.The process is fascinating. I’m following very precise instructions, one step at a time, building a structure that underlies the design. It all begins with a circle and a square around that circle. Because of the tessellation, or the repeating nature of the design, I’m just creating one quarter of the finished pattern. I repeat that quarter of the pattern and the repetition causes all kinds of unexpected things to develop.Using a hard pencil. I create the underlying construction of the pattern with geometry. Once the construction is made, the simple, beautiful, repeating pattern shows itself and I do the incredibly satisfying process of lining out that final pattern with a straight edge and a black fineliner. And then I use one of those gray putty erasers to erase all the pencil line. And then on the bright white, smooth cottony paper, this luscious, clear, logical and simple design is born. And I begin the process of stippling — filling in the shapes and making the design come alive.I’ve become a much better stippler in the last couple months. When I started off, there was a kind of panic to it. I realized the kind of patience it was going to require and I didn’t have the patience. I wanted to go fast. But the truth about stippling is… it’s a very, very slow process, thousands of dots, one dot at a time. It takes hundreds and thousands of dots to make any progress on a piece. I felt like I needed to rush. In the rush, my stippling was messy. Many of the dots turned into dashes and left this unclean look to the stippling. But I’ve gotten better. I’m learning to be patient with my stippling.Stippling is essentially a mindless activity, but it takes real precision and care. When I take my time with a stipple, it turns clean and glassy on the page. It feels like a fine film on the paper and it’s quite satisfying.But it has brought up a lot of questions for me. It’s brought up these kind of existential questions, like, “Is it worth it?” As the minutes and the hours of tapping pass, questions come into my head and I wonder, “What am I doing this for?” Here I am filling these pages with thousands of dots, and I’m asking, “Is this the way I should be spending my life?”But when I finish a section of stippling and I rub my hands smooth over that fine paper and I can feel the glassy film of the black ink, I see the beauty. I feel the satisfaction.I’m gonna show you some of my work here, but I want to make clear, it doesn’t translate well on the screen. Trust me, you need your hands on the paper to get the full effect. I love to brush my hand over the fine softness of this high quality art paper. But I keep asking myself, “What’s the point? What’s the purpose? Is it worth it?” I mean, what am I doing this for? Who’s even going to see it?You know, when I was making music, there was always an audience. But art is different. I mean, I could be posting on Instagram, looking for likes, looking for affirmation. And I can take a picture and send it to my mom. She loves to see what I’m making. Or maybe someday when I fill up the book, I can pass it on to my grandkids. They can keep it on a shelf somewhere in their future house. Whenever someone comes to visit my house, I always break out the sketchbook to show ‘em my stippling. I appreciate the way Annette pauses and lets each page kind of soak in.But it brings up this whole question of, what is the purpose of art, especially this particular craft that takes so many hours to make it happen, and I’m not even certain that it’s great work. You know, I could be writing my memoirs or composing an orchestra or teaching a child or changing the world or writing a letter to an old friend or creating my next Substack. But instead, I’m sitting here tap, tap, tap, tapping, essentially coloring in these shapes with thousands of tiny dots.It’s essentially glorified coloring. That’s what it is. It’s glorified coloring. And I don’t want to be a coloring book artist. Mind you, I’m not judging all the people that are out there coloring with coloring books. But I grew up in a household with an artist mom who didn’t really allow coloring books in the house. We had to make the books ourselves. And I guess that’s what I’m doing with the Islamic design. I’m following ancient geometrical instructions to create an outline and then coloring it in with stippling. I’m basically a glorified coloring book artist. (lol)I’m not sure what the problem is, or if there is a problem. It’s a beautiful and satisfying process of art making that I’m taking part in. But I just don’t know what the purpose is. What is the purpose of art? That’s the question. That is my question. what is the purpose of art? What is the purpose of filling up this sketchbook?I find it very peaceful. I love making these patterns. It’s such a fun and exciting process of unfolding. Maybe that’s enough. Maybe it’s enough just enjoying the process. I think that’s it. It’s about the process. Am I tapping these taps with intention and love? Am I bringing beauty into the world? Am I bringing peace into my life and spreading it to others? It could be that the final product and who sees it is really not that important… maybe.So that’s basically the whole story. I’ve been stippling. I’m becoming a master stippler, one dot at a time, one little shape at a time. I’m creating beautiful glazes of gray.You know, stippling fits my energy level quite well. As you know, I’m living with chronic illness. I can’t go out in the yard and tend the garden or rake the leaves or clean the garage. I’m not well enough to go on a bike ride or a walk. And often, I’m just not well enough to use my creative juices for much of anything. But I can handle stippling sitting up in that chair with a pad under my butt, tapping that pen over and over.You know, another word for stippling is pointillism. I haven’t really warmed up to that term. It feels a little bit above my pay grade. I’m doing stippling, thousands of tiny dots on paper, satisfying my brains craving for the gray scale… and wondering what the purpose is.Please! Come over to my house. Ask to see my sketchbook. Give my life some purpose. I’m dying to show it to people. I want you to rub your hands over it. I want you to feel the smoothness of the paper, this fine paper. And I’ll leave some pictures here, but trust me. They don’t, they don’t live up to the real beauty of the page.So, I’ve started three new stippling projects in the last few days. Beginning a project is like, Oh, my God, there are many, many hours of patient stippling ahead. At the beginning, it can feel a bit overwhelming. But, filling in just one shape at a time, eventually the work gets done.You know, sometimes it occurs to me, I could be hiring child labor to do this work. Hire some kids five bucks an hour to stipple for me. (lol) I don’t know if that’s legal or not, but it does occur to me. It’s like, what am I doing? A 59 year old man, highly intelligent, very creative man sitting here poking dots over and over. I could have kids doing this. I’m just kidding about that, but it is. It’s mindless work. It’s mindless work that this 59 year old man is quite enjoying in his retirement.But I do get to experience the satisfaction, I mean, when the whole piece is done, and my eyes get to gaze out over that field of gray, that smooth, glassy, kind of film of gray, I can just sit there and gaze at the real beauty with a good sense of satisfaction. It makes it all worth it, all that repetition, all that mind numbing labor.Let me tell you one more story. When I was in college, I worked at the Noyes Cultural Arts Center, and I was an office assistant. I was terrible. I would show up with my long hair, unshaven, messy clothes, holes in my clothes, stinking like a hippie. For three years, I worked at the Noyes Cultural Arts Center with Toni Sinclair, and my favorite thing was to go across the street and get Toni her donuts and coffee. And I’d bring it back and we’d all sit at our own desks and I’d eat my donut and my coffee.But what I loved is when she would give me a mindless job. Like, “Here Hal, here’s 1000 envelopes to address, to put the sticker on,” or “here’s 1000 envelopes to seal.” I love that kind of repetitive, mindless work. I was so grateful when she’d give me a job like that. I could just lose myself in the repetition of the task. Unlike my co-worker, who would come up with projects on her own and make good things happen in the office, I just sat there… waiting for my shift to be over. I did not like office work. I wasn’t cut out for it, but whenever I was given a mindless job, I could do it. I could do it for hours.And that’s kind of what stippling is. It’s this mindless, meditative, mildly maddening, very peaceful, very quiet. I don’t listen to music, I don’t listen to a book. I just sit there, dot after dot after dot after dot — thousands of dots and I stipple.That’s my whole story for today. Thanks for listening.So if you wonder where I’ve been lately, I haven’t been writing for Substack. I’ve been stippling and I hope someday that I get to have a… you know, maybe I’ll have a show someday. Maybe someday I’ll frame some of these and have a show. Maybe I’ll be a famous stippler. Who knows.But tell me, what is the purpose of art? I’m really interested. Besides filling up this sketchbook and putting it on the shelf somewhere and passing it on to my grandchildren and teaching them Islamic geometric art and stippling. Tell me. Tell me. What’s the purpose? What’s the purpose for creating beauty, other than enjoyment, my own enjoyment. Maybe that’s enough. So that’s my big existential question for the day. What’s the purpose of art? What’s the purpose of stippling? Thanks so much for listening. I really appreciate you being here.All right, I’m gonna go stipple some more. Hey, by the way, if you woke up this morning, enjoy. Enjoy that body. Enjoy that sacred body. Not everyone gets to have one today. I know several people that don’t — that body that is such a miracle with five senses inside and all those organs that are working, you know, all the things that had to go right for us to be alive today, it’s a miracle. Thank you.Come visit me sometime. Put your hands on my stippling. All right, everybody, have a great day. Bye. Bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

The weather changed today and it’s cold inside. I’ve been walking around the house with a T-shirt on tonight and I’m freezing. I haven’t gotten my fall clothes out yet. I haven’t been ready to make that transition.It’s been summer in Ohio for the last couple weeks and I’ve been loving it. All the windows have been open and… I wish it would never end. It’s been blue skies with temperatures in the 70’s and the 80’s. I’ve been wearing my linen pants and a T-shirt and I’ve been staying up late with the windows open, making art. I love it. I’ve been drawing Islamic geometric patterns. That’s my latest thing, but I’ll tell you about that another time.But today feels like the first day of a new season. I feel a little bit cold to the bone. It’s the middle of October and it’s definitely turning autumn. And I can’t say that I’m ready. To be honest, I’m a little scared. I mean, after autumn comes winter, right? Summer’s much easier. Yep, of all the seasons, summer is definitely the easy season.But I’m not here to talk about the weather. It’s been an interesting week in the world and in my life, it’s amazing how much can change in a week. In the last seven days, three people who have played important roles in my life have died.In each case, I found out about it on Facebook and in each case, I realize that I didn’t get the opportunity to adequately let them know how much they meant to me, how much I cared about them. I didn’t get to let them know how important they were in my life.So I’m taking this opportunity now to speak out these names and just give a little glimpse into the lives of three really remarkable and wonderful people who are no longer walking the earth. It’s definitely been a reminder to me that it’s never too soon to tell the people I care about how much I care.I love you, mom. I love living in the same town with you and I really enjoyed our date last week to the Standing Rock Cultural Arts Center. We should do it again. ❤️It was last Friday that I learned that Dr. Terry Miller died. I think it was a sudden death, unexpected by his family.What a great guy. Dr. Terry Miller, an ethno-musicologist from Kent State University. He was the man that introduced me to the melodious khaen, the grandmother of the harmonica from Southeast Asia. Terry Miller was the preeminent scholar on the khaen and all music from Northeast Thailand, from the Isan territory of Thailand. I don’t know all the details, but I think he started studying and traveling to remote villages in Northeast Thailand back in the 60’s. Long before running water and electricity, Dr Terry Miller was listening to “morlam” music in remote villages outside of Roi Et.He wrote just about the only book that exists on how to play the khaen. I think it was he that started the ethno-musicology department at Kent State. And somehow I ended up living in the same town as Dr. Terry Miller. I’d say that because of Terry Miller, Kent, Ohio has been a Global Center for world music, and specifically music of Northeast Thailand and the khaen. And this is my hometown. How lucky am I.Back about 25 years ago, I visited his house one day, as a friend of mine was house sitting for the Miller’s, and over in the corner was a four foot bamboo mouth organ. I learned it was called the khaen and it was just sitting there ready to be played. I blew some harmonica rhythms into that mouth organ and my life’s never been the same ever since.In 2007, I traveled to Thailand with Dr. Miller and his wife Sara. Every year they would spend several months in Thailand. In 2007, I bought a plane ticket with a stop in Seoul, Korea, and found myself at the Miller’s house in Bangkok. Then I spent about two weeks traveling around Thailand with Dr. Miller and his wife — all the while looking for places where I could lie down, because I was living with a fairly mild version of ME/CFS at the time. I didn’t tell anybody, though.Dr Miller escorted me to remote villages in Northeast Thailand in search of the makers of the khaen. He was personal friends with all of ‘em. I met the makers and bought a few khaens and brought them back to Ohio. It was a wonderful trip. I’ll never forget it.Terry Miller was so kind and generous to me. You know, I’ve always been kind of a socially anxious guy and I was just a little bit intimidated by his academic stature. He was very smart and he knew a lot about a lot of things. I was just a pot smoking folk singer from Kent that wanted to learn how to play the khaen. But he always surprised me with his kindness. He really seemed to take an interest in me.On my last night in Bangkok, I woke up in the middle of the night very ill with a terrible flare up of some devastating, mysterious illness. I came back to Terry’s house and he took me to the hospital. As my host, he was very concerned. I was very sick. But, I made it back to Ohio and, uh, got sober and eventually, 20 years later, I became a world famous khaen player on Tiktok.But for the last 20 years, Dr Miller’s been visiting Thailand every year studying covered bridges. I think that was his latest passion. But I’m sorry to say he’s gone now and I won’t get the opportunity to tell him how thankful I am for all his good work and all his generosity toward me. Thank you, Terry.Then on Sunday, I learned that Peter Amidon died. Another great man, another great musician, a music educator and a big influence on my teaching.Probably about 25 years ago, I bought these two song books for children called “Down in the Valley” and “Jump Jim Joe,” compiled by Peter Amidon and his wife, Mary Alice. And these books were full of singing games and dances for children, and I learned them, and I incorporated them into my life as a music educator. And I brought these songs into my family life. Hallie grew up with songs like Green Sally Up and Grandma Moses and Jump Jim Joe and all these wonderful songs that Peter Amidon introduced me to.There’s one song called Grandma Moses. It goes like this,Grandma Moses, sick in bed. She went to the doctor. The doctor said, “Grandma, Grandma, you ain’t sick. All you need is a peppermint stick.” Hands up, shake, shake, shake, shake, hands down, shake, shake, shake, shake, roll around, shake, shake, shake, get out of town. Shake, shake, shake, freeze.I taught that song with motions to 1000’s of students all around the state of Ohio — all thanks to Peter Amidon and his songbooks. Thanks Peter.And then, as a choir director at the Unitarian Universalist church, I was always looking for good choral material and Peter Amidon compiled these beautiful choral arrangements— perfect for my choir. It was called “55 Anthems for the Small Church Choir” and then another one called “25 Anthems for Interfaith and Community Choirs.” These books were so jam packed with good stuff. I bought a set of each of ‘em for my choir and we used it week after week. It was such a great resource — beautiful songs, beautiful arrangements with beautifully simple piano accompaniments. What a great find for a choir director like me — so satisfyingly folky, while being incredibly high quality, as well. Peter Amidon’s arrangements had such a simple beauty to them.In 2016 when I put out my album, Life Wonderful. I was looking for famous people to give quotes about the album, so I sent one of my CDs to Peter Amidon, and he listened to it and I got a response. He said, “Hal, I so appreciate your talent. Keep going, but this is not my style of music, so I’m not going to give you a quote.”That was a little bit uncomfortable and humbling, but I had so much respect for that guy. Peter and his wife Mary Alice actually performed for my benefit concert back in 2021 when I was in the depths of illness. I so appreciate them. I’ll leave a link for the video of them right here. You can check it out now.Peter and Mary Alice were the heads of a traditional music family. I think the Amidon family used to perform together. I never got to meet him in person, and I don’t know that we ever even spoke on the phone. Maybe we did, I can’t remember, but I’m so thankful for the songbooks that came into my life.Rest easy. Peter Amidon, thank you for all you’ve given us.And then on Monday, I learned that Debra Lynn Hook died. Yep, my old friend, Debra-Lynn. Debra-Lynn and I were buds. She was just a person in town that I really liked. I really had great admiration for her. She was unique and opinionated and had a strong sense of herself. She was a spiritual seeker and I always appreciated that about her.I think she’s from New Orleans and had kind of a really easy North Carolina accent. I don’t really know her whole background. All I know is I liked her and I used to love it when she came to church. She’d come to church sometimes, sometimes she’d sing in my choir and and I just always appreciated it when she was there, I felt she brought a level of honesty and intelligence to the church that I really appreciated.And she was a great photographer. Again, when my album “Life Wonderful” came out, I hired Debra-Lynn for a photo shoot. She took some beautiful pictures and I’ll never forget it. That was a wonderful afternoon. Me and Andy and Kathy, my trio went out to Beckwith’s tree orchard, and Debra Lynn did an awesome photo shoot. Those were the days — 2016. It’s getting to be a long time ago now.And Debra-Lynn’s been battling leukemia for many years. She lived a very full life for all those years, but for the last few years, while I’ve been battling ME/CFS, she’s been home battling leukemia. And I know it got really rough. I’m sorry I never took the time to stop by and let her know that I care, but I was busy with my own battles, like we all are, I guess. But I do care, Debra-Lynn. I miss you and I’m sorry I didn’t get to give you an adequate farewell.But her family lives on. She’s got three beautiful grown children that are in Kent now building their own families. A whole new generation of little children will take over. I guess it’s nice the way that works. The torch just keeps getting passed.My friend Emma was just reminding me that we think we got all the time in the world, but we don’t. In fact, “every moment is a gift,” she says. And it’s true, what a gift to be alive. The time to let the people you love know you love them is today. So I’m going to leave you with this. I’m grateful for you and I care for you and I hope I get to say it face to face before it’s too late. I’ve learned my lesson too many times.So let these memories not be forgotten. Dr. Terry Miller and Peter Amidon and Debra-Lynn Hook, three people who really played a significant role in my life, and I’m sorry they’re gone, all in the course of one week.Sending blessings to all of you. Thanks for listening. Remember… you may think you have all the time in the world, but this is the day. This is the day to celebrate being alive. What a gift it is to be alive, but it’s not going to be here forever, so take advantage of it today.Well, I’ll be back next time. Thank you so much for listening. Enjoy living in that body of yours. Breathe Easy, everybody. Sending my love. Alright. Bye Bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

There's a Quaker phrase that says, “the way opens.” I love that phrase. The way. The way will open. It's a beautiful idea, this idea of “the way.” Just watch what happens. What will be, will be. Que será, será… and “the way” will open. Yep, my job is just to be available, be present, to be present for the way to open.One interesting thing about this illness that I live with, ME/CFS, myalgic encephalomyelitis, also known as chronic fatigue syndrome. One of the main characteristics of this illness is how many doors it closes, how many things it takes away. With ME/CFS, most of the time, the way does not open.But in my thinking today, the way always opens. You know, It's not my way. My way doesn't always open, but “the way” opens. The way opens and we eventually all die and the way keeps opening. I love that idea, “the way opens.” I like thinking about God that way. God is the way — the way, the path, the unfolding. The way opens. I see the way opening for me all over the place. It just keeps opening. I keep waking up and the way keeps opening. (lol) The way opens… yes.But one big way it didn't open is on my trip to England. In case you were wondering, I'm not in England right now. Nope. For a variety of reasons, I wasn't able to get on the flight on Sunday night for my lie down seat to London to meet my long distance partner, Emma for the very first time. In fact, today marks our one year anniversary of meeting on Substack. Yeah, we're a Substack couple, a long distance Substack couple. We met on Substack one year ago, exactly.In fact, maybe I'll even post the message that we sent to each other. I said, this was on September 18, 2024, just so you know, Emma lives with the same illness that I have, ME/CFS, and she's mostly housebound, living in Warwickshire County, England. I said, “Emma, thanks so much for subscribing and commenting. I'd love to hear more of your story. I'm so interested in connecting with people that are taking a spiritual approach to this illness. I’m having a really rough day and a rough week, and it's hard to see any other side of this thing. All the best. No pressure to respond. Hal” And on the very next day, Emma responded, “Good morning. Hal, I'm so glad that you reached out in messages. I felt I wanted to connect with you this way too.” Her message closes like this. “There is another way. Have faith that your journey has purpose and meaning beyond what your mind is telling you. Em.” There it is — the way. “Have faith that your journey has purpose beyond what your mind is telling you.” That's everything I needed to know to know that I liked this person and I wanted to know more. We've been talking practically every day ever since — on FaceTime, Zoom and WhatsApp, mainly — getting to know each other long distance, with an ocean between us.Anyway, this was our one-year anniversary today of having met and I'm supposed to be in England, but I'm not there. The way didn't open. I'm still here in Ohio on South Chestnut Street. I guess a different way opened, because the way always opens. I can't wait to see what happens next. So I'm gonna tell you a little bit of a story of how the way didn't open, and my significant role in that kerfuffle of the way not opening.I bought a ticket several months ago to England. I bought the super expensive lie down ticket, the overnight flight from Pittsburgh to London — non-stop, lie down, super expensive, non refundable. And I invited my good friend Annette to be my traveling companion. And the vision began.It was a beautiful vision. It was a dream. It was a fantastical journey in my mind, in all our minds — Emma, me, Annette, all my friends that I told about it. We were counting the days and the weeks until the trip. We couldn't wait. We were gonna be staying in this really cool Airbnb in rural Warwickshire County called “the Pig Barn,” a converted pig barn, which was now a super nice cottage. And I bought a special puzzle and I bought a couple games and I bought a couple real nice, sweet, new outfits, British-inspired. I was looking good to meet my young, English, super hot, 45 year old, long distance girlfriend — for the first time. I was feeling fresh and I was having some better days, a whole bunch of ‘em.Against all odds, this trip really seemed like it was gonna happen. Coming from 2024, the year of crashes, the year of decline, the year of needing a caregiver, being mostly bed bound. I sort of leveled out this summer and it seemed like traveling was a real possibility. I couldn't wait to sit in the same room with Emma and see what it was like.The dream was unfolding. We were just three weeks away. We went from counting the weeks to counting the days. Finally, after a whole year, Emma and I were gonna be able to spend some time getting to know each other in person, face to face, the real human stuff, no more screens, real bodies, real touch, real sight. The way was opening.And then… you see, all along I had this passport ID. It was a passport card. My passport booklet was expired, but I had this card in my wallet and it said “passport card” and it didn't expire until 2027. And I kept looking at that passport card and saying, “you know, Hal, you should check into this. You should make sure this card is okay.” But it didn't ever occur to me that it might not be. I mean, it says in big letters on the thing, “Passport Card.” That's got to be a passport. It's got to be what I need. The thought I was having was “passport cards are the new way. They don't use passport books anymore. Now it's just passport cards. This is the new generation.” But I procrastinated looking into this. I kept looking at that card, thinking, “you know, Hal, you should look into this.” But I didn't. I'm really embarrassed to admit this. I'm so humbled.Well, just a few weeks ago, just about three weeks before the trip, I applied for my ETA, my “electronic transit authorization” to enter England and they would not accept the picture of my passport card. And I started getting frustrated. Over and over, I was sending a perfectly focused picture of my card. So I thought maybe I need a scan. But my scanner is broken, so I went all over town looking for a scanner, somebody to scan this passport card. I finally got a scan, but the scan didn't work either. Then I started getting real nervous. Anyway… they kept not accepting it.And then, I told Emma about it. She said, “Hal, you need a passport booklet.” I said, “What? I need a passport booklet?” “Yeah, you need a passport booklet to get into England. You can't do it with a passport card.” And I was like, “Oh, s**t.” So right away I started freaking out, looking into how I was gonna get a passport in the next three weeks. And pretty quickly, I found out the only way to get a passport in the next three weeks is to do the urgent passport process. It's possible, but there's a lot of uncertainty involved.It means, within two weeks of your trip, you gotta call the passport hotline in hopes of getting an appointment that week. Then you gotta travel to the nearest passport office in Detroit, Michigan, in hopes that they'll be able to give you a passport on that day. Believe me, I know the whole process. I know all about it. (lol) I learned everything. I learned everything… and the way still didn't open.So that Tuesday morning after Labor Day, I called the passport hotline. I got myself an appointment for Friday. I was going to have Cameron drive me up to Detroit, and I was hopefully going to be getting myself a passport. And then, guess what happened next?It was Tuesday night and I started having symptoms in my body that felt like a crash coming on. I can't even describe it. I don't know what to say about it. It's just a weird, adrenaline, wired feeling — this scary feeling like some poison is poured into my body. And I couldn't sleep all night. And I woke up on Wednesday morning, very ill, bed bound, breathing heavy, heart palpitating, heart racing, all kinds of crazy symptoms — scary, crazy symptoms. And I had two days until I was supposed to travel to Detroit.Now that doesn't sound like a very big deal, but when you're having the symptoms I was, just leaving the bed, just going downstairs to the kitchen is a big deal. I was in a full-fledged crash and I had no idea how long it was gonna last. And my mind starts taking over. “Oh, s**t, this is my new normal.” I start getting filled with fear, like, “What did I do? What did I do to make this happen? And is this going to be my new normal? Am I ever going to get back to the way it was? How did I overdo it? What's taken over my body?”And I knew if I didn't make that trip to the passport office in Detroit, I wasn't going to England. And I think it was that Thursday night, I made the decision. I called Annette, and I said, “Annette, I can't do it. I can't get to Detroit tomorrow.” And the dream came to an end. We pulled the plug and we canceled the trip. Then over the weekend, I started feeling a little better, and I was like, “Oh s**t, I was feeling better.” And I was like, I canceled the trip, Annette forfeited her ticket. I canceled the Airbnb. But then I started questioning it. I was thinking, “maybe if the way opens, I can still go on this trip, even though Annette’s not going, even though I still don't have a passport, even though I don't have the Airbnb, I still have a plane ticket on Sunday night, and maybe the way will open.”So on that Monday morning, one week before the trip, once again, I called the passport office and made another appointment for Detroit. Yep, made another appointment for Detroit — that Thursday, three days before the flight, I was gonna travel to Detroit and hopefully get myself a passport. I was just gonna see if “the way” opened. So the story goes on, checking to see if “the way” opens. And as you can see, the way did not open. I'm still in Ohio. Thanks to a doctor's note, I have one year to use the credit with British Air. So let's hope within the next year, the way opens.Of course, we know the way will open. We just don't know what way. Hopefully it'll be my way, the way I want. Yeah, I want MY way to open.So that's the whole story, everybody. I'm tired. I gotta wrap it up. That's the gist of the story. The gist is “the way” did not open. But the fact is, “the way” always opens. You know, what's going to happen next? I can't wait to see.I spent this week drawing. I spent this week getting into sacred geometry. I bought myself a drawing compass and a straight edge. I've turned my dining room table into an art studio. And I took a little picture of it before cleaning up. It's a mess. I've been spending my days surrounded with watercolors and colored pencils and water soluble crayons. Yep, the way keeps opening in unexpected ways. I mean, two weeks ago, I'd never even heard of sacred geometry. Now I'm obsessed. That's all I want to do. I’m looking forward to sharing more of that with you.The way keeps opening. You know, keep an eye out. How is the way opening for you in unexpected ways. That's what I want — to keep an eye out. Like, here's the way. The way is now. The way is opening. Can't wait to see how it opens next. You know, when one door closes, another one opens.But all that aside, it was a huge disappointment losing this trip. I had so many pictures of the way it was gonna be. Yep, the way it was gonna be, but the way didn't open. I'm really humbled and embarrassed about this whole passport debacle. It didn't need to be that way. I'm very sorry to Emma and to Annette and Emma's mom and everyone that was so excited for this trip to happen. Everyone's hopes were so high. So I'm doing the normal process of getting a passport now so I can be ready for the trip when it happens.The way opens.All right, that's it. That's it. I'm wrapping it up. Hey, thanks so much. Thanks for listening. Thanks for paying attention. Hey! Enjoy living in that body of yours. It's not gonna be around forever. Take advantage of it today. Do what you can, breathe. Breathe, love, feel. Take care of yourself, all right? Thank you. Bye, bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi! Thanks for being here. Please press the PLAY button above to hear the intended podcast version of this episode. Find the full transcription below. A Sketch Book and Two Fountain PensLast night I was at the Spectrum store getting my phone activated and getting my mom's phone activated. After many years of being with Consumer Cellular, Spectrum was willing to give me a package deal on internet and phone and I made the switch. So it was a full day of cell phones and internet providers and operators helping me with the whole process. But I got to the Spectrum store and I had a really great guy helping me out. He was so energetic and so helpful. He just wanted to help. It was so great to be in contact with another human who was smart and knew what he was talking about and wanted to help. So at some point, he let me know that I'd have to wait a little while because the activation was taking longer than he expected. And fortunately, I had brought my sketchbook with me. Yep, I have a new hobby. I’m a guy with a sketchbook. 59 years old and I finally realized the joy of having a sketchbook. I carry it with me wherever I go - a sketchbook and two fountain pens. Kind of like my mom did back in the day. She's a master sketcher and she always had a sketchbook with her. Wherever we'd go on vacation, my mom would go off and sketch. I, on the other hand, was never particularly interested in sketching or sketchbooks. That was my mom’s thing. I’m a musician and I always believed that I didn’t know how to draw. But lately, I'm putting the pen on the paper, taking the risk to do it imperfectly and I’ve started to draw. And sometimes I even add some watercolors. I've got a Stillman and Birn Delta Series sketchbook with nice, thick watercolor paper and I found this cool pencil holder that straps on. I don’t use it for pencils though. I use it for my two fountain pens. And they both fit in this little orange pen holder that I found in a store in downtown Kent. A couple Saturdays ago, I was just roaming around on my scooter and I was well enough to say, “you know, I'm gonna walk into this little stationery store and see what they got.” And more and more, I love paper stores. I love stationery stores. I love fountain pens and different kinds of paper and paintbrushes and watercolors. I went in there just to see what they had and within about two minutes, I found the perfect thing to buy. Within five minutes, I was back on my scooter with a new pencil holder. It’s got this elastic strap that straps right onto your sketchbook, so wherever I take my sketchbook, I’ve always got my two fountain pens there. They don’t get lost and they’re ready for me whenever I need ‘em. So anyway, I was at the Spectrum store and I was in my wheelchair and I had some time to wait. So I just found myself a comfortable spot right off to the side of the store with this little corner scene of a table and two chairs that I decided I would draw. That's the beauty of a sketchbook. When I'm moving around the house or moving around town, I'm always on the lookout for something I might like to draw. And I got my sketchbook right there with me and two fountain pens, one fine and one ultra extra fine — kind of like my girlfriend, Emma. She's ultra extra fine. So there I was sitting in the Spectrum store, a white table and these two kind of modern chairs, and I said, “Okay, here we go.” You know, there's always a little bit of anxiety that goes with starting a new page on the sketchbook, ‘cause what if I mess up. What if I ruin a page? I don't have a sense that I'm going to ruin the page and it really doesn't matter if I ruin the page, but there's just that little bit of fear. What if something goes wrong? I’m working with ink. I’m working with a pen. It’s not a pencil where I can erase if I make a mistake. Every mark that I make stays on the page. But I just jumped right in. I started with the table top. Within a couple marks, I knew I had made the perspective wrong, but I just kept going. I didn't stop. I didn't give up. So for the next half hour or 40 minutes, while I was waiting in the Spectrum store, I was focused and at peace. I was fully in the moment. It was nice comfortable air-conditioning. I had the comfortable seat of my wheelchair. No one was paying any attention to me. I was just there focused on my little corner scene. I was so content. It was quiet in there and I just sat and drew — for about 30 minutes, probably.Drawing is such an interesting process. I mean, I'm really a beginner. I don't know how to draw. But I take the risk and I start. I face the fear of the empty page and I go for it and I keep getting surprised by the results. Little by little, one mark at a time, it becomes something, and it's so satisfying to watch it become something, even though sometimes it's frustrating and scary and I make wrong moves. It's so satisfying and often so surprising. And it doesn't take long for something to happen. Pretty quickly, I had myself a little piece of art there in my hands. And I felt a smile in my heart. Right when I had finished the scene, I looked down at my phone and the activation was complete. So I rolled over and told my helpful Spectrum guy. And we were both in just such a good mood. He was so pleased that I was happy, and I showed him my picture. He said, “Wow, that's great!” And I said, “Oh, it's not that great.” He said, “Believe me, I've never seen anyone walk in here and do that before.” So I was quite happy. I love having a sketchbook. And then on the way out, as I was passing by this woman, she said, “you need any help?” And I said, “Yeah, sure, you can open that door for me?” And she opened the door for me, and I rolled right out of there to my car and put the wheelchair up on the back rack. It was just a beautiful outing. You know, I don't take outings for granted anymore, having spent so much time in bed, so much housebound time. Late summer in Ohio. It was great to be out among people and I was met with so much kindness. And having my sketchbook along made all the difference in the world. I recommend it. If you’re thinking about getting a sketchbook. Go for it!This phase in my journey of making art began about a year and a half ago. My mom brought over some water colors and I started throwing some paint onto the paper. I was just free and loose making these cards that I was sending in the mail. I love the easy clean up of water coloring. I had it all set up by my bed with some brushes and some water and some water colors. For a minute there stuck in bed, I was just free and easy — learning a whole new craft from scratch. Then I bought an online course. And in the online course, the first lesson was all the supplies you need and I went and bought all the supplies. And guess what happened next? Yep, I stopped water coloring. (lol) I bought all the supplies and then I stopped water coloring for about six months. I lost that free and easy feeling of the beginning and I started trying to learn everything there was to learn and I got overwhelmed and gave it up. So I paused for about six or eight months, but eventually broke out the watercolors again. And one day I was water coloring and I realized “I need to learn how to draw.” In order to watercolor, I need to be able to draw something — and I'm terrible at drawing. At least that was I was telling myself. Truly, I had this story in my head that goes back many years that I don't know how to draw. I can't draw. Me and my dad, we’re both bad at drawing. I do have these little stick figure people that I make and I'm okay at doing a little bit of lettering, but I have no clue how to look at something and draw it on a piece of paper. So at first I got interested in pencil drawing and I bought all the pencils. I got the 2h and the HB and the 2B and the 4B and the 6B and the 8B. I got all the H's and all the B's. I learned what H and B means and I started learning how to shade. And I couldn't believe it. I was making these spheres, these shaded spheres, and I was making these real life drawings using shading with pencil. I was so surprised at what was possible as a beginner. And I couldn't believe I'd gone my whole life without doing this. And then one day I was on YouTube and I saw this guy doing loose sketching with a fountain pen and then adding watercolor on top of the black ink. And I realized "That's what I want to do!” And that's what I've been doing. Moving around the house — drawing different scenes on the porch and the house. It’s scary every time, but once I get started it just brings me into the moment in such a beautiful way. I feel like I'm starting a whole new dimension in my life. I've got my dining room table set up right now like a little art studio. I'm so grateful. I'm out of bed several times a day down there at the dining room table or on the front porch making art with ink, fountain pen and some watercolors. Yeah, I've been wanting to share this with you for a while, so thanks so much for listening. It's been a really exciting process. I’ll tell you about these little five minute rectangles of art that I’ve been making — quick squares of creativity. I start with a light wash of watercolor and I then I draw some ink on top, and then another layer of watercolor. If I'm not feeling inspired, if I'm not interested in getting into a big project, I just make one of these little five minute rectangles. It’s a very small commitment of time and it helps break through the wall of my perfectionism. It satisfies that urge to create. Making these little rectangles of art makes me feel like I’ve done something worthwhile. I'll show you a few of them here. With the upcoming release of Elanor Nadorff’s documentary about me called “Living in a Body,” lately I’ve been comparing my life of two years ago to the way it is today. I was in a very different phase two years ago. I was in the middle of declining health, experiencing overwhelming grief about the loss of my career. I was just having a lot of agony about all that I was losing. Since then, I've really settled in. I've settled into the reality of my life. I'm grateful to say I'm in a bit of an upswing right now. Healthwise, I'm doing a little bit better. I'm not having those life altering, terrifying crashes…And I've discovered art! I've discovered this new passion that I have of drawing — drawing with a sketch book and a fountain pen. I'm a total beginner. I'm at the very beginning of this journey and there’s no guarantee I’ll still be doing it in six months, but I hope so! For now, I'm really grateful to have discovered a new passion. I'd love to be part of a sketching community. You know, we could all meet downtown in Kent and find a different scene to draw. And then afterwards we could share what we did. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? If you're interested in that, stop by my front porch and let me know. All right, everyone, that's it. Episode 114. Hey, remember, you live in a body. It's a beautiful thing. But It's not going to be around forever. It’s just a glimpse in time. Go take advantage of it today. Step outside for a minute. Take a deep breath. Stretch out. Stretch out in that bed. Do whatever you got to do. Take this moment to be quiet. Take this moment to appreciate. Take this moment to look around and see the good, see all the good that's surrounding you — even in your difficult circumstances, whatever they are. That's what I'm gonna do. All right. Thank you. Thanks for listening, thanks for being here. I appreciate you and I'll see you next time. Bye, bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Better DayHi. Remember me. It's your friend, Hal. This is the “Living in a Body” podcast. Here we are. It's the middle of summer. The fans have been going non-stop for weeks. The windows are open. I got practically no clothes on. Yep… you know me. I loooooove summer. And I'm just here to check in, just for a quick hello and “how-de-do.” Sending love to all you my beautiful readers. Thanks for being here.I want to let you know that I've been feeling just a little bit better, and it makes a big difference. After practically a whole year of decline, hitting some of my lowest lows, imagining that my life was coming to an end, I'm feeling a little better.This morning, I was driving up to my 12-step meeting. Yep, that's a big deal. I was driving. Yep, it's true. Me in a car on I-480 heading up to Solon to be among the living — with my electric wheelchair securely hanging on the back— out of my bed, out of my house, in a car, on my own, with the windows wide open on the highway. Like the good old days, heading through Streetsboro, past Giant Eagle, past Home Depot, past the turnpike. It's amazing. Look at me. Look at me driving. Yay!To be honest, after just a few days of feeling a little bit better, I'm already taking it for granted. I'm planning my life around feeling better. When the time is right, I promise I'll let you in on my plans.So there I was driving on I-480 minded my own business, 60 or 65 miles per hour. And then what do I see? I look over to the left, and there's Hallie's mom, my ex-wife Shannon, about half her body hanging out the window, cheering for me, with her arms waving up in the air. I imagine her saying, “yay, Hal, go!” It was a beautiful moment. It was so exciting just to run into someone I know on the highway. There was Shannon's excitement just cheering me on. Like, “Hal, you're out of bed, you're out of the house.” There was amazement and disbelief in her eyes. There was so much in that moment. I just wanted to share it with you. I wish I had a picture. It stuck with me all afternoon.I sent Hallie a voicemail to tell her about this interchange between her mom and her dad on I-480 and I learned that Shannon was on her way to the airport to visit Hallie. It was one of those moments of serendipity that everything had to go exactly as it did that morning to make her car pass mine at just that moment and have that wonderful exchange.I'm so grateful today to be feeling just a little bit better. It makes all the difference in the world, just to be a little bit better. You know, 2024 was a rough year, and even the beginning of 2025 was rough. You know, this illness is a one day at a time illness. I never know what body I'm going to wake up into in the morning.Lately, it's been consistently a little better. I am not as ill. I'm not as weak. My nerves are not as sensitive. My ears are not ringing as loud. I'm able to eat and my breathing is calm. I'm falling asleep and I'm sleeping through the night. I may have a minor flare up, but I'm not having any of those devastating, life-altering crashes that I was having last year. I'm not using Ativan and I'm very grateful. Of course, there's no rhyme or reason to it. I'm not doing anything different. I am taking two and a half milligrams of Abilify every day. But I just can't imagine that's having this effect.I think it's just the random will of the illness. It does what it wants, and right now it just decided it's gonna ease up on me a little bit. It said, “Hal, you deserve a little break. I'm gonna give you a little bit of summer time.” Yeah, thanks ME/CFS.Here's another story about celebrating being just a little bit better.A couple weeks ago, I drove to Oberlin College just for an afternoon at my beloved Unitarian summer camp, called Summer Institute that happens every year in July. And I'd been going for 25 years up until the pandemic, when everything changed and I got sick. But I went for an afternoon to Summer Institute, and while I was driving up there, I called my daughter, Hallie, and I said, “Hallie, guess what?” And she said, “What, Daddy?” the way she does. And I said, “I'm going to Summer Institute. I'm in the car now, and I'm on my way.” And Hallie was so excited. She was so excited for me and so happy for me. Her dad was out of bed in a car the way she remembers me.Later that afternoon, I got a text from Hallie. It said this, “I am literally so happy you're able to go to SI, that literally made my entire month. I'm beaming and floating around my apartment.” Yep, thanks Hallie.So I'm here to spread a little bit of the good news today, your friend Hal is feeling just a little bit better. Thank you, God.You know, I don't know what to expect tomorrow or the next day. Today has been literally one of the best days I've had in a while, driving up to Solon, I really enjoyed the 12-step meeting. You know, I take the wheelchair wherever I go. It's really convenient. I pop it right up onto the rack in the back of my car.And then on the way home, I stopped at Giant Eagle to do a little grocery shopping. I love grocery shopping, and thanks to all the times that I've bought from Giant Eagle on Instacart, I had $75 worth of rewards. So my groceries were free. Yay! Free groceries from Giant Eagle! $75 worth. It doesn't get much better than that.Well, I'm gonna close off this episode by sharing some big news with you. Yeah, with all these better days, or with this handful of better days that I've had, I made a decision. I bought a lying down plane ticket to England. Yep, some of you may know that I've been in a long distance relationship with a woman in England named Emma. We're a Substack couple. We met on Substack back in October of 2024 and we've been hanging out on WhatsApp and FaceTime ever since. It's been beautiful. She's an amazing person and we have a wonderful connection.And guess what? In September, God willing, I'm going to England. Along with my traveling companion, Annette, we are flying to London, England, where Emma's mom is gonna be picking us up, and we're gonna drive the two hours north to Warwickshire, where Annette and I have an Airbnb waiting for us in rural English countryside, just a few miles away from Emma's house and Emma and I are gonna meet for the very first time.Yep, I'm coming. I'm coming to England. Oh my god, yes.So that's the exciting news I wanted to share. We're counting the weeks down. It's down to about seven weeks until Emma and I meet for the very first time after 10 months. It's a big deal for both of us. We've been hoping this would happen. Like me, Emma lives with a nasty version of ME/CFS. So our ability to travel, our mobility is very limited. So I'm taking this opportunity of feeling just a little bit better to hop on a plane, lying down all the way, and hop over to England. Can you believe it? Yay.Everyone. That's my story for today. I'm gonna keep it short. Thanks so much for listening. Thanks for caring. Thanks for hanging out here on Substack. Remember, you got a body. Go live in it. If you're having a better day, congratulations. If you're having a not so better day, hang in there. You never know what tomorrow's gonna bring. All right. I love you. I care about you. I'm still here. Stay in touch. Bye, bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Welcome. I’m sending a big “Thank you!” to all the subscribers of “Living in a Body” and an even bigger “THANK YOU!” to the 91 paid subscribers. Your support means so much to me. I appreciate you. Fallow Time(Press PLAY above) I guess I could stop right there. Got nothing to say and don't know how to say it. I could turn this machine off right now and lay back down and do some more resting. But I'm so sick of resting. I'm so tired of resting. I'm tired of these limitations. I mean, come on, it's almost the first day of summer. We should be out riding bikes and jumping naked into the quarry, doing all the summer things we used to do. I'm tired of being sick, tired of being in bed. But if I can't do all those summer things, I'll settle with just making something. You know me, I love creating. I love making things. Since I gave up all the other drugs, it's my drug of choice these days… and my rations are so sparse. Doing. I love me some doing. Just give me a whole batch of doing. Give me a whole day of doing, I'll be happy, at least for a little while. That's what I want. Just some doing. Historically, give me a choice between a project and a person, I choose the project. And I've paid the consequences; doing never really got me where I wanted to go. I know now it's the being, it's the being with — being with others. I still got a lot of work to do in that area. It doesn't come naturally to me. I've spent much of my life lining up project after project. Never took the time to master being with myself and with others. It's the relationships. That's what my dad always said. He said, “Son, it's the relationships.” I was heading off to college, and I remember him making it clear to me, “Son, it's the relationships that are important.” That's what he said. And now I say, “But Dad, I'm scared. I'm mostly house bound, and I spend all day in bed. Being with people takes so much energy, and I have so little energy. What do you say to that, dad?” I wish I could have one more conversation with him. You know, it just occurred to me that today is the eight year anniversary of my dad's death. Maybe my mom, my three sisters, my daughter, and I'll head out to his gravestone to say hello out there by Standing Rock. I'll take the wheelchair. Yeah, that's a good idea. Go out there and kiss the grave. He was an incredibly wise man. He was really a genius. I often wonder if my dad was lonely in the world, though. It was hard for anyone to come up to his level of intellectual capacity, but he was focused on service. He was focused on serving others. Every Saturday morning, my mom would give him a list of chores, and he'd get on his hands and knees and clean the living room floor without a single complaint. Having worked all week, he knew that his role was to serve my mom. He spent his life serving his family, and he served the earth. He served the poor, served the less fortunate. His son - that's me - is more of the self-centered variety. Yeah, more focused on “Me, me, me. What do I get? When do I get to do what I want to do?”That's probably an exaggeration. I've done my share of serving others, but you get the point anyway. It's interesting. They say that the self centered life does not lead to contentment. So that's what I've been working on, how to get get outside of myself and serve others. It's not easy when you spend all day in bed, mainly thinking about … myself. Anyway, my three sisters and my daughter are in town this week. I'm blessed, truly blessed. They're walking downtown right now and I'm laying in bed feeling sorry for myself. So I figured I'd make an episode, see if I can get some of this stuff up and out. See if I can make some connection with you. Thanks for listening. I guess the reason I create - besides the fact that I love the creative process, I love firing synapses and putting puzzle pieces together to make something new - but really, I'm hungry for connection, even though I have a tendency toward isolating. I'm starving for togetherness, even though I've spent most of my life living alone. I'm dying to live in community, to feel that closeness, to dance in the circle and sing around the fire. Yeah, that's what I want. All I can do from this bed is to tell my story. So here I am - gonna tell my story for a few minutes. It's the middle of June. The windows are open. The wildflowers came back this year, and the poppies are in full bloom. And this is my first post in over a month. I've been very aware of that. It's kind of been hanging over my head. It's been a fallow time for me lately, and I'm not particularly comfortable with it. I just haven't had it in me to create. I don't know what to say, and I don't know how to say it, and I'm scared to say it. What if I was really honest? All the battling thoughts, all the sadness and the grief, all the doubting and the questioning, all the loneliness, all the fear and all the discomfort, all the hiding under the covers, and the wishing things were different. What would it be like to really be vulnerable about what's going on inside? It’s sounds really scary to me. Maybe I’ll leave that for another day. The podcast is called “Living in a Body.” I could just give you a weekly list of all my symptoms, and leave it at that. But who wants a list of symptoms? Here we go anyway. This is what it's been like living in my body. It's 2025. I'm 59 years old, living with moderately severe ME/CFS. Here we go. I've been going through another rough patch, maybe not as rough as it's been, but I haven't been sleeping lately. Insomnia. Sleeplessness, just occasional dozing is all I get. It's been brutal. I get into bed and I get this, this restless legs feeling - restless whole body - and I roll from side to side, I turn from side to side, try 100 different positions, and nothing makes me fall asleep. Eventually, around three o'clock or four o'clock in the morning, I doze off for a little while, and then I'm up again at five, five-thirty. It's crazy. It's like my sleep button just isn't working. I don't even sleep during the day. I just doze. It's been brutal. Add the insomnia and the sleeplessness to chronic illness - it's been a very challenging season, as seasons go. Another added thing to my sleeplessness - I have arthritis in my right shoulder, and it's like a crumbly, fragile kind of bony pain. I can't lay on that side of my body, so I'm limited to one side of my body, and it's … I never realized. I guess I've known for a long time how important sleep is, but I'm realizing it to a very big degree now. Oh, and on top of the sleeplessness and the pain in the right shoulder, I've got vertigo at night, so I lay down and the room starts spinning a little bit. This body of mine is just 59 years old and kind of falling apart. It's been rough. I look good, though. Not as good as I used to look, but I don't look sick, I look healthy. That's the crazy thing about this illness, except for the psoriasis all over my fingers and all over my legs, the illness is invisible. Today. I just feel so void of energy. I got no oomph. It's like my tank is running on empty. I got nothing in the tank, but my Substack’s have been hanging over my head lately, and I decided to finally turn on this microphone, and see what comes out. I'm glad I did. I'm glad we had this time together, me and you talking about nothing. I think I'll finish off by reminding us - reminding me - of this, this moment, this miraculous moment. This is the moment. This is the moment that I have. All those other moments are just a figment of my imagination. This is the only moment, and I have a choice in this moment of where to put my focus, and in this moment, I choose gratitude. Thank you, God, for this moment. Thank you - I get to be alive. I'm thinking of all my friends that don't get to be alive anymore. Thank you - I can breathe without assistance. Thank you - I can eat. Yeah, thank you for my daughter, the fact she has three wonderful aunts, and the best Bestie ever, and thank you for the phone call I had just a little while ago with my friend Aiden. We made a nice connection. And thank you for my girlfriend Emma that I get to talk to tomorrow on FaceTime. Hopefully we’ll get to meet someday. Anyway, I'm thinking of you. Mainly I'm thinking of myself, but I wish I could have you over. I wish we could sit around in the living room and take turns telling our story. I guess we'll have to settle for the comments section of this Substack. So feel free to leave a comment. Tell me everything. Yeah, I'd love to hear what's alive in your life today. If you've got symptoms, tell me all of them. All right, thank you. Hey, remember, you live in a body. Take advantage of it while you got it. It's not going to be here forever. Enjoy every moment, even if it's not easy, even if it's not easy, just say yes. That's what I'm gonna try to do as I get ready for this long night of sleeplessness. Oh, man. Thanks so much for being here, everybody. Enjoy the day, and talk to you next time. Bye, bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Please see additional resources to learn about ME/CFS at the bottom of this post. This episode was produced as a podcast. Press the PLAY button above or read the full transcript below. Thank you for being here. Hal Who CaresSo I missed ME/CFS Awareness Day again this year. It was May 12th. I'm just a few days late, but here we are just in time for my Substack going out on Saturday. I pulled together a couple of my friends, Emma Kitchen and Peggy Munson, and we are going to do our best to tell our story… tell a little bit of our story around this illness — in hopes of making a few people aware. So we'll jump right into the middle of the conversation between Emma and myself. Emma begins with a little story. Here she is. Emma Kitchen.EmmaSo I was an avid rock climber and at the time I became ill, at the exact time, a girl that I used to climb with had a climbing accident and became paralyzed below the waist, and she got a lot of attention (rightly so, because it's a horrific thing to have happened to her) but the whole community came around her and she got loads of get well cards, loads of support. She had journalists around her. She became like a local celebrity. And I didn't even get a get well card. You know, nobody cared at all, like they showed no care whatsoever. And within a year, she was back at work, she had an adapted flat and she was skiing in the Alps on adapted skis and she'd written a book about her accident. She was like a local celebrity because of her accident and there was me, lying on a bed unable to speak. You know, even 13 years later, still have not been given my life back as it was. Oh, it's just so unfair, isn't it? Also at the time in my climbing club, two people got bowel cancer. And of course, there's loads of sympathy and loads of empathy. I even spoke to them at the time because I was chronically ill, and was trying to support them through the journey, you know. And again, like, a year later, they're both fine. They're both having adventures all over Europe, and they've got their life back. I don't know it's just… normal illnesses gain so much sympathy and support from family and friends in the local community, and then there's us with this condition, and nobody cares. Nobody bats an eyelid. And I don't understand it, because the level of suffering that goes with this condition is just obscene and we don't get any credit for it. We're just a bit tired. I'm just a bit tired. It's like, that's what gets me. Do you know what I mean? Like, all of the attention, but you get the attention, though, don't you, Hal? You do get it? Yeah, you do. HalI get some attention.EmmaYeah, but that's such a unique experience in this community, isn't it? That your condition seems to be acknowledged and you have supportive people that care and show interest and hear you. I think that's such a unique experience. I think you would struggle to find an illness that is as isolating as this one. HalI was mentioning this post and talking about ME/CFS Awareness Day, and you said, “Nobody cares about ME/CFS awareness.” Would you talk more about that?Emma(lol) No. I said, “the only people that care about ME day is people with ME.” Like, nobody cares. Do they?HalSay more about that? Like, what's your what's your experience about nobody caring? EmmaMy personal experience of nobody caring is that nobody has shown me that they cared. So only my mum, because I live with her and she's my carer, has taken an interest. None of my family have even bothered to find out what the condition is, shown any kind of concern or interest. My friends the same. It's just nobody cares. Doctors don't care. Nobody knows what it is. Just nobody cares. I mean, if you had that experience though of nobody caring or… you haven't, have you? You haven't had that experience.HalWell, it's easy when I'm home alone at night in this big house all by myself, it's easy to start thinking that nobody cares, but I do have a nice handful of people that care a great deal. EmmaYeah, I suppose that's because you were such an important part of your community. But for people who haven't had that big social life. When you go into this illness, you know, it's just so isolating and you just feel so uncared for and unsupported, and it’s just… HalWhat's something people could do to show you that they care?EmmaI mean, just a quick Google on what the condition is that would be a great start.HalYeah, a quick Google. All right, everyone, that's that's your assignment for the day. A quick Google.EmmaWhat about for you? Hal I don't know. I was just thinking today. It's such a gorgeous day outside and I was thinking. Who wants to think about ME/CFS? It's such a depressing subject. People are out enjoying their lives. So, I guess what I would hope is that people take a few minutes to read this post. (see additional resources below) And I guess I want people to know that even though the weather is great outside, there are still many of us living in bed with this illness.EmmaDo you know, I think what's so hard is it's so hard to explain how awful it is. It's so hard to explain how it feels in the body. It's impossible to even describe it to a doctor. You know, it's just so isolating, because it's so hard to share the experience of what it is. You know, I remember I went to see a specialist. This is a “specialist,” air quotes around that. And he was like, “so I believe you're feeling a bit tired,” and I'm like, “No, I've just spent the last year unable to go to the toilet, unable to speak, unable to chew food, unable to sit up, unable to have daylight in my room. And you're just saying I'm feeling a bit tired.” And that's the specialist. That's British, that's British healthcare smashing through. And it's terrifying. It's terrifying to be this ill and to have nobody supporting you and holding you in any kind of nurturing medical… you know, what's the word? I don't even know what the word is.HalWell, Emma, it's great to hear you talk about this. I just listened to the recording of Peggy Munson. She sent it to me. It's a pretty intense picture of what it looks like for many people who don't have the care that they need. EmmaYeah. It's a similar picture here, though, as well.Hal WalkerI know. Everywhere. Imagine, imagine other countries. Is this a worldwide illness, Emma? Or is this mainly just in England and the US?EmmaFrom what I understand, it's very heavy in the Western world. It's more present in the Western world, but it is everywhere. It's weird, isn't it? And it kind of exploded from nowhere in the 80s. It’s such a weird thing. I can't wait for them to find out what it is, just for that validation, you know, that's probably all I hope to ever really receive in my lifetime, just the validation, instead of being treated like I'm some kind of, you know… hypochondriac.HalEmma, let's listen to Peggy's thing, and we'll come back and finish this off after we listen to Peggy.EmmaAlright, let's go for itPeggy MunsonThis early May marks my 33rd year of getting sick with postviral ME/CFS and May 12th was also International ME/CFS Awareness Day. Thirty-three years of this illness is such an impossible hell to quantify. Even in my best intentions of writing a blog post about it, I could not pull it off for today, but will try in the coming weeks and months.Most of those 33 years have been spent in some reclined position, usually my bed, feeling sick on a deep cellular level most of you probably can’t imagine unless you have the misfortune of suffering from Long Covid. For a large part of that time, I couldn't even have people too close to me and talking to me due to extreme sensitivity to sensory stimulation that leads to brutal neurological symptoms. For sixteen years, I have been almost completely unable to talk on the phone except to leave messages or record text audios. For over a quarter of a century, I have been unable to travel any real distance.Despite how extreme these symptoms and my dozens of others are, my family has utterly refused to be my caregivers for 33 years. And for almost two decades now, they have followed the advice of terrible, unconscionable therapists and tried to extinct any mention of my illness. The resulting estrangement from my family is what led to my full dependence on Medicaid services, the same ones that could be cut any time, as Medicaid is the primary source for all nursing home and in-home care in this country. Any cuts to Medicaid programs that affect disabled people will simply end the lives of those of us desperate enough to need these programs. Right now, somewhere between 700,000 and 800,000 people in the US are on wait lists to get on the personal care attendant (PCA) waiver I use for primary caregiving, to simply stay alive. These are all people who qualify for Medicaid and have extremely-limiting illnesses and disabilities, and many, if not most, will wait years to get care they need urgently, like tonight. To cut such Medicaid programs isn’t even “soft” eugenics: it’s just eugenics. Please make no mistake about how urgent and serious this is, including for anyone you know in a nursing home as it’s likely Medicaid-funded.The “best” thing about being this disabled is learning what it is to be disabled and how senselessly (in the US at least) people are forced into unsurvivable circumstances because of it, from the sub-poverty wages of SSI and SSDI, to the utterly absurd hardship of getting on the PCA program, to the insane caregiver shortage that completely relies upon unpaid family caregivers to willingly step up. Please honor my “sickerversary” and ME/CFS Awareness Day with me by watching some ME/CFS awareness videos on YouTube, and educating yourself about the current care crisis in America and what cuts to both social security and Medicaid could mean for disabled Americans. Mostly, I just want to say that whatever any of you are going through, you are much stronger than you think. I am a survivor of thirty-three years of unimaginable torture inflicted by an illness that is underfunded, underrecognized, and totally incurable at this point. When I passed the 3-year and then 7-year mark – already significant in the 1990s – I knew already that less than 4 percent of people significantly recovered from severe ME/CFS after that point – stats I now see Long Covid patients throwing around. I still hoped and tried everything imaginable to get better and recover, but the best advice I heard recently from an ME/CFS patient is that radical acceptance and not clinging to an idea of reclaiming one’s former self is the only way to go forward without further injury and I take that to heart every day. I accept this is my life, and I do whatever I can to make meaning out of it.HalWow. Thank you so much, Peggy Munson. Thank you so much for sharing. I think you already know this, Peggy, but you're my hero. Ever since I met you, I've just been amazed at your ability to survive so beautifully with such challenging circumstances. The fact that you keep going the way you do keeps me going as well. Thank you. So Emma, Peggy ended with this idea that in order to avoid further injury, we need to have acceptance and let go of our former self. What do you think about all this?EmmaYeah, I mean, what a powerful way to to end her message. And I agree. I agree completely. I think it's the only way. And for me, you know, it was just… see, I don't know if I want to talk about it… I don't want to say that. But no, I don't… (lol) HalGo ahead, Emma! You're doing great.EmmaI was just thinking about how before I found acceptance, for me, it was suicide. You know, that was the only thing that gave me any relief, thinking the fact I could kill myself, that was the only thing that kept me going, was knowing that I didn't have to keep going. And now, you know, I reached a place of acceptance, and it wasn't until I'd reached that acceptance. But coming to acceptance is such a painful process. It's such deep grief work, and it's terrifying. And I put it off for so long, just clinging to hope that something was going to change. I was going to get better. And like Peggy, you know, she's on call seven years, and that was, it was like that for me. I was like, God, God Almighty. It's like nine years, 10 years, you know, 13 years. And I don't know you, just at some point you just have to come to the realization that this is your life. And I think as soon as you reach that place, it's almost like you can start seeing the beauty of life again. Because it's almost like, while you're putting out kind of hope that something's going to change. You miss this very fine, delicate aliveness that can be felt even in a sick body, and once that gateway to acceptance has been walked through, as painful as it is, you can become alive again, even in the most challenged and restricted body, there can be life and vitality discovered. And it can open up a new experience of life. I say to my friend who has M.S., it's like, it's not that you've got a worse life now. It's just it's a different life, and as soon as you can get your head around the fact that it's different and let go of the life that it was, you know you're going to suffer, but as soon as you come into that acceptance of a different life, right?HalThat's what that's what Peggy says. She says, “not clinging to an idea of reclaiming one's former self is the only way to go forward.”EmmaYeah. So powerful. Yeah. She said it much more succinctly.HalWell, Emma, this has been great. This is ME/CFS Awareness Week, as far as I'm concerned and we are doing our little part in spreading the word about all the people out there who are not getting the care they need. Thank you Emma.EmmaThank you, Hal and thank you, Peggy.HalWhat are three things that people can do today to to help spread the word. Like Peggy says, “look up some YouTube videos on the subject.” I need to find one to share with everybody.EmmaYeah. I mean, that's what's that film. Is it “Unrest.” HalYeah, watch “Unrest.” That's a great way to find out more. EmmaPlease watch it..HalPlease watch “Unrest.”EmmaAlso check out Whitney Dafoe. I mean, have a look at how bad this can get. Because people just hear the word fatigue and shut off. It's not about being tired. HalI'll share Whitney's post too in this thanks, Emma. Thanks, Peggy, thanks everybody. Hey. We're wrapping it up here. Episode 111. Yeah, hey, remember, you live in a body. You have a body. Yay! I have a body. I’m gonna love it. I’m gonna enjoy it. Whatever you got. Love it. Because it's not going to be here forever. Thank you so much for being here. Thank you for listening and have a good day. Have a good week. Bye. Learn more about ME/CFS below:World ME AllianceWhitney Dafoe’s Substack “Unrest” DocumentaryOpen Medicine Foundation Donate here. Our VisionOpen Medicine Foundation (OMF) envisions improved health care for patients suffering from multisystem chronic, complex diseases with collaboration between patients, clinicians, and researchers.Our Mission* Support collaborative medical research to find effective treatments and diagnostic markers for chronic complex diseases with initial focus on Myalgic Encephalomyelitis / Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (ME / CFS).* Keep the engaged community, clinicians, and researchers informed about OMF research projects and results.* Bring together “thought leaders” from around the world to brainstorm and participate in targeted initiatives.* Encourage and engage the patient community to take an active role in their health care.* Support health care education about chronic complex disease.* Advance translational research and information-based research into optimum clinical medicine, including the diagnosis and treatment of these poorly understood diseases and the under-served patients. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Every Monday afternoon, my friend Bruce comes over at four o'clock to meditate with me. He shows up at four and we meditate for 20 minutes, we say a few kind words and then we do a really friendly fist bump. Then he heads out the door. Well, yesterday, while we were meditating, I heard some scratching coming from the other room. I heard it… and then I forgot about it. And this morning, when I went in to use the bathroom, there in the toilet, floating on the surface of the toilet water was a dead mouse — a black mouse with big ears just floating there, dead — with little mouse droppings on the floor of the toilet. It was so weird.The interesting part of this story is… first of all, how did a mouse get in my house and how did it end up in the toilet? Who knows how long it's been hanging around here and who knows if there are other family members around. I hope not. I'm guessing that it climbed into the toilet to get some water and once it got in there, it couldn't find a way out.But the really interesting part of this story is… my long distance girlfriend Emma and I are listening to a book together, a book called Sipsworth by Simon van Booy. It takes place in England and it's about an old woman who befriends a mouse that she finds in her house. It's such a lush book. Every single line feels like poetry and it's narrated by a woman with a beautiful English accent. Sometimes I'll pause the audio just to repeat a line that she says that I find so beautiful. The book is read by Christine Rendell.Here she is: “before returning to the couch, she glances into the pie box where a gray head with long whiskers is peering out through the hole.”So it's been such a joy hearing the story of an old woman who gained so much purpose and meaning by befriending a mouse. But I didn't get the chance to befriend my mouse. The first time we met, she was dead.In the realm of interesting and weird connections, in the realm of coincidences, I have a whole ‘nother unrelated story to share with you. It goes back to 1993 when I moved to New York City to become a famous folk star. Actually, I never moved to New York City. I moved to my friend JP's parents’ house in Great Neck, Long Island. I was a bit of a mess back then. I had long hair and I wore messy clothes. I got a little bit lost in the sex shops, the coffee, the muffins and the marijuana.So I'll tell you more about my escapades into the city some other time. But for today, I just want to tell you about sitting down in JP's parents basement in the middle of the afternoon, high on pot, improvising song lyrics into my old four-track recording machine — right off the top of my head. You see, that was my specialty — improvisation. I used to do a show called “100% improv.” That was actually just a cover for a guy that was chronically unprepared. I didn't have the discipline and the focus to sit down and actually write a song. So I would smoke a little pot, turn on the recording machine and let the lyrics fly.Here's the interesting part… In these afternoon wild, creative recording sessions, I would just try to open my mouth and let whatever sounds come out. Free of inhibitions, my goal was just to let it flow, to be loose and let the words out. Later on, I would sort through my improvisations and try and find something worth keeping. One sound or one word that used to come across my lips regularly was “psoriasis.” For whatever reason, I don’t know. I didn't have psoriasis. I didn't know anything about psoriasis, but it was one of the words that would regularly come out of my mouth.Okay, 10 years later… yeah, we're skipping a whole bunch of the story, as a matter of fact, a whole decade. But 10 years later, my fingernails started doing weird things. They started having ridges and the tips of them started coming away from the skin and I started getting this weird sore on my behind and I started getting flakiness in my hair. I would scratch my head and all the snow would fall to the pillow. It wasn't much later that I learned that I had psoriasis. It's an autoimmune condition where the immune system attacks the skin and causes big red blotches. I had it on my behind and on my fingernails and on my scalp. Today, I have it all over my body.Yep, after all those sessions of singing “psoriasis” in JP's parents basement. I ended up with psoriasis. I guess it's kind of like reading that book about the woman and the mouse and then finding a dead mouse in my toilet. But the connections don't end there. The story goes on.We're going to jump another decade to 2013 when I was in Kauai — again, with my friend JP, teaching a harmonica workshop. JP and I and a couple friends were strolling along the black lava rocks down below Ben Stiller's mansion when a rogue wave swept two of us into the ocean and only one of us made it out alive. That was me. Our friend Ash was last seen floating face down into the ocean. Yeah, it was a terrifying and traumatic event for all of us. I was life-flighted over the cliffs of Kalihiwai Point to safety. Yeah, my whole being experienced some great trauma that day. But I survived and I made it home to Ohio to see my daughter and my mom and my family.And not more than just a few weeks later, my thumb swelled up. I had an aching, swelled thumb and also I was experiencing numbness in my arms. So I went to the internet and I did a little search, “aching, swelled up thumb with numbness in the arms,” and I came upon something called “psoriatic arthritis.” Now, psoriatic arthritis is a very frightening illness, especially if you find out about it late at night on the internet, like I did. The very first thing I ever read about psoriatic arthritis was a personal account of someone experiencing a sudden onset of a wave of psoriatic arthritis sweeping through their body and suddenly, overnight, becoming disabled with great pain.And I got it into my head. “Oh, s**t. I have psoriatic arthritis,” which is an autoimmune condition related to psoriasis, where your immune system attacks your joints and “there's a chance that this thing could sweep through my body with a sudden onset.” And I got scared. And guess what? Not more than a couple weeks later, I woke up in the middle of the night with the experience of a wave of psoriatic arthritis sweeping through my body. I kid you not. It was like a fever. The very fear that I had heard about on the internet came true. Remember, I was telling you about that mouse that I've been reading about that ended up dead in my toilet? Yep.Only weeks after being swept into the ocean by a rogue wave, only days after reading about it on the internet, I was swept into the world of psoriatic arthritis by another rogue wave. I woke up with arthritis in all my joints, both knees, both elbows and both hands. I remember that morning walking through town, all the way over to the house of my girlfriend at the time, in a desperate state of disbelief, in a kind of dream state of fear, not knowing what was going on in my body, completely powerless and afraid.It was kind of like several weeks earlier, being in the ocean, being swept underwater, realizing that the ocean didn't care that I’m Hal Walker. “What do you mean? How could this be? How could this be?” But it was. Psoriatic arthritis didn't care that I'm Hal Walker and I had all kinds of much better plans. Eventually, I made it over to the rheumatologist who officially diagnosed me with psoriatic arthritis and prescribed something called “methotrexate.” (and that's a whole ‘nother story that we're not gonna talk about right now)But the coincidences go on, the weird connections go on. The story continues — 10 years later. So, back in 2013, I dealt with a lot of pain in my joints for about a year. But then I had a flare up of ME/CFS symptoms and the joint pain went away. Now, isn't that interesting?Jump 10 years later, a whole decade later, 12 years later and here I am, just a couple weeks ago, in deep ME/CFS territory — severe symptoms, almost fully bed bound, having a hard time eating, really severe neurological symptoms, having more crashes than I care to count and generally just overwhelmed with the symptoms in my body. Then psoriatic arthritis shows up to save the day. (lol)No, that's not exactly how it is, but for the last couple weeks, I've been having real bad restriction and pain in my right shoulder. I can’t really lift the upper part of my arm. Fortunately, it's not actually constant pain. It's only pain when I move my arm or think about moving my arm… or when I lay on my shoulder. When I'm just resting, it's not pain. It's just a distant kind of fear of pain if I were to move my arm. The ache spreads out to my back and my neck.But anyway, interestingly, fascinatingly, some smart doctor should pay attention to this — my ME/CFS symptoms have eased ups little bit. I can't guarantee the connection. It could be the two and a half milligrams of Abilify that I'm taking every day. But my sense is that my body is working on the psoriatic arthritis right now. The psoriatic arthritis is dominating and therefore, my brain is easing up on the ME/CFS symptoms. Isn't that fascinating?I think that's all I have to say. That's the whole story. It's to be continued.For the last couple weeks, I have not been as ill, a little bit less weakness, less illness in my stomach, no crashing and I've been off Ativan for two whole days without needing it. But I've got this damn pain in my right shoulder. It's like a crippling, kind of crackly, awful, kind of hard to describe, fragile joint, radiating bone pain.That's the whole story, the story of the mouse. I'm just so fascinated by all these connections, all these weird connections — all these coincidences.You know, I'm not sure which I prefer, the ME/CFS symptoms or the psoriatic arthritis symptoms. To be honest, I think I prefer the pain over the illness. ME/CFS is so debilitating and so scary. Psoriatic arthritis is debilitating. (lol) Psoriatic arthritis is debilitating and scary too. But I think I'm not as debilitated — like I've sat here and made this whole episode without an Ativan.Anyway, that's my whole story. I'm sticking to it. I'm gonna close with a little excerpt from the book Sipsworth that I think is very fitting. Our friend Helen is thinking about the coincidences of her life having met this mouse.It goes like this, “Could what we call coincidence be something intended with a meaning purposely hidden? That would imply design — a god. But what sort of god would strike down a boy's father at dinner time?”All right, everybody. It’s Living in a Body. By the way, you have a body. Go live in it. Go live in it! It's not going to be around forever — like that mouse. Hopefully that mouse had a good life. I'm wishing all the best to you and yours. Enjoy the day. Thanks so much for listening. Thanks for being here. I appreciate you. See you next time. Bye bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

We want more harmonicas! More music in the streets!We want more harmonicas! More music in the streets!You know, eventually we all got to face it.We got to face the fact that we don't get all the things done that we wanted to get done. Everybody's body eventually… fails. (lol) Yeah, that's a good note to start this off on. Everybody's body eventually fails and all the getting things done comes to an end. We all gotta face it eventually. Yeah, that's the trouble with living in a body.Eventually it doesn't work anymore.All the plans I had, all the big projects in my head, all the dreams, all the big ideas, all the revolutions I was supposed to make happen. The body fails and some other part of us has to take over, something beyond the physical realm. But I'm still attached to the world and some of my favorite projects probably aren't going to get done. We all got to face it eventually. But here's a little bit of my list…Like — the Hal Walker song book, The video series for teachers about how to bring Banakula making and playing into the classroom, the how to play Low Key Gliding instructional series, re-recording all my songs at a more reasonable tempo because I was too high on adrenaline the first time around, learning the Chuck-a-chucks, learning the cello, learning jazz piano, and writing all those songs that never got ridden — all the undone projects. Now I'm not saying none of this is ever gonna happen. I realize that 10 minutes a day of focused attention can accomplish a lot, but I'm over here giving it all I got just to take care of the basics. There's not a whole lot of extra for revolutions.I'll take one step forward today, and I want to tell you about one of my biggest ideas. It's the Harmonica Revolution of the 21st Century, which was one of my greatest unfinished contributions to humanity. Here's a little song about it, Ode to the Harmonica.Playing the harmonica I often feel a certain glow.With this notion of hand motions, everything is draw and blowMusic comes from deep in the belly, deep in the heart and in my soul.In my pocket, a harmonica will go where’er I go.For many years, I worked with children, teaching them to play the harmonica. I passed out thousands of Blues Band harmonicas all around the state of Ohio and I did most of my teaching in large group settings. I teach a whole classroom or a whole grade level or a whole school. You know, I don't remember what the biggest group was, but it was large groups. It was mass harmonica instruction. Each kid with a harmonica in their hand getting a foundation for a lifetime of harmonica playing.And it wasn't just kids. One of the highlights was teaching prisoners at the Mansfield Penitentiary. It was me in a gymnasium teaching the blues to a hundred hardcore prisoners. I was in the middle of a big huddle of guys playing the “Sesame Street Blues.” It was amazing.Over the years, I developed a highly effective method for teaching the harmonica to large groups of people. And I'm certain no one had ever done it like this before. It was an original method. And with as much humility as I can muster, it was the best method ever. It was highly effective. If you really want a foundation for a lifetime of playing the harmonica, use this method. Unfortunately, it's not available. The teacher came down with a nasty case of ME/CFS and never got the method packaged for your consumption.But you should’ve seen us. Students had amazing results making real music on the harmonica within minutes and within days. We had so much fun in schools all around Ohio, lessons that these kids will remember for a lifetime. They tell me about it in the comments on YouTube. And I loved it. I loved it so much. (lol) It was so fun. It was so fun teaching the harmonica this way. I never really came up with a perfect name for the method, but it was “The Harmonica Revolution.” It was “Music that Fits in Your Pocket,” a foundation for a lifetime of playing the harmonica based on two choices — blow and draw.You know, it occurs to me to mention that nowadays, nobody's playing the harmonica. There was a day when the harmonica was like the national instrument of the U.S. Every kid had a harmonica in his pocket. Every grandfather played the harmonica for his grandchild. I did my little part here in Ohio to bring harmonicas back into the daily lives of children everywhere.But you don't get that anymore. Now we have iPads and Tiktok and Instagram. In schools, I think kids learn the recorder, but I want to say that harmonica is the ultimate, is the ideal school instrument. It costs less than five dollars, it fits right in your pocket and within minutes, you can be making cool, satisfying, real music — especially if you've got my method. I guess that's the unfortunate part, thanks to ME/CFS. This method is not available to schools all around the world. It should be. Boohoo.Probably the best and most recent example of my success with this method was in that one town… Bucyrus, down in Crawford County. It was Bucyrus elementary school. I was over there and I had a a year-long residency. I’d drive there once a week. It was a two and a half hour commute. I left at like five in the morning and in all my mild ME/CFS glory, I'd spend the day there, giving everything I got to this school. And one of the grades, I think it was the third grade, we did mass harmonica instruction. There were probably at least a hundred kids in that class. Every week we would meet in the gymnasium and their chairs were lined up in rows theater style. I asked the teachers to give me full classroom management. The last thing you want is a bunch of teachers out there trying to “shush” the kids. I had my own methods. So I brought along my almost 20 years of refining this teaching method and by the end of the year, those kids had a powerful foundation for a lifetime of blowing the harmonica.And I want to share a little bit of my method now. It's so hard to talk about. You have to see it. You had to be there. You have to be there. But I'm gonna give it my best. All right, here we go…The foundational principle of this method is: in all beginning harmonica playing, there are only two choices, blow and draw, push and pull. And before we ever picked up harmonica, these students would master the push and pull of the diaphragm using hand motions. Actually, it was arm motions. Actually, it was using full body motions — pushing and pulling.Learning the harmonica is a full body kinesthetic experience of breathing to make music. Before I ever put a harmonica in their hands, I'd say “blow, draw blow.” And they'd repeat, “blow, draw blow.” And rule number one was “hand motions at all times.” Every time they say blow, with their whole arms and their hands and their shoulders, they're pushing. And every time we say draw, with their whole body, they're pulling. And you got to remember, there's me up there, six foot Hal Walker, putting his whole body and spirit into these full body lessons.I had this hilarious gimmick that worked every time. I would push and pull so dramatically that I would accidentally, on purpose, slide into the splits and call for the front row to save me. And they would rush around me and pick me up and lift my whole body, to save me from falling into the splits. (lol) It was hilarious.After we mastered the “push, pull, push,” or the “blow, draw, blow,” we'd speed it up and make it more exciting, like this. “Blow-D-Blow Blow Blow Blow” etc…Remember, hand motions at all times, and the students repeat exactly what I do. It was all “I go, then you go,” illustrating the push and the pull of the diaphragm. I wouldn't even hand out the harmonicas ‘till at least the second lesson. It was my theory that I could teach for a whole semester using just hand motions and these students would become great harmonica players — without a harmonica in their hand. I never actually tried it, but I'm still convinced it would work. Starting with hand motions was fun and accessible and not intimidating. It was like a dance that everybody could do.Now, here was the key. From the very beginning, those kids are at the edge of their seat. I demanded it from day one — at the edge of their seats, back straight, feet on the ground, mastering the blow and draw. The number one rule was “hand motions at all times.” It's funny. This is all coming back to me now, but it's been years since I've even thought about this. I've been so deep in the illness of ME/CFS.So… from the beginning, these kids learned who was in charge, and the beauty was, they loved that it was me. We had so much fun together.While I was developing this harmonica method, I was also developing a highly effective method of large classroom management. And I'll tell you what it was right now. One thing I didn't do was make them pay attention for forty whole minutes. We’d do little spurts of five to 10 minutes, right at the edge of their seats — highly focused lessons, very methodical, moving one step at a time. And then I'd say, “let's take a break,” and that's what we do. I'd encourage them to relax, to talk amongst themselves and for two or three minutes, I would ask them to get as comfortable as they could in that chair. Like, pretend that chair is a bed and lie down in that chair and put your feet up if you want. You are totally free. You can laugh, you can talk to your friends. You can do whatever you want, as long as you stay in your own seat vicinity until you get the signal, which is, (Sung) “cuckoo cuckoo” and immediately the class responds, “cuckoo cuckoo” and then they're silent.We would go from total managed cacophony to pure silence in mere seconds, and I wouldn't stand for anything less. I made that very clear.The teachers couldn't believe it. They questioned the chaos, but when they saw how fast I could bring them back to attention, they realized it was something special. It's hard to explain. I was just such a fun military sergeant. Like, it's like the funnest version of a military sergeant that you could imagine. It was my only option with a hundred third graders in a gymnasium with harmonicas in their hands. I was very strict and very fun. So after they mastered the hand motions, eventually I'd hand out harmonicas.And that brought about the second rule, “no individual tooting.” You can toot whenever you want — at home, at recess, when you're on the playground toot all day long, when you're in your bedroom toot, you can toot as much as you want. But when we're in this classroom, there is no individual tooting. When we toot, we only toot as a group. I made that very clear and I said it with a straight face. And they looked at me and they didn't know what to think. There is no individual tooting, N-I-T. And I'd go and say, “What's rule number one?” I'd call a student out. He'd say, “Rule number one, hand motions at all times.” “What's rule number two?” “No individual tooting.” Because there's nothing worse than a hundred harmonicas and every once in a while, a little toot coming out of one of their harmonicas when you didn't want it. I wouldn't stand for a single toot. You did not want to be the kid that got called out for individual tooting. But it was all in good fun. It was all in good playful, disciplined, productive fun — just the way I like it. And it worked. I had those kids eating out of the palm of my hands.I loved whenever a kid did something right, whenever I noticed they got it just right, like if their hand motions were particularly expressive and right on the beat or their blow-d-blows were just right, I'd call them out. I'd go over and say, “What's your name?” They'd tell me their name. And I'd say, “Sally, it's a pleasure to have you in my class.” And then I'd shake her hand. So I'd put out my hand and she'd put her hand out. Typically, for the first handshake, kids would give a really weak, flimsy handshake. So I'd take that opportunity to give them a one-on-one lesson in how to give a proper handshake.I taught 1000s of students how to shake hands — “firm squeeze, small shake, look the person right in the eye.” And we would practice it right in front of the whole class. And every time a kid got a handshaking lesson, it was an honor. This student knew she'd done something right and every other kid wanted to do something right to get a handshake. And by the end of the semester, by the end of the class, they knew how to give a proper firm handshake.Of course, that was before the COVID days when we were allowed just to shake hands at random. I got sick a lot. I mean, I'd shake these sweaty little hands. I shook so many hands and I was always carrying some hand sanitizer around, but it never did the job — all that handshaking. Every Friday, I'd go home and be sick for the weekend.So eventually, they'd get a harmonica in their hands. And the first thing is, we don't worry about single notes. It's “wide mouth, big sound.” Put the harmonica deep into the mouth. It's called the “deep firm tilt.” So put the harmonica deep in your mouth, firm lips, covering the holes, making sure no air is escaping, and tilt, tilt the harmonica slightly down. So with the “deep, firm tilt,” these kids would cover three or four holes, making a big sound, a full sound, breathing from the bottom of their belly, using the diaphragm, with a push in the pull. And the whole time, one hand's holding the harmonica, the other hand is doing the hand motions.And then, the cool part about it was I would ask another student to come up and lead the whole class in “blow-d-blows,” whether it be hand motions or blows and draws on the harmonica. I explained to them that along with learning to play the harmonica, comes the responsibility of passing it on to the next generation. So while they were learning to play the harmonica, they were also learning to teach the harmonica.So, once we master the blow and draw, all in one place of the harmonica, like holes 1,2,3 and 4 — two options. Remember, there are only two choices in beginning harmonica playing. We would move on to down and up and I'd start demonstrating how to go up and down on the harmonica. So now we had four choices — blow, draw, down and up.The harmonica is all about making music with the breath. That's where it begins. I put off teaching single notes till much further down the road, so the students get used to making music right away, using hand motions, blowing and drawing, going up and down the scale. And then we'd start learning a song. The very first song was… (sung)Do your ears hang low? Do they wobble to and fro? Can you tie ‘em in a knot? Can you tie ‘em in a bow? Can you throw them over your shoulder like a continental soldier? Do your ears hang low?You know, the kind of sad thing is, I'm sitting here in my room and there's not a harmonica anywhere nearby. I went my whole life, I always had a harmonica nearby—in the car or in my pocket or on my desk, but they're all downstairs in a box. The reality of ME/CFS. If the Harmonica Revolution were to happen tomorrow, I'm afraid I wouldn't be able to be there. But it's not happening tomorrow. It's not happening tomorrow or next week. But who knows? You know, I remember I had this plan, the “Million Harmonica March on Columbus” was supposed to happen in 2010. It never happened.But teaching the harmonica was one of the great joys in my life. And coming up with this system, this method, was such a delight and so satisfying. I guess the revolution would have been somehow making this system, or this method, spread all over the country, all over the world, revolutionizing music education. But here we are, living in a body, doing our best, facing the inevitable. Eventually, the body fails, and all the getting things done comes to an end.The Revolution becomes more of an inner experience, a more subtle kind of transformation. And we get to go along with the natural process. You know, we're part of nature, and nature is so much bigger than all my revolutions. But we'll see where this leads. Maybe this post here will inspire some young whipper snapper to make this revolution happen.All right. Thanks for listening, everyone. Thanks for hanging with me for this. It was fun to remember these times. Alright, enjoy. Enjoy living in that body of yours. Don't forget. Enjoy living in that body while you got it, because it ain't gonna be there forever. All right, everyone. I love you. Thanks so much. Bye.For more Harmonica Revolution, check out the YouTube videos below. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Please join me in supporting the joint efforts of Open Medicine Foundation and The Bateman Horne Center to create the Medical Education Resource Center (MERC)—a program dedicated to training healthcare professionals worldwide in diagnosing and treating ME/CFS and related conditions.An Illness Without a DoctorIn the spring of 1991, I was 26 years old. On that Friday, I ran six miles, took a shower and put on my big, brown sweater to wear to the open poetry reading at Brady's Cafe. The next morning, I woke up with weird symptoms in my body. Suddenly, I couldn't run across the street without getting dizzy and weak and exhausted. Those symptoms never went away. I told my dad and he took me to the doctor — his internal medicine doctor in Akron. I don’t remember much about that appointment, but I’m sure he took a bunch of blood tests and I’m sure they all came back normal. I've been going to doctors ever since. That's 34 years of doctors. That's 34 years of all kinds of tests just to rule things out. And they always came back normal. Somewhere along the road, I came across the phrase “chronic fatigue syndrome” and after reading a few of the stories, I knew that's what I had. But I kept going to doctors. I kept hoping one of ‘em might help me. I kept hoping that one of them might say, “Yeah. It sounds like you have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and here’s what you should do about it.” But, they just kept taking more tests.I had an appointment with my rheumatologist yesterday. My expectations were very low, but I was glad to have the appointment. I started going to see this guy about 10 years ago. In 2013, I almost died in a rogue wave in Kauai. And I came home and experienced a terrifying wave of psoriatic arthritis sweeping through my body. That was when I met my rheumatologist for the first time. That's his specialty — autoimmune conditions. Psoriasis and psoriatic arthritis are a couple of my co-morbidities living with ME/CFS. I remember loving the confidence with which he went around to all my joints as if he was looking for something. I trusted this guy. He’s an attractive guy with a turbin on and a real nice smile. And yesterday, in the course of the visit, I said, “Hey, what about ME/CFS?” You know, I told him my situation. I'm bedbound. I rarely stand up. I use a wheelchair to go from my bed to the bathroom. I’m having difficulty eating, weakness in my lungs and weakness in my gut. He listened and he wrote down everything I said in his little laptop there. So I said, “What about ME/CFS?” And he said, “Would you spell that?” Those were his exact words. “Would you spell that?” And I chuckled on the inside. (lol) You got to be kidding me, right? But I wasn't surprised. I don't blame him, so I spelled it. I said, “myalgic, M, Y, A, L, G, I, C, encephalomyelitis.”You know, I live in the world of ME/CFS. I write a podcast that mentions ME/CFS every week. My whole life revolves around this illness. I'm part of a support group on Zoom, 100 people on there all living with ME/CFS. And, one of the most relatable hashtag in my life is #millionsmissing. My girlfriend has ME/CFS. My rheumatologist, though, it's not on his radar. Apparently, he hasn’t been listening to “Living in a Body.” He had to do a little Google search for the illness while we sat there. And that's not an unfamiliar story. That's been the story for all these years — 34 years of doctors. They've never heard of myalgic encephalomyelitis, also known as chronic fatigue syndrome. Or if they have, they don't know what to do about it. So we're left on our own. We're left to figure it out on our own. One of the most debilitating, complex, multi-system illnesses in existence. And it's almost impossible to find a doctor that knows anything. I've been having major difficulty eating. In fact, I've been having crashes after eating. It's terrifying. It’s coming down to I have to eat little tiny bits at a time. What happens is, I'll eat a meal. It feels good going down. I'm hungry, but a half hour later, it turns into chaos in my belly. And then I start praying that I don't have a crash. Today, I had one — after lunch. It's devastating. It's devastating to have a crash. Every one brings me into deeper illness and I just keep adjusting. The fact that it's now around eating?! Where do I go? What doctor do I go to help? Do I go to the gastroenterologist and explain what a crash is? He's never heard of a crash — probably never heard of ME/CFS. Or do I just try to figure this out on my own?Unfortunately, I'm pretty much resolved that I got to figure it out on my own. Though I did call to make an appointment with a gastroenterologist today. We'll see how that goes. I hope they do virtual visits, ‘cause I can't leave the house. All these specialists I could see at the Cleveland Clinic — the rheumatologist, the neurologist, the gastroenterologist. They don't know anything about ME/CFS. On the Cleveland Clinic website, if you look up ME/CFS, the specialists you're supposed to go to is your primary. (lol) That deserves a little chuckle, doesn't it? I mean, I love a primary doctor. They're the front lines, but we're talking about a complex, multi system illness in a very severe form. I don't know about your primary, but my primary mainly knows about strep throat and the common cold, but apparently, your primary is supposed to teach you the basics of — I don't know what (lol). I don’t know. I know this is kind of a downer, but I want to say one thing. I got an email today from Open Medicine Foundation and The Bateman Horne Center. Those are two institutions that I have a lot of respect for and I'll warn you now that I'm going to invite you to donate to their bake sale at the end of this post. So get your wallet ready. I really want to call your attention to this email, because I think it's something worth supporting. It says “transforming ME/CFS Care, the Medical Education Resource Center. Open Medicine Foundation and The Bateman Horne Center partnered to create the Medical Education Resource Center (MERC), a program dedicated to training healthcare professionals worldwide in diagnosing and treating ME/CFS and related conditions.” That sounds like a worthwhile cause to me. See, I didn't feel capable of educating my rheumatologist about ME/CFS. The truth is I was scared and insecure. I’ve always been that way with doctors. I’m just an old hippie folk singer from the 90s. But I trust these guys to do the right kind of education. That's really what we need. We need to educate the medical professionals. “Realizing our vision requires networking and dissemination among institutions and professional associates. As this process takes place, many are still without informed medical care in their local community.” That's me. Hal Walker. Your friend. Here in Kent, Ohio. So there's a whole series of resources to teach health care providers about ME/CFS. And you can donate to MERC, Medical Education Resource Center. I think I'll probably donate after I talk to my sponsor, because I don't spend any money before just talking to my sponsor. It works really well. I'm not pushing the purchase button in the middle of the night like I used to. You know, I always pause, pause before spending. Pause before donating. Get someone else's opinion — someone I trust, like my sponsor. Well, there's one other little bright spot of my day that I'd like to share with you to brighten this post up a little bit. You know, Elanor Nadorff is making a film about me. Well, Emma opened up YouTube and came across this video that Elanor had just posted and Emma shared it with me. It's so beautiful. It's such a delight. Elanor is such a delight. In this video, Elanor tells her story of going in search of a piece of video footage of me filmed back in 2004 and her artistic process and passion to go in search of the material. It's a great story she tells. I encourage you to watch. It's 10 minutes on YouTube, and I'll leave it here. I don't know everyone. I'm scared. This is the part where I get honest. I'm scared. I'm terrified. I don't know what to do. I keep getting worse and I don't know how to stop it. I don't know what to do about this eating problem. It's very serious… and I feel like I'm on my own to figure it out and I'm scared and frustrated. And, uh, one of the reasons I want to make this Substack is just to say, “Please, somebody do something about this. This is insane. Somebody do something. Someone tell me what to do.” Actually, don't tell me what to do. It's overwhelming when people start telling me all their ideas. So I'm not looking for that, but I just want somebody who knows something to help me. And I'm afraid to say, I don't think anybody knows anything, even the specialists. But I'm left with just the spiritual solution of acceptance, gratitude, prayer, being of service wherever I can be. The 24 hours a day book today says, “So arise from earth’s bonds, from depression, distrust, fear, and all that hinders your new life. Arise to beauty, joy, peace, and work inspired by love. Rise from death to life. You do not even need to fear death.”Yep. That’s what I’m talking about. (lol) Don’t even need to fear death. That’s what I want… letting go of the self. You know, “free me from the bondage of self so that I can do thy will.” I don't know what God's will is for me laying here in this bed, but it's quite a journey. I sure would prefer a different journey, God. I’d prefer a different adventure. This one's too hard. I want the adventure where I get in the plane and fly over to see Emma in Warwickshire, England, and then we go up to… Glastonbury — hang out with the hippies in Glastonbury, and I get to practice my English accent with real English people, and then go along the coast, the English coast. I've never even been to England before. But instead, I get to be here writhing in my bed, trying to figure out how much Ativan to take, trying to figure out how to eat without crashing, pretty much all on my own. You know, I've got a lot of support. I'm grateful for my friends and my family and my online communities, and my 12-step community and the guy who saves my life every day, my full time caregiver, Mango. Okay, that's it for now. I wish I had more uplifting stuff to say, but the point of this whole Substack was just to say, “this is insane, such a serious illness to have no doctors.” There are specialists out there, but they're hard to get and They don't really know anything either. They don't have much to offer either. I went to one. The nicest thing about that was I told her my story for about 10 minutes, and she said, “Yep, you have ME/CFS.” First Doctor ever to tell me in 35 years that I have ME/CFS. I appreciated that. I've known it the whole time. I've been to a lot of different — trying a lot of different alternative medicine approaches. It's been 35 years, I've tried everything. The interesting thing about the alternative medicine doctors is they always have real confidence. “Oh yeah, we can take care of this one. Just do this, take these little pills and take these little concoctions. I've seen this before. I think I can help you.” I kind of prefer the ones that say, “Listen, you're fucked, but let's try everything.”I'm just feeling frustrated and scared and wanted to connect with you. I miss making these podcasts so much. I miss it when I'm not doing it, but I've been too sick. I don't know when the next one's gonna be, but I sure appreciate your support. I appreciate you listening. Wish me luck once this adrenaline runs out. You know, the crazy thing about a crash is that immediately after a crash, I feel better. That's how I know I crashed. If a few minutes after it, I feel better. ‘Cause it means there's adrenaline rushing through my body, which means tomorrow is going to be a wired, insane day. The following day after that could potentially be the hardest day of my life. I keep having those over and over again. This is the reality of ME/CFS. It's a real illness and there are no doctors. I love you guys. Come on. Somebody figure this out. (lol) Somebody do something. Please. Pleeease. Donate to MERC, maybe that'll help. All right, bye, bye. I'm supposed to end on a positive note saying, hey, remember you got a body. Go live in it. I love you. Bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Welcome to “Living in a Body.” If you read or listen to this episode, please do me a favor and come over to Substack and hit the like button. It helps the algorithm and it helps to let me know that you’re out there. It makes a difference. Thanks so much! Enjoy! Hal Lawnmowers in the SkyI want to talk about the beauty of nature. I want to talk about the sacred beauty of nature. It might sound like a rant but I’m thinking of it more as a lamentation. It starts like this. I opened up the windows yesterday for the first time this spring. It was almost 70 degrees out, so I asked my caregiver, Mango, to open them up for me. And that's what he did. And right away, a cool, nourishing breeze came into my room and moved through the house, and it had such a luscious, fresh smell. It smelled like real beauty, the kind of beauty that doesn't come in an Amazon box or in some kind of packaging. It's just pure, real, unadulterated beauty. I slept last night with the windows open. It's the middle of March and I slept with the windows open. I remember waking up at about midnight and I could hear the bars downtown. There was still music going on downtown. I'm about a half mile from it, but I could still hear all the partyin’ going on. And I felt that cool, sacred midnight breeze through my window and it put me back to sleep. Then I woke up again at about 3am and the bands had stopped playing, but I could still hear an occasional shout. There were still a few late night partiers hanging around. But then that quiet, cool, luscious 3am breeze kept blowing real nicely on my face. It was sweet. That and a half dose of Zzzquil put me back to sleep ‘till the morning. I can feel the breeze right now. I've got the window wide open and it's been a rainy, cloudy day today, but that breeze coming through the house is something special — having gone months without it.Just so you know, I'm an open windows guy. I don't believe in air-conditioning. My poor daughter growing up. She just wanted to have an air-conditioner in her room. You know, like all the other kids. We had one portable air conditioner that sometimes I'd let her put up in the room, but essentially, her dad was morally opposed to air conditioning. My next door neighbor runs an air-conditioner in the hot months and I just resent the sound of it so much. I sit out on my back porch — my backyard is a natural refuge — and about 50 feet away as “rrrrrrrrrrr.” I don't know if that was such a good imitation, but you get the point. It takes the peace away. It's profane, it's irreverent and it's blasphemous. I realize those are some heavy words, and probably most of you have air conditioners. I don't want to sound self righteous, but the earth is so beautiful. The silence of nature is so pure, so deep, so profound, so luscious and so endangered. I love the natural sounds of the world. I love the bird song and the breeze through the trees and the quiet — the cool, quiet moon and the warm, silent sun. And I love the loud, majestic crash of a thunderstorm. It's so sacred, it's so holy and it's so… healing. I could feel it right now. Feel that? My blackout curtains are being thrown around and billowing in the wind. And there goes the door ready to slam shut… (door slams) There it goes. (lol) Oh, wait! I gotta have that open door again to get the nice flow. Hold on… Okay, I'm back. So, in case you didn't know this, in order to get the real breeze coming through your house, you need to create a cross-breeze. So you need to open up a window on one side of the house and then a window on the other side of the house, so the air has somewhere to come in and it can flow all the way through the house. And then it has to have somewhere to go out. It reminds me of my grandparents house back in Oak Park on Newland Avenue. My Papa T. and Bestie. Up in the attic, they had this big, huge fan. I remember we'd go into this little bitty attic and there was this huge fan. We could go up there and turn on the fan and open up the attic door and open up the door leading up the stairs and then you open up the front door or some windows downstairs and that huge fan would pull air up from downstairs, up through the house. It was just such a good feeling having that natural air move through the house. That's what I'm experiencing right now. I love it.You know, I'll never go back to that house on Newland Avenue. I'll never get to go back up to that attic and smell those smells and feel that air. Those are some deep memories—finding refuge on the second floor of my grandparents house with my three sisters, my mom and dad, and that huge fan moving all that fresh air. So I was talking about the sanctified and the divine sounds of nature, but then comes along the air conditioners and then my nemesis, single engine airplanes. So I've been wanting to tell you about something that's really bothering me. It's been bothering me for a couple years now. I'm really not sure what to do about it. I don't think there is much I can do about it. But for a while now, I've been wanting to do a rant on Facebook or a letter-to-the-editor. But I'm just gonna tell you guys now and get it off my chest. This is my lamentation. So as I've already said, I love nature and I love quiet. And it's really having this illness that has introduced me to the extent of my love for those things. I've always loved nature and quiet, but I was always too busy to think much about it before. I was running constantly, always looking for the next project. But now more than ever, I love calm and peaceful things. I love trees and water and wind. I love flowers, I love mountains and I love seasons. But I don't love noise pollution and it's a real problem in my neighborhood. You see, I live in a college town called Kent, Ohio. Maybe you've heard my song, “Kent Ohio. I know that I'm home when I'm Oh in Kent, Ohio, Time keeps rolling and our town keeps growing. Oh my oh in Kent, Ohio.” (lol) So Kent's a peaceful town and I live in a particularly peaceful neighborhood, except for the single engine planes. See about a mile away in Sto-Kent is the Kent State University airport. Well, back in the years when I was goin’ constantly. I never really noticed it, or maybe the program didn't exist then. But now that I spend all day, every day in quiet time, I hear everything. It seems that at that airport, there's a program for student pilots running training flights in single engine planes all day long, especially on the nicest days of the year when all my windows are open. All day long and even into the evening are these single engine planes coming out of Sto-Kent circling my house. It's obscene. The noise is physically painful. It's like the sound of those slow grind drills at the dentist, not the high pitched ones, but the low, slow grind one, the drill sound that touches your brain in a weird way. It's a real blight on the audible world of my beautiful neighborhood. Compared to the delicate wild flowers that are growing in my backyard, compared to the whispering winds that are blowing through the oak trees and the pine trees and the maple trees and the chestnut trees, compared to my three wheel scooter that's waiting in the garage for me to move silently around town in all her battery powered quiet beauty, these planes are rude and obnoxious. They sound like war planes and it seems that my house is right on their war path. They come zooming in from the distance with that deep grind and they get louder and louder and then they're at their loudest. Then, as if they've dropped all their bombs on my house, they gradually move off into the distance and get quieter. And then the whole cycle starts all over again about 15 minutes later, when the next plane moves through. It's unbelievable. I call them the “lawn mowers in the sky.” And I'm not talking about electric lawn mowers. I’m talking about gas-powered, gas-guzzling, noise-polluting all-summer-long lawn mowers. And now I'm on a roll here. Let's talk about lawn mowers for a second. In my opinion, gas powered lawn mowers should be outlawed. It's obscene. (lol) I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Most of you probably have gas powered lawn mowers, but it's just wrong. It's a sacrilege! I mean, come on, it's 2025. Wake up, people! We have the technology. I've got an electric lawn mower, and it's got a nice purr, “bvvvvvv…” as opposed to the obscene, profane, repugnant, loud, obnoxious, gas powered lawn mowers that go on in my neighborhood all summer long while I'm trying to have my quiet time. (lol) Come on, people. What about me!? What about me and my quiet time? No, seriously, what about Mother Earth and her quiet time? That's what I'm talking about. All right, I gotta slow down. I'm getting too riled up. Yeah, I can't really afford to get riled up about anything. This whole subject brings me back to the fact that I have a highly sensitive nervous system. ME/CFS has gifted me with a highly volatile nervous system that just can't handle much of anything — loud noises, getting riled up about things, even just basic human interactions. So even though it feels good for a minute, and I know I'm right, I can't get riled up about these single engine planes flying around my house. My nervous system can't handle anything but pure calm. Somebody else is going to have to take on the lawn mowers and the planes. But the reality is no one else cares. They're all too busy. They're running around in their cars, in their loud cars in their busy lives with their windows closed. I'm sorry, (lol) here I go getting all self-righteous and riled up. I'm sorry. All right, let's bring it back to the grand point. The point of this story is lamentation. It's grief, grieving the loss of the natural beauty of quiet. That reminds me. A couple weeks ago, I told you guys I was watching a show called “Severance.” And it turns out Severance is more than my nervous system could handle. It's a fascinating but nerve wracking show. I watched the season one finale. It was a pretty high stress episode. There was so much going on — this music that would go “boom boom boom boom” and a chase scene and so much intrigue. I started having a very nervous feeling halfway through and rather than stepping away to calm my nervous system, my eyes were stuck on the screen and I watched it all the way through, while my whole nervous system was shaken apart. I had a crash that evening — a devastating, life altering crash. It's just not worth it. It was so fun for just a little while. I love that show. I love those characters, but my nervous system couldn't handle it. So I've given up the second season of Severance in favor of a live YouTube stream of a pair of American bald eagles raising their two little babies in a nest high above the big bear valley in the San Bernardino mountains of Southern California. Apparently, the nest is about 145 feet up in a Jeffrey pine tree. It's the home of “Jackie” and “Shadow,” the local bald eagle pair. Actually, I've only tuned in twice, but it really had an impact on me. Just a few days ago, I decided to check in on the birds. And within moments, I just began weeping. It touched me so deeply. I began weeping from the beauty and from my disconnection from the beauty of nature with this illness. They just show this beautiful shot of this incredible nest, I mean, a nest built by the bald eagles and then the mama bird sitting there in the middle, so proud and regal. And off in the distance, you can see this river way down. I mean, this nest is high up in the tree and way down there you can see the river. And I just wept. I wept and I wept and I wept some more. It was all part of my lamentation. And I guess that's what this all comes around to… is the weeping, the grieving. I think of this post as a kind of crying out to the earth and all the wonders of nature, for beauty lost, the mystical wonder of silence. There's a reason for my weeping. There's a reason for all of our weeping. The quiet, majestic, holy, sacred sounds of nature are in danger… all because we humans think we know what's going to make us happy. Whatever the cost, trying to get more done, get it done faster, get it done bigger, thinking we know the thing that's finally gonna satisfy us. I think about all the damage I did in my futile search for trying to get what I wanted. You know, I'm no different from those people flying those single engine airplanes around town trying to have a good time. They're just trying to live their lives, trying to enjoy their lives. I'm no different than the people cutting their lawns with the gas powered mowers. I did it for years. In fact, I still own a gas powered leaf blower. Man, that thing is efficient. It gets the job done fast, but it's loud and I miss the old sound of a rake sweepin’ the leaves. “swish, swish, swish.” Yeah, there's lots of reason to grieve and this is my lamentation. With this highly sensitive nervous system, my brain craves quiet. It craves natural stillness. It craves bird songs and breezes and flowing rivers and bubbling creeks. But I'm no different. I'm no different than all those people making the noise out there just trying to live their lives. I just get to see the insanity of it all, lying here in this bed. Everyone's moving so fast. But the earth is so resilient, isn’t she? Spring after Spring, she keeps bouncing back. I haven’t seen ‘em yet, but I keep hearin’ about the daffodils and the primrose. Maybe today is just another day for praise and thanksgiving. Let’s raise up the windows. Let’s swing open the doors. Let’s shout songs of love and forgiveness to the single engine planes flying overhead. Yeah. We can circle up and bow our heads to the beauty — the beauty that never gives up… never gives in. “rrrrrrrrrr” Here come the planes. Here come the planes. (lol) Ahh… I think that'll be it for today. “Lawn Mowers in the Sky, a Lamentation.” Go out and enjoy some beauty. Go out enjoy some beauty today. Breathe that fresh air and listen to the breeze through the trees. Thanks so much for stopping by. Thanks so much for listening. It means a lot to me. All right. Have a good day. Have a good week. Remember… you've got a body. Go live in it. Enjoy living in it. Enjoy the breathing and the eating and the being. Alright everybody. I'm going to bed. Have a good night. See you next time. Bye bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Quality of LifeI've been thinking about quality of life lately. I read something about it on the internet once. It was a statistic about the quality of life of people living with a variety of chronic illnesses. I remember it said that people living with severe ME/CFS had the lowest quality of life of all the major illnesses. That's the one I live with, myalgic encephalo-f*****g-myelitis. Yep..the severe version. I share this statistic with you, not as a fact, not as something I've researched, but as something I read on the internet once. (lol)I laugh, but it's not a laughing matter. I've lived it and I've heard the stories of people that tell me it's probably true. This illness is a beast and it's brought people to the lowest quality of life you could imagine. Searching for it now, it looks like it was a Danish study done years ago. It concluded that the quality of life of ME/CFS is significantly lower than the population mean and it’s the lowest of all compared conditions.That statistic stuck with me all these years. It hung around in the back of my head as the scary truth. I never would have imagined that I'd have to someday live it. But now here I am, mostly bed bound, sicker than ever and I have an urge to defend my life against that statistic. I want to be the one to prove they were wrong. So I ask, what is it that makes a quality of life?If you've been hanging around here for a while, you already know I've been living with ME/CFS for many years, since 1991 and I lived a very full life and I always knew in the back of my mind this statistic. I knew about the people living with severe, living in the dark, unable to leave their bed, unable to eat, unable to speak, unable to take visitors, unable to turn over in bed. I knew about these people, but I went on and lived my full, vibrant, active life with mild to moderate symptoms, always pushing the boundaries, thinking somehow I was invincible.My quality of life was fairly good looking back. On the outside, I had everything. From where I lie now, I had nothing to complain about. But I struggled on the inside. On the inside, I was striving for more, grasping for more, hungry for more, unsatisfied. I carried around a low grade sense that it's just not enough. On the spectrum of qualities of life, mine wasn't as good as it probably should’a been. As the title of this episode says quality of life is an inside job. I believe it.As my illness has become more severe, as my limitations and my disability become greater, I'm interested in the idea of my quality of life actually improving during this time. Like, as the symptoms get worse, the quality of my life actually goes up… kind of like my friend Emma. We'll hear from her in a minute.Watching the quality of my life improve through worsening illness is a fascinating challenge to me and I know it's an inside job. It's all in how you look at it, right? What really is quality of life? Is it being able to have all the things I want? Is it being able to do all the things I want to do? Go all the places I want to go? Eat all the foods I want to eat? Buy all the things I want to buy? Have just the right combination of family, friends and community? What is quality of life?I'm sure there are all kinds of studies. I'm sure there's a whole encyclopedia article on it, but I gave away my encyclopedias years ago. So I'm just riffing a little bit here on the concept of what is quality of life. I ask you, what defines your quality of life? What improves your quality of life?I asked my girlfriend Emma what quality of life is for her, and she gave the answer that I wanted to give. She said it much more eloquently than I could. So here's Emma Kitchen. She's been living with severe M.E. for many years now. And if you can't tell by her accent, I'll let you know she's from Warwickshire. Warwickshire in England.Hal: Good morning, my dear Emma, beautiful weather today, is it not? So what's the quality of life in Warwickshire?Emma: Good morning.It was such an interesting thing you said about quality of life yesterday. I just wanted to comment on it because I was thinking… quality of life for me is about connection to my source, that - kind of like - my divine being, where there's that, that flow of energy, which feels like complete contentment, a very like subtle joy, just this feeling of being complete and whole and there's no needing in it. There's no wanting. It's just it's full and it's beautiful. And I feel sure that this is what is meant by the word love.Because it holds everything and it holds everyone and it's at the source of everybody's experience once the noise of the mind is quieted. And I find that in my life, before finding this, or even now when I'm looking outside of myself for activities or something I think I want or need, to have quality of life in a human egoic sense. You know, what can I do to make my experience better? What can I have to make my experience better? Who can I know to enrich my life and make me feel good about myself? All of those things I find are poor substitutes and they never last. I'm always left wanting, even if it's their most fullest, richest, explosively, wonderfully joyous experience in that moment. It never stays that way, and there's no solidity there. There's no ground there. There's nothing to rely on because everything is always changing.And I feel like once I have something that I think I want which will bring me quality of life… like I’ve got a mobility aid, this bike that I bought, a walking bike. And I was like, “Yeah, I'm going to get this.” I spent all of my savings on it. It was a big purchase for me. And it came and I had all these visions of how it is going to improve my life, and I've been to unwell to use it. But even when I got it, like the moment I got it, the thrill had gone and I was immediately looking for the next thing to improve the quality of my life. What's the next thing?Do you know what I mean? And then I got a mobility scooter. Yeah, wonderful, it's brought me enrichment. And I definitely see that. But, yeah… it's on so many different levels, isn't it? Like, on a human level, I definitely have enrichment from having a mobility scooter. But I think for me, quality of life always just comes back to how connected to that divine stream of Source Energy am I? Because that can't be taken away, and it can only be deepened. My experience of it just only deepens and deepens and deepens and it doesn't matter if I can't go out on my scooter for relief, to improve the physical quality of my life by getting me outside the house, by letting me meet strangers and have little conversations, although that is a huge enrichment in my life, When I can't, the days that I can't go out, which are more numerous than the ones that I can, there's there's no disappointment or sadness there, because I tap straight into the beauty of what is, and I'm full.So yeah, absolutely, for me, quality of life is dependent on being connected to source, and I think that's one of the biggest… well, it changed my life. It has changed my life. It's revolutionized my life. And so, yeah, that's all I want to say. AnywayHal: Thank you so much, Emma. That was really beautiful. You basically said what I wanted to say — more eloquently, though. I am left speechless. Let's see. What else could I possibly add to that? Hold on. I'll think about it.Here's what I'm gonna say.Quality of Life is a judgment and it's my thinking that does the judging. So it seems to me that quality of life is based in a large part on my attitude, on my thinking. To what extent am I saying “yes” to this moment, to what extent am I smiling and loving what is — with all the discomfort, with all the things that I wish were different, with all the feelings, with all the imperfections and all the uncertainties, all the everything. To what extent am I smiling and saying yes to it all?What is the quality of my being in this moment? To what extent am I welcoming all the visitors into my circle with love? To what extent am I practicing kindness and honesty and patience and generosity. That's quality of life. Quality of life is in the being. It's here and now. Quality of life is a practice. So even if I'm unable to go outside, even if I spend most of the day with an eye mask and silencing headphones on, even if I have limited human contact, even if I have non-stop loud ringing in my ears and debilitating weakness in my arms and my legs and a weird, prickly bubbling that's happening constantly in my belly, I can still be the guy with the best quality of life in Ohio. All just by resting with what is in this moment, with a smile, a cry and a laugh. (lol)Is it true? I think I'm finding out that it is. Of course, there are a lot of days I'd resent myself saying all this. When the discomfort is so great, when I feel so alone and my brain is taken over by a scary, numb kind of fucked-ness, when my nervous system is so out of whack and it takes on a nightmarish kind of hijacked life of its own and I can see nothing but decline in my future. There have been times when the discomfort is so great and I can't believe that this is really my life.But even then, I keep coming back to the smile. I keep coming back to the surrender. I keep muddling through and something changes. And here I am now in a mood, trying to prove that even with these circumstances, the quality of my life is the best ever.Let me also say this. I'm a white man who has money in the bank, who has two wheelchairs, a stair lift and a full time caregiver, who owns his own home with a beautiful front porch in a relatively quiet neighborhood. My needs are well met. In the realm of Maslow's hierarchy of needs, I'm doing quite well. I know everyone doesn't have this kind of privilege and I know it has a profound impact on my quality of life. In the material world, I'm a blessed man. So keep that in mind as I'm saying all this stuff. You know, I'm able to lie in this very peaceful place with a window, the sun shining through the window, exploring the inner world of Hal Walker, the inner world of beyond Hal Walker, the inner world of not-changing-anything, I'm more and more convinced that the quality of my life is directly proportionate to my ability to rest in what is. My ability to be still and listen for that voice of God.You know, I can see the blue sky right now. The birds have been starting to sing lately. I could hear the geese flying by my house earlier today. And yesterday, I was able to sit on the back porch and watch three cardinals playing in the pine tree. There's peace in my town. There's peace in my room. There's peace in my home. If you ask me, that's a pretty good quality of life.65% of me, maybe even 75% is grasping for nothing, just soaking in the contentment. I wish the same for you. Thanks so much for being here. Thanks for listening, thanks for reading. I really appreciate you.Hey I think that's it for today. Don't forget, you've got a body. Go live in it. Wherever you are, whatever your circumstances, practice saying yes. Practice smiling and saying yes and loving every minute of it. Then watch what happens to your quality of life. I wish you well. Enjoy Saturday, enjoy whatever day it is. I'll see you next time. All right.Signing off. I love you. Bye, bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. I’m Hal. Welcome to “Living in a Body.” Click PLAY above to hear the intended PODCAST version of this episode with original music. (16 min. listen) Find the full transcription below. Enjoy! Hal Your Birthday It's my birthday next Wednesday, March the 5th. I'm turning 59 years old. Yeah… I know. I was always in my 30s… or in my 20s. I was always the younger guy, but now I'm the older guy — 59 years old. I was talking with my sponsor and I was feeling a little bit sorry for myself. We call it self-pity. I was saying, “You know, I don't have anyone to invite to my party. Two years ago, I had a really nice gathering of friends, but I’m sicker now and I’ve lost touch with so many people and all my friends have abandoned me and… uhhh… boo hoo. Maybe I’ll just have my family and my girlfriend on the Zoom call.” Which will be wonderful! But there was a tinge of self pity in my voice. And my sponsor said, “Hal, do you know when other people's birthdays are?” And I said, “Well, not really.” And he said, “Why don't you spend some time paying attention to other people's birthday? You know, send a greeting to other people on their birthday.”And that shook me up a little. It shook me up a little bit and it opened my eyes a little bit. Yeah! That's what I wanna do. I wanna pay attention to your birthday. When's your birthday? I want to send a card to you on your birthday. I sent a letter in the form of a homemade card to my niece the other day and I can't tell you how satisfying it was. I created a little watercolor, I rubber cemented it to a nice brown folded card. I wrote a full page letter in there. All together, it took about 30 minutes. Then I folded up a $20 bill to put inside. I sealed the envelope, wrote the address on it, wrote the return address, put a stamp on it, and put it in the mailbox. And this action was the best action probably of my week. I thought, “This can be the purpose of my life. This can be the new purpose of my life, sending cards to people, wishing them all the best on their birthday — sharing a little bit of myself, asking them about themselves.”It's really an eye opener. You know, It’s not all about my birthday, my birthday. “What are we going to do for my birthday?” (lol) No, it's your birthday that I'm interested in. Please send me your address. Send me your birthday. I'm compiling a database and this is the new purpose of my life. (Click the link below to give me your mailing address and your birthday so I can send you a card. Thanks!) I had a moment this morning of questioning. “What is the purpose of my life?” I spend so much time meditating and I was looking forward to seeing Emma (my long distance girlfriend from England) at 11:30, but I hadn't heard from her. So I wondered, “What if I don't get to see her at 11:30? Then what do I do?… And what is the purpose of my life? I got no projects I'm working on. I can't go clean the house. I can't go for a bike ride.” You know, I'm not writing a song. I'm not practicing an instrument.What I'm doing is practicing awakening. I'm practicing stillness. That's been my purpose — is practicing stillness. And it can get a little bit old after a while. Believe it or not, it can almost get boring. The amount of stillness I got to practice! I mean, come on, I want to have a little fun! Emma reminded me that is what the purpose is. I can't remember how she said it, but it's to awaken, to awaken from the dream of the self. That's my purpose…to awaken and to write cards, write letters, celebrating other people's birthday.And when I think of it that way, it's quite satisfying. I mean, I can't tell you the amount of satisfaction I got from the complete process of sealing the envelope, writing the address, putting the stamp on there. I got a whole stack of stamps in my drawer right next to my bed. It was so satisfying. Now, all I need is some addresses and some birthdays. So please send me yours.On a similar subject. You know, I go to this meditation, this online meditation group called Meditate-Together, and after the 20 minutes of silence, there's a topic for sharing. And every once in a while, the topic comes up, “What role does compassion play in your meditation practice?”And what I've noticed is that it's often very silent. It's often very quiet. From what I can see, people aren't sure how to approach that question, the question of compassion. This might just be the judgmental part of me, but I'm thinking “all these meditators…” no, I’ll just talk about myself. I'm a self centered meditator. (lol)You know, I'm mainly meditating to save my own life. I'm meditating so I get to be awakened, so I get to be enlightened, so I can have less suffering. I'm meditating so I can survive this devastating illness. It's all about me. It's not about other people. Compassion is about other people. And generally, the people that chime in with their answer of what role compassion plays in their meditation. Generally, they refer to self-compassion. They say, “Well, for me, it's mainly about self-compassion.” And self-compassion is great and all. I'm happy for you. I'm happy for you. (lol) I'm happy for you that you've got self compassion. We all need that. I mean, loving myself. I don't mean to joke about it… Loving myself is something I do fairly well. I mean, I often say very loving things to myself. I kiss my knees. I caress my face. I hold my hand on my heart and say, “I love you. Hal, I'm proud of you. You're doing a great job. I'm sorry it's so hard.” Self-compassion is a good thing.But what about real compassion? I mean… normal compassion. In the encyclopedia, they say compassion is… “sympathetic pity.” I didn't like that one so much. Compassion definition… I like this one, “sympathetic consciousness of others distress together with a desire to alleviate it.” Consciousness of others distress. Sympathetic consciousness of others distress together with a desire to alleviate it. And we all have distress, everyone of us. But I don't think about others distress that much to be truthful. I mainly think about my own distress.But you know, my 12-step program is all about helping others. It's all about being of service. Gratitude, sobriety and service. Where can I serve? Whose birthday is it? Whose birthday is it today? And how can I make their day by sending them a birthday greeting in the mail? It's not all about my birthday anymore.Anyway, around this meditate together question of, “what role does compassion play in your meditation practice?” I got to be honest…I mean, I hope that my meditation practice, all my spiritual practices… I'm hoping they're making me a more loving person, a more available person, a more caring person, a more present person.You know, in my little corner of the world, I'm practicing stillness. I'm practicing quiet. I’m practicing presence, so that I can do no harm and so that I can grow and learn to be compassionate. But as I said before, compassion, b eing compassionate has not played a major role in my thinking.As opposed to my friend Annette, who volunteers at the food kitchen practically every day, stirring rice and cutting vegetables. That woman is compassionate. She cares about others deeply. She's a Quaker. Quakers are really good at compassion, I think. And I'm sort of a new Quaker. So I'm just learning about it. (lol) I've got an excuse. I'm just learning about compassion. You know, I had a Unitarian over here today, Marion, and she's very compassionate too. She reminded me… I asked her what role compassion plays in her life and she talked about being kind and generous to people of all different backgrounds that she comes across during her day. She feels that as she's gotten older, she's become more compassionate. Yeah, I think I've become more compassionate too, but I don't get very much chance to see people in my day to day life. But I definitely have my chances to practice compassion. Tell me, what role does compassion play in your life? I’d love to hear.Anyway. There's one more thing I want to say. I'm watching this series. I went months and years without Netflix, without Hulu, without Apple TV. Years. And I didn't miss it. But recently, I discovered a series and I'm hooked. So I finished “Nobody Wants This.” It was only 10 episodes and I finished it in 10 days. And then my daughter turned me on to this new one called “Severance.” It's a wild one. It's kind of mind boggling. And a little bit, um…what's the word… kind of… not spooky… but twisted…and a little bit… what's the word I'm looking for?… A little bit… dark, and… uh, I can't think of the word I'm looking for. I'll find it later.Anyways, “Severance.” One episode a day. I'm not gonna explain the whole story to you, but basically, it’s the workers of the Lumen company. They go into work and while they're in work, their life brain is removed, and they know nothing but their work life. And then they come back out of work, and they're back into their normal selves, but they don't remember anything that happened at work. It's a fascinating story. I'm really having a lot of fun watching it. I think I'm on episode six now. Anyway… earlier today, when I was questioning the purpose of my life, I thought, “Well, I got that episode of Severance to look forward to later this afternoon.” That didn't feel so good thinking about a TV show being one of the main things I was looking forward to. I thought, “Oh boy, that's the new purpose of my life that I get to watch an episode of Severance.” But I gotta say, it's a really fun escape for 50 minutes for this growing more compassionate all day meditator. Then during one of my meditations, I heard Thich Nhat Hanh say, “Breathe in and smile, breathe out and smile at everything, including the difficulties.” Then it reminded me that that's my work today, to breathe in and smile. My work is to smile in my little corner of the universe and maybe that smile will spread out to the whole world. And here I get to write say these words to you. Maybe you'll smile and maybe you'll send me your birthday and your address so I can send you a card. Of course, if I get 1000 addresses, it'll be a while before you get yours, but YOUR birthday. The episode is called YOUR birthday, not MY birthday. When's YOUR birthday? I want to pay attention to YOUR birthday. I want to be there for you on YOUR birthday. Interestingly, the thought of celebrating YOU makes me so happy. I'm done thinking about my own birthday party. It's you I want to celebrate. You, yeah you! I can't wait for your birthday. (lol) Sounds funny.Okay, I think that's all I got to say, everyone. Thanks so much. Thanks for being here. Thanks for listening.Hey, guess what? Remember that body of yours, it's so beautiful. It's so beautiful and it's not going to be here forever. You're not going to be young forever. And if you're old, you're not going to be old forever. You're just going to get older. (lol) You're just going to get older. You're going to be older than old.So take advantage of it today. Whatever you got! If you're in the bed, move your toes. Enjoy the movement of your toes. Twist your ankles. Enjoy the twisting of your ankles. Kiss your knees. Enjoy the kissing of your knees.Thank you. I can't wait to celebrate your birthday.All right. See you next time. Bye, bye. H Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

A Day in the LifeI haven't left the upstairs of my house in a while. It's been at least a week.Thank God I have a caregiver that brings my food up from downstairs.I will report that my symptoms are as severe as ever, the most severe they've ever been. But my spirit is well. My emotional health is well. My mental health is well.It's not easy, but I keep adjusting. I keep taking it as it comes and finding ways to get through a day. In this episode, I wanted to let you in a little bit about a day in the life, how I get through a day… just in case someone finds themself in this position and needs help figuring it out from someone who's been there. Believe me, I've been there.This morning. I woke up at 4:30. I don't get out of the bed until seven, so it was a little disappointing knowing that I had about two and a half hours to kill. So I did some laying there, or would it be lying there, practicing calm, practicing smiling, practicing welcoming it all.Actually, the first thing I do in my when I wake up is pray. I get on my knees there on the bed, and I mumble a few prayers. I say, “God, take away the fear. Take away the self pity. Thank you for this day.” You know the spiritual aspect of my life is really my only choice. You know, mostly, most of the worldly things have been taken away. So I'm focusing on the inner life, the inner life of the Spirit. So I pray and then I ride my wheelchair, my sweet Matrix wheelchair, over to my daytime bed. I am greatly privileged in the realm of resources for chronic illness — two sweet beds, a daytime bed and a nighttime bed.And my caregiver has it made up real nice. So it's fresh. It's a fresh bed. And I get into the fresh bed in the morning. It's cool, it's crisp, and I climb in under the covers, I turn on the light, and I open up the 24 hours a day book. This is the spiritual guide for my 12 step program. It's a great book. I've really come to love it. Today was February 21st.“I will be more afraid of spirit unrest, of soul disturbance, of any ruffling of the mind than of earthquake or fire.” This book takes this stuff seriously. It takes the inner life seriously, “when I feel the calm of My Spirit has been broken by emotional upset that I must steal the way alone with God.I will try to keep calm no matter what turmoil surrounds me,” and I add what turmoil is within me in this body, “I pray that I may keep a calm spirit and a steady heart.”You know, living with this MECFS ridden nervous system, maintaining calm is a full time job. That's what I spend most of my day doing. Essentially, to survive these very challenging circumstances, is to maintain a calm spirit and a steady heart.After I read the 24 hours a day book, I read the “Just for Today” card.It is a card that people in my 12 step program read. It's nine “Just for Todays.” For instance, “Just for today, I will live through this day only and not tackle my whole life problem at once. I can do things for 12 hours that would appall me if I had to keep them up for a lifetime.”That's a helpful one to read first thing in the morning, I regularly wake up with a kind of dread, like, “oh god, oh my God. Not this again, not this life again.” And then I turn to that first one and I think, “oh, all I have to do is one day, just 12 hours.”I like this next one. “Just for today, I will be agreeable. I'll look as well as I can dress becomingly, talk low, act courteously, be liberal with praise, criticize not one bit, nor find fault with anything and not try to improve or regulate anyone but myself.”That is some good s**t. That is some good s**t, man,“I will not try to improve or regulate anyone but myself.”What a relief, what a relief that I'm not in charge. Everyone just gets to make their own crazy. They get to do their own crazy, or their own whatever they're doing.You know, my daughter gets to be herself. My girlfriend gets to be herself. My mom gets to be herself. My sisters get to be themselves. Mango gets to be himself. I don't need to improve or regulate anyone but myself. What a relief.This is a beautiful one. This is the last one I'll read just for today. “I will adjust myself to what is and not try to adjust everything to my own desires. I will take my luck as it comes and fit myself to it.” (lol) Nice. That one works so well for me. It's like I got some rough luck, but I'll take my luck as it comes and fit myself to it.“One more. Just for today, I will be happy. Most people are as happy as they make up their minds to be. Happiness comes from within and is not a matter of externals.”So just for today, I will be happy. Just for this moment, I will be happy. Create a little joy on the inside. I remember I used to give assemblies in elementary schools, and one of my favorite things to do was to challenge the students to create joy.I challenge you now. Create some joy with me.Breathe. Smile. Bring the joy up from the depths. Let the joy shine in your eyes. Fill up your whole head with joy. Put a little joy in your mouth. Make the inside of your mouth a smile and then do it all day long. That's what I do, except when I'm crying.After I read those two pieces of literature, I have a half hour of quiet time. I put an eye mask on. I set my bed in the “zero gravity position” and I spend a half hour of time with the Source of all Being. Just quietly resting, quietly resting in the Presence of the Source of all Being.Right after quiet time, the bell goes off, and Mango brings me my broth. I have eight ounces of chicken broth and it is so soothing. It's so soothing. It's so soothing on my racked nervous system, on my racked digestive system. It's so soothing. It feels so nourishing. It's nourishing and soothing and gentle and kind on my body. It's one of my favorite moments, sucking down that eight ounces of bone broth.Little bit later, he brings me my 8 ounces of yogurt and a banana. That one tastes good. It's almost like starting the day off with dessert.And then at eight o'clock I hop on to “Meditate Together” for a 20 minute meditation.This is what I do all day long. Every hour on the hour, I'm meditating for 20 minutes. I think that's what's that's what's helping me survive — having a structure. I love having a structure. Even though I'm in bed all day, I barely leave the bed, I have a structure to my day. I recommend it.For this first eight o'clock meditation. I do a Transcendental Meditation where I repeat a mantra in my brain.And then at 8:22, the leader of the online meditation offers a prompt for discussion and we share honestly. They say, “We’re creating a safe space for listening and sharing, sharing honestly. And I don't remember what the prompt was this morning, but it might have been something like, “since it's Friday, what's something you'd like to celebrate from this week?” Or something like that. And I get to meet with this little community of people, meditators.Then at 8:30 I hop right over to the Quaker Meeting for Worship. It's out of Pendle Hill in Pennsylvania. Seven days a week, from 8:30 till 9:10, we sit in silence, and when the spirit moves, people speak out of the silence or sing out of the silence. I often cry. I often weep from the beauty of the sharing. It's such a beautiful gathering of friends…of Quakers. And the things that come out of their mouths are just so led by the Spirit. Morning after morning, I'm reminded of what's important.Sometimes I'm too sick to have the light on, but I love the gathering of friends. And every once in a while I speak. Every once in a while, my heart starts pumping a little bit, and the spirit moves and I share something.I've never been there, but Pendle Hill is this gorgeous Quaker retreat center outside of Philadelphia. If I could live my life over again, I'm certain I would have done several residencies there and written the book there, made a CD there, written a whole bunch of songs there. I love retreat centers. I love retreat retreat places, and especially one that has Quaker Meeting for Worship every morning in the barn. Yeah, that's what I want.Then at 9:15, I call my sponsor and I share all the things that I don't want to share. You know, I get honest. I talk about the deep inner workings of my brain and I ask for help. I ask for help on how to how to live my life on the spiritual path. I have a very wise, very kind, very gentle and loving sponsor and I feel very fortunate. I feel like I found a home with a sponsor. I could imagine him being my sponsor for the rest of my life. We talk seven days a week. I'm truly blessed.Then at 9:30, it's breakfast time. After sometimes I'll make a call. I'll make a phone call to one of my fellows, but then before 10 o'clock, I've got to have breakfast. I've got my oat bran and my eggs and my butter, a tablespoon of butter in the one ounce of oat Bran and two eggs.Then 10 o'clock rolls around. This morning, I did my second meditation at “Meditate Together.” Often, I'll have a 12 step meeting at 10 am or sometimes.So that's my day. Every hour, on the hour, I'm meditating.And this week, my long distance girlfriend Emma Kitchen (who I met here on Substack) and I have found a wonderful rhythm. One thing about being in a long distance relationship is you got to find a rhythm. You gotta find a rhythm for contact. And Emma and I have found a really great rhythm that works.We'll always start the morning with a voice memo. Emma's in England, so she wakes up much earlier than I do. So the night before, I'll leave her a very loving voice memo on WhatsApp and then I wake up to a loving voice memo from her.You know, I can't necessarily recommend long distance relationships, but we're really finding a nice way to do it. So here are the instructions. (lol) In case you're looking for some — a loving voice memo at night, a loving voicemail in the morning,By the way, please don't forget that all morning, all day, I'm very ill, severe symptoms of ME/CFS. I mean, I haven't mentioned that yet, but very ill, very weak, deep weakness, deep illness.But then at 11 o'clock, I take a quarter milligram of Ativan, a half pill. It masks the symptoms a little bit and then I get on “Meditate Together” for a 20 minute meditation, allowing that Ativan to sort of settle in. And it really helps. It eases up my symptoms a little bit. It masks the symptoms just a little — a quarter milligram,And then with this great rhythm that Emma and I have found is at 11:30 we meet from 11:30 to noon, and we laugh and we talk and we say funny things. Sometimes we say sexy things. We smile. We say things like, “Oh, hey, beauty.” And she says, “Hello, handsome.” I'm not going to go into too much more detail, but it's just been a really great half hour.And then at noon, I'm back onto the meditation for another 20 minute meditation. And probably for that one, I just rest in the mess. You know, I close my eyes and I rest in all of it. I rest in the thoughts. I rest in the sensations. I rest in the feelings. And then 20 minutes later, we've got another prompt to discuss among the Meditate Together community.So I'm well supported in community. I mean, that's one thing. I have found resources that are getting me through this. I am not lonely. Even though this illness is a painfully isolating illness, I'm finding ways to not isolate. And I think it's saving my life.Then at 12:30 mango brings me my lunch. I've been eating brown rice, and today I had tofu and brussel sprouts. Really good salad. Mango makes a great salad with red cabbage and carrots and sauerkraut, avocado and cucumbers and tomatoes and greens, and then apple cider vinegar and oil. It's a really nice salad. I love it.And then one o'clock comes, and guess what, it's time to meditate. (lol)But on Wednesdays, I do a Quaker sharing. There's a wonderful group out of California that someone brings a quote, and then they have queries, and we sit in silence, and people speak out of the silence to share on the query. That's all I'm going to say about that. But just emphasizing that I have found community online and that's another example of it.So continuing the wonderful rhythm that Emma and I had found is at two o'clock we share a daily meditation reading out of this book called The Journey of the Heart. And we'll read the day's meditation. Then we'll share about it. We'll share our thoughts. Today, It was all about love. Here, let me read a little bit of it.“Let love be you can't control love. It's impossible. We've learned to let love be and be open to what that is in the new direction it may lead us. And love is a powerful, living force that permeates the universe and funnels through us. We don't lead it. It leads us and guides us.”So we use this reading as a kind of jumping off place for a conversation. I practice being present and listening and sharing vulnerably with my friend. I've really been appreciating that. It's been such a joy to get to know Emma this way, even though we're separated by an ocean.Well, this has taken too long, so I'm going to cut it short.I take my second quarter milligram of Ativan at about four o'clock. I'm thinking that I'm gradually going to be titrating off of Ativan. So little by little, I'll take those half pills and make them smaller and smaller. I'm not looking forward to it. It's really quite scary. It's basically going to force me to face the reality and the depth of my illness and the reality of my limitations, which are very severe even with Ativan. But I'm not in any hurry. I'll let you know how it goes.All right, we're gonna wrap this up and move along to five o'clock when I watch my show. I've been watching a show. It's called “Nobody Wants This.” And it's a fun show. It's a half hour show on Netflix, I watch a half hour a day. And it's about a rabbi and the non-Jewish woman having a love affair. And it's funny. It makes me laugh.It's interesting. I have very little media in my life. I don't look at the news. I don't look at Tiktok and Instagram or Facebook. So this is my little indulgence into the world of Hollywood and beautiful people.And then I have dinner,And then I get to bed early. Around eight o'clock, I take my wheelchair over to the nighttime bed, brush my teeth, floss my teeth.And I've been reading this wonderful trilogy by Frederick Backman. The first one was called “Beartown.” The second was called “Us Against You.” And the one I'm on right now is “The Winners.” It's a great book. It's a great trilogy. Frederick Backman is a master of writing. You know, I've written a few good essays, but writing a novel, writing a trilogy like this, the way he weaves everything together. By the way, it's narrated by Marin Ireland. I'm listening to it on Audible. It's just such a great story. I'm really enjoying it.One thing you'll notice I don't do very much of is writing or creating. In the half hours that I'm not meditating, I'm mostly just resting. I was inspired to break out some water colors today and try to make a card, but just the setup alone was more than I could handle, so it'll have to wait till another day.All right, everyone, it's time for me to be done that went on a little too long. Thank you. Thank you for caring enough to listen. It's been a really rough path. It's been a rough road. But as I said, in my spirit as well. Emotionally, I'm well. I'm finding ways to get through.I miss you. Miss seeing you. I miss being out in the world like crazy.So take advantage of it for me. Hey, go skipping today! When's the last time you skipped? If you're able, please for me, go outside or in your hallway and do a few yards of skipping and smiling. And then report back in a comment. Let me know how it went. Everyone do a little bit of skipping today.When's the last time you skipped? If you've got a body that can skip, you must go out and skip. Please! For me.Thank you. Enjoy living in that body of yours. It's not going to be around forever.I love you.Bye, bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

In the Eye of the StormI've been up since about 2:30 this morning. At night, I take three milligrams of melatonin and that usually puts me to sleep pretty well. But every night, I wake up at about two o'clock in the morning or 2:30 or three, and I usually take a half dose of ZzzQuil in a liquid form and I found it works real well. It puts me out for the rest of the night ‘till I wake up at about seven o'clock.But last night, as I was getting ready for bed, I realized my bottle of ZzzQuil was empty. So I said, “Okay, God, just you and me tonight and that three milligrams of melatonin.” So that's what I did. I fell asleep fairly easy and at 2:30 I woke up and I pretty much knew that that was it for the night. I was too ill to fall back to sleep, so I settled into that more and more familiar mode of “welcome it all.” Hours and hours of welcoming it all. And I'm going to try and tell you what I mean by that.I recently heard a story about bison or buffalo. I don't remember exactly how the story goes, but what I recall is that bison are the one animal that when there's a storm coming, they run toward the storm. They run toward the eye of the storm and somehow they find peace in the eye of the storm. Rather than running away from the storm like all the other animals and all the people, they run directly into the storm and they wait there.And that's kind of what I've been practicing in my meditation practice, not perfectly. I got a long way to go, but it's just an intention I have as I enter my meditation is to go into the eye of the storm, to welcome it all, to find rest, to find peace within the mess of all that is. And believe me, living with ME/CFS, when I say all that is… when I talk about the mess, it's a lot. It's a messy, messy internal world.Loud ringing in my ears. Burning weakness in my belly. Aching weakness in my arms and legs, overall sickness, deep illness. (lol)Sometimes on this podcast, I make it look kind of light and I make it sound funny. It ain't funny, my brother and my sister. It ain't funny. It's a lot of suffering. Your friend Hal, the old folk charmer. Whenever you get a minute, send a little prayer my way and say, “I hope he's making it okay today.” Because this illness is a — oh, what was the word I used today, when I sent Cameron a text, I said, “Cameron, it's a grueling illness, but I keep going.” It's a grueling illness, but I keep going. Grueling is a beautiful word. It's a beautifully descriptive word for this illness.You know, the nice thing about those Buffalo is they run to the eye of the storm and then they wait it out there in the middle of it all. And then the storm passes and the blue skies open up. The blue skies open up — those Montana skies. Yeah, those Montana skies. I've never been to Montana, but I I can imagine those Montana skies. I don't even know that's where Bison live, but that's the first thing that came to my mind is those Montana skies. They open up — big, wide, open skies. And the Bison get to just lay back in the sun, in the blue, and soak it all up.ME/CFS doesn't really work like that. It's more like the storm never ends. You stay in the middle of the storm. You stay in the middle of the chaos. You know, I certainly have my moments. There are moments that are better than others, but I'm still waiting for that Montana sky to open up. It may not be in this lifetime or it may be. You know, maybe little by little, that inner sky, that inner sky is opening. That's what I'm looking for is the inner sky, that inner Montana sky. Yeah, I can feel that right now, the inner Montana sky.So I got to let you know I have a fairly robust meditation practice. So much of the doing has been taken away from me. I've spent my life as a human doing, a human project-maker, a human creator, and most of it's been taken away. I'm mostly bed bound. I have very little capacity for doing, but the one thing that has not been taken away from me is meditation.You know, the inner life will always be there and I'm grateful for that, because fortunately, thank God, I have an interest in the inner life. I have a much greater interest in the outer life. (lol) Believe me, believe me. I love the outer life, but the inner life has not yet been taken away from me. So here we are.And it's times like last night when I was up for six hours meditating — or four hours, that I realized all that practice came into good use. I spent the night with my eyes closed. Just looking around at the internal world. Watching things rise and fall. Watching things come and go and smiling, essentially smiling all night long. (lol)It might seem strange. It might seem crazy, considering the extent of my discomfort and illness and wishing I were asleep. I laid there watching the inner world, and smiling. Now, I don't want to deceive you into thinking my life is all smiles and there's no reason to feel sorry for me. (lol)Actually, that was a joke. I don't find people feeling sorry for me to be helpful. But there is that little part of me that wants you to know how hard this is. Sometimes, I'd go so far as to call it excruciatingly difficult. I don't really know what I want your reaction to be, but I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I guess I'm just here to tell my story and I want you to remember that this illness exists and that I exist over here on South Chestnut Street in this room, up in the second floor. I guess I wanna remember all the people living with this illness — isolated, poorly treated, barely diagnosed, many without the resources that I have to survive this thingin the whole school of life. ME/CFS is one of the meanest teachers. Yep, that's the class I'm in. But you know, there are a lot of hard lives out there and it's the hard life that either destroys us or makes us transform. And I have a feeling that welcoming it all has something to do with the transformation. That's what I'm betting on anyway.But I want to tell you about my meditation practice. I've joined an online meditation community called “Meditate Together” and it is a wonderful community. It's run by an organization called Mindful Leader. Mindful Leader and Meditate-Together were the brain children of a guy named Mo Edjlali and I am a big fan. Here's how it goes:For $5 a month or $40 a year, there's online meditation every hour on the hour, led by a facilitator. Let me say that again. Every hour on the hour, you click a button and get on Zoom, and there's anywhere from four to 20 people there being welcomed by a facilitator, and here's how the program goes.It's 20 minutes of meditation. The meditation begins about two minutes after the hour, and we have 20 minutes of meditation. It's basically 20 minutes of silence for you to meditate in any way you want. And then here's the beautiful thing. After they call you back in a very mindful way, there's an optional reflection time that lasts about eight minutes. The facilitator will ask a thoughtful and intriguing question about mindfulness or meditation and it's followed by an optional sharing time where people get to share honestly about their experience.It's so beautiful and it happens 24 hours a day, every hour on the hour, except on the weekends. There's just a few sessions on the weekends. But sometimes I'm on there six or even eight times. I'm usually on there for three, four, six, or eight times, and I benefit greatly from it. Meditating with a community of people that I'm getting to know their faces and getting to hear their stories during the reflection time.I'm just gonna take this time now to humbly suggest or recommend that you give it a try for a month. Bring “Meditate Together” into your life once a day. For a bed-bound guy like me, craving community, it's been a blessing and a game changer for my meditation practice. And for $5 for a month, you got nothing to lose. Anyway… back to welcoming it all.During each of my 20 minute meditation sessions, I alternate between a couple different meditation techniques. One of them is Transcendental Meditation, which I learned a couple years ago, and have done consistently almost twice a day for the last couple years or so. It's a mantra that I was given and I repeat it over and over again in my thoughts. It's such a restful way to meditate. I don't have to think of anything. They say if it's easy, you're doing it correctly. It's so delightful to close my eyes and think, “okay, all I got to do is say the mantra”and I say the mantra over and over again, and I rest beneath that mantra.But the other technique I use has been introduced to me by several people. My awesome English girlfriend, who I've mentioned several times, Emma turned me on to this guy, Jeff Foster, who does YouTube meditations. Jeff talks about “resting in the mess.” You know, welcoming it all. Welcoming the thoughts, welcoming the feelings, welcoming the bodily sensations. Welcoming the resistance to the welcoming. Welcoming it all and finding the rest, finding the peace. Allowing that welcome to create the peace.Like if you welcome it all… that's my big challenge, is to find peace, in this body of chaos. And at those moments where I'm able to welcome it all like right now. I breathe. I welcome that discomfort in my lungs. I don't say “yay, welcome!” I just quietly say “hello, welcome.”The ringing in my ears, I welcome. “Hello, welcome.” The tingling in my feet, I welcome. The thoughts that come my way, I welcome. The fear. That's a hard one, welcoming the fear. That fear is just so uncomfortable. Welcoming the terror. And this illness comes with terror. I carry around the terror of it getting worse. I carry around the thought of it getting worse and how much worse can it get? How much more suffering can I handle?But I welcome it. Even welcoming the fear. Even welcoming the resistance to welcoming. (lol) Jeff sort of spins an interesting circle. But I’ve really found it to be a useful meditation. I just spent four hours this morning when I couldn't sleep, just lying there, welcoming.And one important aspect of this is that there's no goal to the meditation practice. There's no goal to the welcoming. I'm not doing the welcoming so that I can get somewhere. All I'm doing in each moment is welcoming the moment and that's it and I'm done with it. Move on to the next moment.So I invite you, as you go through your day today, go into the eye of the storm and welcome it all. Welcome the blue sky, welcome the snow, welcome the insane news that might be coming across your feed and all the feelings that come with it.By the way, I gave up looking at the news. I gave up TikTok and Instagram recently, and also Facebook. And it opened up a whole bunch of space in my brain. It's much more peaceful in there without scrolling on TikTok looking at tragic plane crashes and insane new s**t happening by the crazies in office.When my mom was asking me how I deal with it all, I said, “I mainly focus on the inner world. I mainly focus on the inner life.” And she said, “that sounds very self centered.” I'm not sure it is. I'm not sure. I think my best role in this world is to be at peace and to be a grounded, calm, loving, present, welcomer of it all. And I don't think that all the news I was getting off of TikTok and Instagram, my two main sources of news, (lol - don't make fun of me) I don't think those were helping me.But man, I sure did want to scroll last night in the middle of the night when I couldn't sleep, but I didn't. I just laid there and welcomed it all. Welcomed it all. Welcome that nervous system on fire, welcome. Welcome the blaring of the ears, welcome. Welcome the thoughts, welcome the scary thoughts, welcome. Welcome, the resistance to the welcoming, welcome. Welcome to that voice that says, I don't think I can handle this, this is impossible to welcome. Here's one, welcome to the limitations and welcome to all the grief around the limitations. Welcome the angel that walks into my room whenever a visitor comes, welcome. Welcome my caregiver, Mango, who's so dedicated to me and so loving toward me, welcome.Alright everybody, I think that's all the welcoming I'm gonna do right now. This was supposed to be short, and I think we're going on 20 minutes. (lol)My daughter put out her first podcast yesterday and I loved watching it. She reminds me of myself. Hers is 32 minutes, so maybe I'll leave a link here. You can go check it out.I love you. I love you and I miss you. I miss running with you. I miss walking with you. I miss riding bikes with you. I miss seeing you at the grocery store. I miss seeing you down at the river on the Riveredge Park. I miss seeing you at the Kent Natural Foods store. I miss seeing you at church. I miss seeing you up on the top of the 14,000 foot peaks, up in the Indian Peaks Wilderness in Colorado, in that huge field of wildflowers. It's rough man. I could start crying right now if I wanted to, but…. and I can welcome all that missing.Hey, enjoy that body. Whatever body you got. Enjoy it today.Enjoy the body today and I'll do the same.And I ordered some ZzzQuil so I'm looking forward to a better night's sleep tonight.I love you. Bye bye. Stay in touch.I'm signing off. I'll see you next time, bye bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hey! I’m Hal. Welcome to all the new subscribers! Please press PLAY above for the full 12-minute experience of this episode. Enjoy! Be sure to introduce yourself in the comments. Low Key GlidingI wanna start by welcoming all my new subscribers from TikTok.During the big scare of TikTok getting shut down, I posted a video that invited all my TikTok followers to come over to Substack and join me here. I'm so grateful that about 500 TikTokers moved over from TikTok to Substack and found me here. Thanks for making that effort. Thanks for joining me. You know, I think of TikTok and Substack as being two very different worlds. For me, TikTok has been my music world. It's been my music self.I've been a musician ever since I was playing the ancient hand whistle in third grade. And for the last many years, being a musician has been my primary source of identity. It's who I am. My specialty has been writing songs and playing musical instruments that nobody's ever heard of. For about 20 years, I found my home performing in the gymnasiums of elementary schools around Ohio, wondering when I was finally gonna get discovered. Then, in May of 2019, I was giving an assembly to some fifth graders in Akron, Ohio, and during the question and answer time, a young fifth grader stood up and she asked, “Are you on TikTok?” And I said, “No.” And she said, “You should be.” I'll never forget that response. I believed her when she said it. After the assembly, a group of fifth grade girls huddled around me and assured me that if I were to upload a TikTok, they would listen and they would ‘like’ it. So I went home and I downloaded TikTok, and I sang, “I'm off the deep end. Watch as I dive in. I'll never meet the ground.” And I had big hopes for viral success, the thing I'd been waiting for my whole life. So I put that video up, and I got about 10 likes from those 10 girls that had gathered around me after the assembly. And then I put the app aside. I guess it was good I had about six months of just scrolling videos, getting a feel for what the “For You” page was all about. But starting on January 1, 2020, I started posting original videos of me playing music every single day. I didn't miss a day for months or even years. I gained a following on TikTok — hundreds and then thousands, then hundreds of thousands, and finally, 3 million followers on that little app. After all those years of waiting, I finally got discovered. Believe it or not, I became a world famous khaen player, in large part thanks to “Low Key Gliding.” That's the song you heard at the beginning of this episode. It's my one hit wonder. You know, back in 2020 TikTok was a very special place. I felt like I was meeting a whole community of artists and dancers and musicians and comedians, creators and lovers of the arts. It felt kind of like I was coming home to the most amazing talent show ever in existence. And fairly quickly, I got to be one of the stars. I remember in 2020 I was boarding a flight from San Francisco and I was sitting next to these two young guys. I so badly wanted to know if they'd seen me on TikTok. So I said, “Hey, are you guys on TikTok?” And they looked at me kind of funny and said, “No.” I was so excited about this new world that I had found. I was so excited about my twenty thousand followers. I just wanted to spread the word… and get a little hit of validation. “Look at me! Look at me!”Though I could sense the addictive nature of scrolling on the “For You” page, and I know my own insatiable hunger to be seen, it was during the beginning of the pandemic, and I really felt like I had found some sort of creative community. TikTok has changed a lot since then. All the corporations and all the news outlets joined TikTok, and my “For You” page looks quite a bit different today than it did five years ago. With the threat of it being shut down, I looked back and I realized that we had something very beautiful. I missed those times and I felt some real sadness. So I posted my goodbye video, played “Low Key Gliding,” and as “Low Key Gliding” usually does, it went viral. Thanks to all those TikTokers who made the effort to come over here and meet me on Substack.Substack is a very different world for me. It's been the world of sharing my story of living with a debilitating illness called ME/CFS, myalgic encephalomyelitis. I coined the phrase myalgic encephalo-f****n’-myelitis, also known as chronic—f**k you— fatigue syndrome. I'm not a big swearer, but it's the kind of illness that makes you want to swear out loud. It's a mean, brutal, senseless, misunderstood, poorly researched, weird blessing of an illness. It's a nasty one. Recently I heard it described as a “horrific” illness, and I thought, “damn, why did I have to get the horrific illness?”I don’t want a horrific illness. I just wanna make TikToks. Just in case you haven't heard the story. Back in 1991, I was a long distance runner and long distance cyclist. One spring day, I woke up in the morning and had weird symptoms in my body that never went away. It was a sudden onset — totally out of the blue. I was just 25 years old. And over the last 34 years, the symptoms have gotten progressively worse. At this point, I'm mostly bed bound and definitely house bound. Without a half milligram of Ativan, I can’t even play “Low Key Gliding.” This song’s an important part of my TikTok story. It was on May 1, 2020. I was in my dining room in search of my next idea for a TikTok video. After many years of playing my song “Khaen Rock” on the melodious khaen, a mouth organ from Southeast Asia, I slowed it down a bit, and I slipped into a new groove that would eventually become “Low Key Gliding.” Right away it felt real good. It was smooth and easy and calm. It all happened so organically. The fingering fell right into the comfort of my hands and the breathing was so easy. I knew I'd found something special, but I had no idea how special it would be. Hundreds of people tagged a guy named Llusion in that video of me playing “Low Key Gliding,” and it caught his attention. Llusion remixed that sound into a sound that became the sound — the sound of TikTok 2020 and 2021.Just In case you haven't heard it. Here it is. It had mega viral success. That track alone opened up doors that I never could have imagined opening to me. It changed my career. It changed my life. I really enjoyed my kind of self designated role on TikTok. I felt like I was the musician uncle that every young kid wishes he had and deserves to have. My TikTok demographic is mostly young men between the age of 16 and 24. They really took a liking to “Low Key Gliding” and all the instruments I play… and that cool uncle vibe. It's a very different demographic over here on Substack, I've discovered that the world of chronic illness is made up of mostly women. I’m not complaining. I’m just curious how these two demographics are gonna vibe. So I'm hoping to somehow find a way to integrate these 500 new TikTok followers into this “Living in a Body” community. To be honest, I'm not sure how it's gonna work, but let’s give a warm welcome to all the new followers. Welcome to this other world of Hal Walker. It’s called “Living in a Body” on Substack. There’s not as much scrolling here and probably not as much “Low Key Gliding. A friend of mine recently described Living in a Body. She said “To me, your Substack is about a life torn open by chronic illness and the journey you're taking to God.” Wherever you are on this journey, and whatever you happen to call that journey to God or journey to what is, sooner or later, we all end up on this journey. I'm glad to be sharing my story along the way. Thanks so much for taking the time to listen — really. You know, I have a feeling that Substack is the social media the future. It's not owned by a multi-billionaire. We have our little corner. We have our little “Living in a Body” corner here where we can build our own community. There are lots of little communities here on Substack. Find a place for yourself and make yourself at home. I'm looking forward to doing my little part to make this a hip, cool place where you actually want to hang out.Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.So if you're new, please say “hello” in the comments. Tell me about yourself. Where'd we first meet? Where'd you first hear Low Key Gliding?What's your favorite… chronic illness? (lol) Or what's your favorite musical instrument? That's a good one. Or just say “hello” and tell me where you're from.I think that's it for today. I think we did it. “Low Key Gliding — One Hit Wonder.” You know, I'm not really a one hit wonder. I have a deep catalog of music in my career. But I'll tell you what. It was “Low Key Gliding” that took my career into a whole new dimension. And the timing couldn't have been better, considering I'm mostly bed bound and unable to work outside the home. Thank God for “Low Key Gliding.” As far as that lifelong craving to be noticed goes… I’m still working through all that. I know more than ever that what I really want is quiet contentment and connection. I realize that what I was longing for was already with me the whole time. I just needed to slow down long enough to see it. I guess that’s been the blessing of this damn illness. I guess I’ve got to admit that chronic fatigue syndrome has been one of my greatest teachers. Everybody, remember… enjoy living in that body of yours. It's not gonna be around forever. I guarantee it. Even if you think it will be. I used to think that — when I was 22 years old, climbing mountains. I didn't think it was ever going to end. Now I'm 57 and I'm fairly certain it's gonna come to an end eventually. But in the meantime, I'm taking it one day at a time — smiling, crying, loving, feeling, low key gliding. Thank you so much. Have a good day.Bye, bye ❤️ Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Three SistersOne of the greatest challenges of living with ME/CFS is the unpredictability. I never know what body I'm gonna wake up into every morning. I think about all the healthy people who every day, they pretty much expect what body they're going to wake up into. Sometimes they get sick, but for the most part, it's the same body, and it ages over time, but it's usually the same body. That's not the case for me and others living with this illness. We never know what’s coming next.Recently, I woke up to a surprise that I didn't particularly like. I'd been rolling along pretty nicely, feeling fairly stable over the several weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas. On New Year's Eve, my mom and my sister Caroline were over, and we were sitting downstairs and enjoying some time in front of the Christmas tree. I was grateful for my stability, but I came upstairs and my ears started ringing super loud. And that's always a sign that something bad's about to happen. And I went to sleep, and I woke up at two in the morning having sweat through my clothes and very sick, weak, feeling in my arms, a loud ringing in my ears and just an overall illness that's hard to describe. But it's very scary, especially at two o'clock in the morning. So January 1st was a rough one.And then January 2nd was even rougher. I woke up on January 2nd and my ears were just screaming, and I felt so sick. And it's a scary kind of sickness. It's not a sickness like a normal, healthy person feels like, “Ooh, I'm sick, but I just got to wait it out for 24 hours or 48 hours or a week, and I'll be back to normal.” You know, when you feel this sick with ME/CFS, it's a scary kind of “Holy s**t. Is this what I'm gonna be dealing with for the rest of my life? And is this another downturn?” And all the mental stuff that goes along with the physical stuff is just very challenging. It's brutal.Anyway, yesterday morning, I called my sister, Caroline, and she picked up. I said, “KK, I don't feel good.” And we talked, and I just cried. I cried and I said, “I don't feel good, KK.” She said, “What's wrong, Hal?” “I don't feel good.”I just didn't feel good. I don't feel good. I just said it over and over again, and she was very loving and very kind, and wishes she could do something. But it's like, no matter what anybody says, I just gotta face it. I gotta face it by myself in the end, here in my bed, writhing in my bed, hoping that tomorrow when I wake up, it's not as bad. And I'm grateful to say that today is January 3rd, and I woke up and it wasn't quite as bad. My ears are not screaming, and I've had a little bit more function.But my topic today is three sisters. In my email this morning, I got my sister Johanna's email. It's called “Skinny dipping with Johanna.” She's been writing it for many months on Fridays, and I always look forward to receiving these. She's such a great writer. She has a very adventuresome life inside and out. Some of her creative adventures include storytelling and dancing and coaching speakers and gardening and making art. And she's the kind of woman that was up late on New Year’s Eve swing dancing with the swing dance community out in Boulder. She’s the kind of woman that gathers her friends together on her birthday to do ceremonial walks and creative play out in the fields.She lives in Boulder, Colorado and she's making a big move to Massachusetts this month. And this morning, I woke up to her “Skinny Dipping with Johanna” email and it announced that she was starting a Substack. And I got excited. I've been encouraging her to start a Substack for many, many months. And every time I get Johanna's email, I want to like and comment on it and share it on Substack, and I send her a message that says, “Johanna! Substack! Please!” And I want to let you know Johanna Walker has joined Substack. It's called “Skinny dipping with Johanna.” And if I were you, I'd run over there right now and subscribe. And don't miss out. This was her first post today talking about this big move from Colorado to Massachusetts.So the point I'm trying to make is, I have three sisters. I am profoundly gifted in the sisters department. I realize this topic is worthy of weeks of word crafting and essay writing, but I just came up with the idea today. So I'm just sitting in front of the microphone to tell you about it. But to tell you the truth, my writing life has been pretty non-existent lately. I just haven't had the wellness. I haven't had the oomph to sit down and write, especially now that I discovered I can just turn on the microphone and start talking. It's much easier. To tell you the truth it feels a little bit like cheating, but there you have it.I remember times during ‘23 and ‘24 I'd spent hours here in my bed editing, wordcrafting, perfecting, and I loved it, and I'd like to get back to that eventually, but for now, this is what you get. I realize these spontaneous posts lose a certain amount of artistic somethin’ or other, but I guess it also adds a little bit of spontaneity. Like we're just sitting on the edge of our seats waiting to see what comes out of his mouth next.But anyway, I have these three sisters, Julie, Johanna and KK. It's Julia Lowe, Johanna Marie and Caroline Carlson Walker. They live in fear away places but I got to see each of them here in Kent at different times since Thanksgiving. And I feel so blessed. My daughter has three wonderful aunts who she feels so at home with and looks up to. And I have these three sisters that have supported me through some very, very difficult times.I remember in the end of 2021 being on a Zoom call with them, just crying, wondering how much longer I was gonna live. This illness was so scary and I was just declining. I was having crash after crash, and I couldn't imagine the crashes ever ending. And I wasn't picturing living much past January of 2022. I was so scared. They sat and listened to me. Each one of my sisters, in her own way, has been there for me, phone call after phone call, me on the other end crying, saying, “I don't feel good. I don't feel so good. I don't feel good. I'm so scared.”Anyway… and then they don't hear from me for a little while, and they're all relieved. Oh, good. I haven't heard from Hal for like three weeks. He must be in a better place. But more and more, I'm just sort of settling into the reality of this illness. And like, this is my life. This is my life, here in bed, and some days are worse than others, and some are a lot worse, like yesterday was… I’ve been saying this alot over the last couple years, but it was one of the hardest days of my life. It's such a mysterious, debilitating, uncomfortable, scary illness. You know weakness in the gut, screaming ears, weakness in the arms, a sick weakness in the arms. But it always changes. Wait a day, wait a couple days. It’ll change.Every once in a while I get overwhelmed with self-pity and fear and thinking about my future — 58, bedbound, needing a full time caregiver, rarely leaving the upstairs. It's scary, but then you look at the world, the tragedy in New Orleans and tragedy in Gaza and the tragedy in the subway system in New York City. And I'm blessed with a peaceful, quiet, beautiful afternoon here in Kent, Ohio. It was a beautiful snow falling outside. I was sitting by my window watching it for a while. And I'm safe inside. And I have three sisters out there looking after me from far away places. And Johanna, who I wish I had a good antidote for you, not an antidote… an anecdote. I do remember this one.I was working for a summer outside of Boulder, Colorado. I'd ride my bike down from Rollinsville all the way into Boulder and go up on the foothills to smoke a little pot and come down into the Pearl Street Mall and hang out with the hippies. And I was writing a letter to Johanna saying “Everyone seems so fake. They're not real.” Everyone in their conservative corporate outfits — like the hippies were the only real people. I was the only real person — me with my messy clothes and my long hair and my revolutionary attitude, drinking coffee and crocheting hacky-sacks. And I was just judging all the straight laced people. And here I was in the center of the hippest town, probably in the US back in 1986 and I was judging.I'll never forget Johanna's response, which came weeks later, explaining to me about the Velveteen Rabbit who only became real when she was loved by another person. And that's what makes people real, is love. And everyone needs that love, and everyone becomes real when they're loved. So I got some good wisdom about love from my big sister Johanna, back in the letter writing days, back when our letters were full of colored pencils and markers and it took two weeks to correspond —rather than a text.But I am blessed in the love department. I have three sisters that I love and who love me and each one in their own way, Julie in her very…. like, if you want something done, you call Julie. If you want a solution to a problem, call Julie. If I want a form filled out or a website recreated, I call Julie. She was my big sister at Northwestern. She had graduated from Northwestern, and I was starting as a freshman and she was in the theatre. She was so cool living on the north side of Chicago in an apartment. Sometimes I would visit her as a freshman in college. Those were the days. 1984.If I want a caring, loving, younger sister vibe, I call Caroline. Of course, she gets things done too. She helped me out a lot this last week. We call her KK. That's who I called yesterday in tears. I remember visiting Caroline as an older brother at Wooster College in Wooster, Ohio. I was kind of self absorbed. The main thing I remember is the Crandalls. The Crandalls was the the hippie’s fraternity. Those were the hacky sack playing, Frisbee throwing and pot smoking fraternity. It was the long haired, messy, flowing clothes fraternity. Whenever I visited KK, I went in search of the Crandalls. (lol) “Where are the Crandalls? I want to hang out with the Crandalls.” I wonder if the Crandalls still exist at Wooster. I wonder if they're still playing hacky sack. But Caroline is an awesome sister. She's a school teacher and a mom in Denver, Colorado, and she says, anytime I want to come visit and stay in her house, it's an open invitation. I appreciate that, KK.All three of my sisters will listen to me cry, but it was really Johanna that taught me kind of the art of crying, the art of opening and sharing and listening. And you know, for years now, we've called each other and said, “Will you listen to me cry?” What a blessing that's been. But it's not all about crying. We have such a friendly vibe between us, me and my three sisters. I love it.I'm the quiet one. We have an occasional family Zoom time, and I sit quietly while KK, Julie, Johanna, Hallie and my mom fill up the space with their stories. They've got great stories to tell too, but I'm the quiet one. I've always been the quiet one, over in the corner playing the guitar, playing the hand pan, off in the distance playing the harmonica. I’m the only boy. I'm the quiet one.Well anyway… the point I'm trying to make is I'm quite blessed in the sisters department. And really, I want to encourage you to go sign up for “Skinny Dipping with Johanna,” Do it today. Let's support her during this challenging moment in life, moving from Colorado to Massachusetts, follow along on the story. It's going to be exciting. She's a great storyteller. Let's support her on this next phase of her path. Just sending my love and I want to send all my Substack followers over to “Skinny Dipping with Johanna.”All right, that's all I got for you today, everyone. I'm taking it easy here. It's been a rough year so far, 2025 has not been easy. Damn ME/CFS. But as my friend Emma says, “it's my teacher,” and as my program says, “Be grateful for the hard things. Be grateful for the challenges.” Who knows what this challenge is leading me to? Who knows what kind of service I'm gonna be able to do because of what I've been through?All right, Happy New Year. Sending all my love to each and every single one of you here on Substack. I'm gonna send this out and have some quiet time. Hey, I'll send you a picture of my of the beautiful snow out my front window.All right. Thank you. Remember. It's January. If you've got a body, live in it. Breathe in it. Feel in it. Yeah. All right. Have a good day. Bye, bye.Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hey! Happy Holidays! Merry Christmas. Happy Hanukkah. Happy Boxing Day. Happy New Year and Happy Hallie’s birthday. Yay!Though this past year was one of the most difficult years of my life, today I bring to you the “Best of 2024.” Looking back, maybe it wasn’t such a bad year after all.I grew my first ever wildflower garden this year and I spent the summer taking photographs of it. I learned the names and fell in love with zinnias, poppies, coneflowers, coreopsis, black eyed susans and cosmos. I also fell in love with my Sony Alpha 70-350 mm super telephoto lens. It’s amazing. It was so fun to capture the cycles of change in the garden throughout the summer and fall — close up with that lens.Speaking of falling in love, back in September, I met Emma Kitchen. She commented on one of my Substack posts and since then we’ve become the best of friends. We’re part of a mutual appreciation club that consists of just two members. Emma’s from Warwickshire, England and I’m from Ohio so we’ve had to struggle with the language and culture barrier, but the struggle has been hilarious. This year, I’ve become a huge fan of Boxing Day. Already, I’m counting the days ‘till Boxing Day 2025. I’ve also become a huge fan of WhatsApp. It has allowed for texts, voice memos, video memos, voice calls and video calls with my new friend. All for free. If you listen very closely, you may hear a little bit of an English accent in my voice these days. That comes from hours of video calls with an English woman. I feel like God looked down and said, “Hal, you deserve something really wonderful.” That’s what Emma is. She’s wonderful. Watch for her Substack which is called Lanterns in the Dark and it’s coming soon. Stay tuned.Speaking of blessings, I am truly blessed to have Bonnie Mango as my housemate and caregiver. He is dedicated to me as if we were brothers. He is a delight to have in my home and I consider him to be family. He runs the facilities around here on South Chestnut Street while he continues to save my life with his generous care.And of course, one of the great joys of 2024 has been continuing to create podcast episodes of “Living in a Body.” This year, we popped out 25 new episodes - each with original music and narration. In case you missed them, you’ll find some of my favorites below. (see below) Don’t miss the story of my daughter’s wedding. Hallie and Andy make such a beautiful young couple. Hallie reported that their drive down to Cincinnati to see Andy’s family went so fast cause they spent the whole time singing — harmonizing Christmas carols and Broadway tunes. It touched my heart and made me so happy to hear that.Everyone, thanks for your part in making this a great year. 2024 — a horrendous year of decline in health with the challenges of ME/CFS. But in so many ways, it was a blessed year. I’m very pleased to report that in the last couple months, I’ve experienced some stability in my condition for the first time in a year. Believe me, I’m so pleased about this and we can all hope that it continues. I’m sending my love to all those out there that are living with this condition. It’s a rough one… especially over the holidays. Remember, you’re not alone. We’re sort of a team, aren’t we?Thank you so much for reading. Thank you for listening. Special thanks to the 91 paid subscribers that are helping me to earn a bit of a living doing this from my bed. Thank you.And remember. Enjoy living in that body of yours. If you’ve got one, enjoy it. It’s not gonna be around forever. Yes. Go for a walk. Go make a snowman. Or go jump in the rain puddles. Go hug your next door neighbor. Go visit somebody in a nursing home. Take a walk down by the river. Take a wheelchair ride into town. Breathe that fresh air. If you’re in bed, give yourself some loving caresses, some loving, caring caresses. Stroke your face. Stroke your arms. You deserve it. Alright?Thank you. I’ll see you next time. Happy New Year. Bye. ❤️. HalMore Best of 2024 BelowLiving in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

In Search of a Place to Lie DownThe holidays are approaching and I'm feeling so excited about my presents. I've never really been a great present guy. I've always been more of a last minute present guy, trying to pull something together at the last minute, wrapping with newsprint or paper bags from the grocery store. I've never been a great presents guy, but this year, I really outdid myself. I'm so excited. (chuckle)Unfortunately, I can't tell you what it is, but I can't wait for my family to receive their presents… and for a few friends too. I got an idea back in September and I started working on it. That's the time to start working on Christmas presents, or holiday presents, is September. At least, that's what I'm discovering. The present that I'm gonna be giving to my family arrived in the mail today and I'm just smiling.I'm smiling as I lie here in this bed, my day bed. I transferred from my nighttime bed to my day bed early this morning and I have spent most of the day lying down in this bed. I'm grateful to have two beds. I mean, how many guys have two beds? I have one really nice bed from Dreamcloud company. That's my nighttime bed. And I crawl into that bed at night and I take a melatonin.I've been crawling in early lately. I love to get into my bed at about eight o'clock and I do a little bit of reading. I read out of the big book a couple pages. I write a gratitude list and maybe I'll listen to a little bit of the book I'm listening to, which is Beartown. I'm loving it and I'm on chapter 11, I think, and I’m really loving it. As you may know, I'm not a big reader, but I'm really enjoying entering into this world of Beartown.But I love to get into bed early. I’m asleep by nine o'clock, and then I wake up pretty much every night. Sometimes I'll wake up at 1:30. That's a pretty good one. Sometimes I’ll wake up at 11:30. (lol) I hate it when that happens — waking up at 11:30. It feels like it should be the morning, but I can still hear the people partying in downtown Kent. But generally, I wake up around one’oclock or 1:30 and I take a half dose of Zzz quill to get me back to sleep. And then I wake up again around 6 am. This morning, it was more like 5 am, so I meditate for two hours till my broth at seven.Anyway, you didn't want to know all that… or maybe you did. Just little stuff about my life, lying down — the life of a guy who spends most of his time lying down. And that's the subject for today. It's called “In Search of a Place to Lie Down.”When I was in college, I was always in search of stairwells and parking garages. I went to Northwestern University and I was not a very good student. I was a history major, but my passion was on the Frisbee field. My passion was in the hacky sack circle. And my passion was riding my bike around Chicago by myself with a harmonica in my pocket, going in search of stairwells and parking garages — places with great acoustics, where I could wail the harmonica, places where the reverb would just blow your mind and fill the whole space. I've really spent my life… a big part of my life has been going in search of great acoustics and I've been blessed in that area. For 25 years, I was the music director at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Kent, which literally has the best acoustics in Northeast Ohio — warm, generous, forgiving, so… just… mmm. It's just a great listening space, one of the greatest places for an acoustic concert anywhere.Anyway… as I was saying.My earlier years were always in search of a parking garage or a stairwell. There was this one stairwell in downtown Evanston I used to go to. I'd climb to the third floor and maybe smoke a little… I don't know. I shouldn't mention it. But probably, maybe smoke a little one hitter of marijuana and explore the vastness of sound. I shouldn't have mentioned that in case there are any young people on here, but there you have it. (lol) I haven't smoked marijuana in a long time. So...Children, young people, listen up. I don't recommend it. Go to God. Go to silence. Go to quiet. Go to reality. Live in reality. Live in relationship. You don't need the dope. You don't need the pot. Of course, you might have to find out on your own, but from a guy who’s been there, I’m just saying. You know.. stay in reality. Feel the feelings. Feel the feelings. Take responsibility for your life. (lol) Feel the feelings.Anyway… we digress.But later in my life, after 1991 when I experienced the sudden onset of ME/CFS, chronic fatigue syndrome, the mysterious sudden onset, I became a man who was always in search of a place to lie down. I became a master of finding a place to lie down. And I just want to tell you about a few of those times.The first one that comes to mind is is I spent a lot of my time working in schools as an artist-in-residence. I travelled around Ohio writing songs and giving mass harmonica lessons. I would arrive at the school and discuss with the teachers about what the residency was gonna look like, but always, at some point, I would find out where my lie down space was going to be. I would express to them that all I need is something the size of a closet. I don't need a couch. I don't need a rug. I don't need a pillow. All I need is an eight-foot by five-foot space to lie down on a linoleum floor. I need a private space somewhere where I can lie down. And seriously, a closet would be just fine.And that's what I did, many times a day sometimes. I would go to the spot. I would lie flat on my back on the linoleum floor, spread my arms wide and sink into the floor. And I would usually do this for a timed session of 10 or 12 minutes. And it was amazing how my body would just sink. It's like after all this activity of teaching and all this energy I was outputting, I would sink into that floor for 10 minutes. My arms and legs would become numb and it was like I couldn't get close enough to the floor. But 10 minutes later, the little bell would go off, and I would pop up and be ready for action. I’d stand up in front of 200 fourth graders and I’d… be on fire with energy.I lived with what I now consider a very mild version of MECFS. I lived a very full life, but it was always with me. It was very real and it was always with me. You know how exercise and exertion can feel good to you? Well, it never felt good to me. Any kind of exertion always made me sick.Here’s a story…One time, I was working with the Mad River Theater Works. We were traveling around southern Ohio putting on “The Legend of Casey Jones.” It was a high energy production. We'd unload the van and set up the set and when we were all ready to go, I'd lie down behind the set before the show.But I remember one time we were in a little town in southwestern Ohio, we'd put on two shows a day and this time we were on lunch break. We were right in the downtown, next to the town hall—this beautiful, old Ohio town hall that had a beautiful green space all around this big, Gothic building. And we had had our lunch and we had about a half hour to kill before we had to move on. So I laid myself down on the green space in front of the Town Hall. And I would take the dead man's pose, that was my favorite pose was the dead man's pose — basically shavasana in yoga. I'm flat on my back, arms to my side, head relaxed, eyes closed, total surrender, total surrender into the grass.A few minutes later, after I settled in, a policeman came up and asked if everything was okay. And I said, “Yes, everything's fine.” And he said, “I'm sorry, but you're gonna have to move on. You're gonna have to leave this space. You've caused a concern to several people in the offices, and they'd like to ask that you not lie down here anymore. And they've asked that you leave.” (One of the more memorable times of finding random places to lie down.) You know, I lied down in so many green spaces all around Ohio.Another one on a date at Porthouse Theater. You know, at the break everybody goes up and mingles and goes to the bathroom and has a snack, but I went in search of a place to lie down. So I found myself a picnic table and I explained to my date that that's the kind of guy I am. I'm the kind of guy that's always in search of a place to lie down. Fortunately, she was enamored enough that it didn't bother her. In this case, it was at night. It might have been damp ground and probably a little brisk. So a picnic table was a perfect place to lie down.Another time, I remember being in a Whole Foods store with a friend. I was explaining to her that I'm a master of finding places to lie down. And right there in the store, I found this little nook over next to the produce, and it was just big enough to lie down, so right there in front of the whole world and in front of my friend, that's what I did.Linoleum floor, tile floor, wood floor, carpet, whatever. I don't want a couch. I don't want a pillow. Just give me a place to lie down. Give me a flat space where I can play dead for 10 minutes. You know, that was one of the feelings I remember most in early onset of ME/CFS, this dead feeling, like the life force is not there. The flow is gone and my battery is on empty. The life force is not there and I need to get close to the ground.Another good lying down story was… At church, we used to have this upright piano in the front that I would play to accompany the hymns. I would perform the piece, whatever we were playing, and then I would lie down behind the upright piano, just hidden enough that the congregation could only see my feet sticking out by the piano. And I believed that this was my right. You know, I was just taking care of myself. But my minister, the Reverend Melissa Carvill-Ziemer, said, “Hal, you know, some members are concerned about about how it looks for you to be lying down, during the sermon, behind the piano.”That reminds me of another story of the previous minister, Julie-Ann Silberman-Bunn. She said, “Hal there's some there are some church members that are concerned about you always having holes in your pants, in the butt of your pants.” And I was so defensive about that. It's like, what do you mean!? They're worried about such a surface thing as me having holes in my pants? I was such a rebel. I didn't want to believe in conventional things like not having holes in your pants, and I had a real self righteous attitude about it, like, “come on, people!”But years later, I learned the joy of having nice pants. I learned the joy of putting on pants that didn't have holes in them. I used to walk into schools with pants that had holes in the butt where you could see my underpants. (lol) I was just not the most… I was not the most together guy. And I'll tell you what kids, a lot of it was that “marijuani” that I was smoking. I have come a long way in my togetherness. But anyway, I stopped lying down. I stopped lying down behind the piano. Sometimes I would lie down on a pew… always in search of a place to lie down.I think I'll close with this one. One of my greatest lying down memories was… During the pandemic, the whole town shut down. The church shut down. Everything went online and this was a glory moment for me. Suddenly, I had the dream of my life to be able to be at home, create what I want to create. And not only that, but a half mile from my house, I had the best acoustics in town, the UU Church in Kent as my own personal studio and the whole town was silent. There was no traffic. So I would show up there at 11 o'clock at night, set up my sound system, set up a nice mood lighting, set up the recording and record the album that I had been procrastinating for years. Thankfully, it was those late night recording sessions at the church that has kept my livelihood going as I lay here in bed and people keep streaming on Spotify and Apple Music. Thank you, God.But here are the sacred moments that I remember lying down in between sessions. I turn on the microphone, play a little bit of that melodious khaen and then it was lying down time. And I would sink into that floor. I would let my body sink into that floor in the dead man's pose. It was like I was sinking into the bedrock of the building. I could feel the weight. I could feel the heaviness of my body just wanting to get as close to the floor as possible.Oh, and that reminds me of one more story I just gotta tell you. I promise this is the last one. I was very ill. Had a gig down in Columbus at the UU Church in Columbus, and I was traveling down there with a trio. I laid down in the back of the van the whole way down and we arrived. And I was shown to my green room, or my dressing space, and I lied down, the whole time thinking, “How in the world am I going to get up and give a concert in this place.” I just had this sick, deep fatigue, deep weakness, deep illness. But when it came time for me to get on that stage, I stood up, walked onto that stage, turned on the microphone, and you know, I gave the best concert ever. Time after time, I would give the best concert ever, coming out of a deep state of illness, all thanks to adrenaline and whatever other chemicals come alive when I was on a stage needing to perform for a whole bunch of people. But I remember many times like that, right before a show, finding a place in the backstage to lie down.I spent about 33 years in my life searching for places to lie down, and now, pretty much house bound, mostly bed bound. I move from my nighttime bed, I take a wheelchair ride over to my daytime bed and somehow I'm getting used to it. Somehow I'm getting used to the life in bed.Everyone, that's my story. That's my story about going in search of places to lie down. Give it a try. You know, there's nothing wrong.That was one other thing. I was always self-conscious of lying down—in case people would see me. If someone walked in at the very last second, I would pretend I was stretching. You know, I'd move my leg up, pretend I was doing some yoga, because this dead man's pose is so intimidating or concerning to people. That went on for years, being afraid of someone catching me lying down. It's a shame — so self-conscious, so afraid that I'll displease someone. That's a whole ‘nother story, though, that's a whole ‘nother episode.Thanks for listening. It's called Living in a Body. If you've got a body, go live in it. Go live in it. It ain't gonna be here forever. I love you. I care, sending care during this holiday season. I really appreciate you listening. See you next time. Episode 99!Bye Bye. H Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Welcome to “Living in a Body.” Please share this post with a friend. Click PLAY above for the full Podcast experience of this publication with music. (13 minute listen) And be sure to stick around till the end for a spontaneous, cameo appearance by my friend Annette Dowling. How Can I Help On Tiktok, I posted a post about the fact that I'm living with severe ME/CFS and there was a thread of comments that broke my heart a little bit. I want to read it to you. I often get the question, “How can I help?” And today, I guess I'm gonna try and offer some suggestions. But here… this starts with “my friend has ME/CFS as well. Does it get worse by time?” And someone suggests, “try to be there for them, the people and the support around us is all we have.” Next person says, “My co worker's wife has it, and she's bedridden.” “Damn man. He can't even leave his bed as well, and he's only 23 years old.” And the next guy says, “Bro, that's insane. I never heard of this until recently. Started off as a misdiagnosis of myocarditis, then went downhill. Really, no good treatment out there either.” “Absolutely and it makes me sad seeing him that way.” Next guy says, “Just don't stop seeing him any chance you get. Have a few minutes, just stop by and lift his spirits, let him know you're there for him and that you haven't forgotten him.” Next guy says “He's 23?!” “Yeah.” “Really sorry to hear that man. Try to make sure you're there for him, the best you can. It probably makes him pretty happy to see you care. Friends like that are rare.” “Yeah, man, I'm devastated. He was my gym buddy and now he can't get out of bed. I'm doing everything to get him back. I'm searching for cures and solutions. He doesn't have anybody, bro. I can't just let a human being cripple into depression. I'm getting him out of there, trust me.” And someone comes in with some clear advice, “Resting and pacing is crucial. A day in the gym could make it a lot worse.” “Maybe just take time to hang out in bed together.” “Damn man, that's what's heartbreaking for me. You can't even fight through it because it gets worse. It's a nightmare for every athletic guy, man. I hope you're doing well, you're a hero.” And it goes on from there. That's one of the millions, the #millionsmissing and easily forgotten. And I have a platform here that I just want to remind you on this end of November that there are people living with complex chronic illnesses you don't see every day. They're hidden in their bedrooms, behind dark shades and silencing headphones and eye masks, and it's easy to forget those guys. You know, I'm so busy wrapped up in my life, I forget about everybody. Yesterday, I called a friend. It's amazing what calling a friend will do, or texting a friend saying, “Hey, just thinking about you, sending you the best. Have courage, friend.”But really, to make this short, I'm gonna say I just gave $100 to the Open Medicine Foundation. They seem to be the best operation out there looking for medical solutions. You know, I know medicine is not the only answer. There's all kinds of psychological and spiritual approaches to this illness, but from what I can see, Open Medicine Foundation really has something good going. And they have a pittance of a budget. I mean, God, let's get a few million dollars over there rather than having bake sale money. But I just gave $100 and during the month of November, it's tripled. If you have a little money, if you have a little spare money, click this link and send some money over to the Open Medicine Foundation at the last minute. It's just during November, Triple Giving. Anything you give will triple.For myself. When people say, “What can I do to help?” You know, if you're not going to cause any commotion, come on over and sit next to me. If your hands are soft, rub some cream on my feet, (lol) rub my arms and rub my hands. You know, if you can handle it, hold my hand while I cry. I got a lot of crying to do and it's nice to have someone holding my hand while I'm doing it. I know that's not easy. And even better yet, I'll hold your hand while you cry. I'd be honored. I would be honored. Believe me, there's nothing I want to do more than help somebody. But mainly, give a smile, say an encouraging, loving word. We could just sit here and hold hands and think about the good old days. (lol) There's a lot of hand holding going on. Um… Just wash your hands first! But seriously, the life of chronic illness can be lonely. A little touch helps, especially over the holidays. You know, Thanksgiving was hard yesterday. I spent the day alone, mostly in the dark, feeling pretty sorry for myself. I had a few very nice, long distance phone calls, some great connections. But you know, during that dinner hour, I was in bed moaning and groaning while it felt like the whole world was out there enjoying Thanksgiving. It's a tough road, this road of chronic illness. Don't forget the people, look out for those people in your life that are home bound, bed ridden. And I realize it's not just the chronic illness people that need somebody to reach out. We all need somebody. We all need somebody. Old people, sad people, overworked people, healthy people, lonely people, poor people. We all need somebody. If I could do it over again when I was healthy, I'd spend a day a week. I mean, I say this, it's easy to say in hindsight. I'd spend a day a week visiting the elderly, visiting the sick. I'm not saying I always want visits, but I'm always open to a spiritual companion, to sit in the darkness and ask God for help. Hey, I want to read one more thing to you. This came across my email. Yeah, I'm a Quaker. I joined the Kent Quaker meeting recently, and I am officially a Quaker. Yay. Hal’s a Quaker. Can't wait for my Quaker wedding and my Quaker funeral. Until then, listen to this... The first time you practice contemplation, you'll only experience a darkness like a cloud of unknowing. You won't know what this is. You'll only know that in your will, you feel a simple reaching out to God. You must also know that this darkness and this cloud will always be between you and your God. Whatever you do, they will always keep you from seeing God clearly by the light of understanding in your intellect and will block you from feeling God fully in the sweetness of love and your emotions. So be sure you make your home in this darkness. Stay there as long as you can crying out to God over and over again because you love God, and it's the closest you can get to God here on Earth by waiting in this darkness and in this cloud. -anonymous, late 14th century.And then one more quote by Eden Grace, 2004, a Quaker Minister.The only way through the cloud of unknowing is to head directly into the place of greatest uncertainty. So if you ever want to hang out in the place of greatest uncertainty, come feel free to sit by my bedside, and we'll sit quietly together. And if your hands are soft, feel free to rub my feet. (lol) Alright. sending love from my bed. I want to send love to all those suffering, you know, all those suffering today in bed. You know, I miss my old life so bad. I want to be out there. I want to be out on the river. I want to be out on the bike path. I want to be on my scooter riding around town. I want to be at the Kent Natural Foods store. I want to be dancing. I want to be contra dancing, playing Frisbee, playing ping pong. You know, I've got a lot of things I want to be doing, but instead I'm sitting here in the cloud of unknowing. I'm heading directly into the place of the greatest uncertainty and I'm sending 100 bucks that's tripled over to the (what's that group called, again) Open Medicine Foundation. HalOh, look who just showed up. It’s Annette. Annette, this podcast is called, “How Can I Help?” I know you’ve helped alot of people. Give us some wisdom. Hey Annette.Annette Hey Hal, thanks. Um. HalYou can be honest.AnnetteI can be honest.I think helping is the way that many people need to connect with other people. It's a way in to their lives that's not threatening, and I think the person that's offering the help gains much more from it than the person receiving. It touches your heart.And that's what living is all about — loving and caring for other people and being cared for back. Thanks.HalI couldn't have said it better myself. Thanks, Annette. That was a little cameo, spontaneous appearance by Annette Dowling, thank you.Alright everyone. That was Episode 98 1/2. Thank you so much. All the best to you. Living in a Body. If you've got one, love it. Love it to the end. Thank you so much. Bye, bye. Hey! Happy Thanksgiving. Happy holidays. Enjoy.Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi, I'm Hal. This is the Living in a Body podcast. Welcome. A special welcome to all my new subscribers this week from TikTok and Instagram. Glad to have you here. It's called Living in a Body. This is episode 97. We've been going at it for a while now, but you're here just in time. Press PLAY above to listen. (25 Min.) Be the Hole in the DonutMy sponsor keeps telling me to “be the hole in the donut”. To be honest, I'm not sure what it means, and besides, I don't think I'm doing a very good job at it. I’m so attached to the material world. But he's very kind. He's very generous and very helpful. He just keeps saying, “Be the hole in the donut, Hal”.And I'll tell you a little bit later about what I think it means, but I'm gonna start with a little story about something that happened to me this week. On Sunday, I posted 80 seconds of me playing “Low Key Gliding” on the melodious khaen, an instrument I play from Southeast Asia. Here’s a little taste of it: And within three days, three days later, the video had gotten 30 million views on Tiktok. 30 million views on Tiktok…and I'm over here trying to be the hole in the donut. But in order to tell you the story right, we’ve gotta start at the beginning. It starts something like this… I don't know if you know this about me, but like many people with my illness, I do not have proper medical care. I'm essentially making up my own treatment for a very serious chronic illness, a severe version of something called myalgic encephalomyelitis, also known as chronic fatigue syndrome. We call it ME/CFS for short. You know, I have a few doctors here and there. None of them coordinate. None of them are working together. No one's really on top of my situation. They’re perfectly nice, hard working people, but when it comes to ME/CFS, they’re clueless. So as is the case for many people with this illness, I'm just making it up as I go. It's a scary place to be, because I'm no scientist. I'm no doctor. I don’t have the strength to do a whole lot of research. I do a fairly good job at self-care, but man wouldn’t it be great to have a team of specialists working on me — backing me up. For now, I’ve got my sponsor and the spiritual solution of this 12-step program calling me to just for today, one day at a time, be the hole in the donut, Hal. Anyway, with a prescription I got from my nurse practitioner psychiatrist, I’ve been using a drug called Lorazepam, or Ativan, to save my life. Without Ativan, I'm unable to eat, unable to speak, unable to move my arms. And with a small dose of Ativan in my blood, just a little quarter milligram, I'm able to do those things for a little period of time. I call it an “Ativan window.” And as long as I respect the Ativan window, I'm able to do mild activity in my bed, like eat, move my arms, speak into this microphone and make a few phone calls, things that give my life some quality — all without crashing, without having one of these neurological episodes I've been telling you about. Ativan is the one thing I've found that stops the crashes, and as far as I'm concerned, that's the most important thing I need to do — stop the decline. Without these little pills though, I’m in some very deep illness, lying on my back with an eye mask and silencing headphones scared of the next airplane that’s gonna fly overhead and cause my overly sensitive brain to have one of these episodes of crashing. As a reminder of what I've been going through, 2024 has been a year of these episodes. One a week turned into two and three a week, all the way up to about 10 in a week. And these are neurological episodes, kind of like seizures that happen with any kind of stimulus or exertion. And it's a total mystery. When I hear other people talk about their symptoms of ME/CFS, I don't hear talk of this specific kind of seizure that I'm having. But! After having ten in one week, several weeks ago, on my own, I decided to try this Ativan approach. I take a small dose of Ativan three times a day to keep my brain right above the crash zone. And it's been successful. It's been about three weeks, I believe, since my last episode, except for today, that is. I'll tell you about that in a minute.I'm not sure how it relates to being the hole in the donut, but this is me taking charge of my life and trying to save myself from further decline. Anyway, yesterday, I took my quarter milligram of Ativan in the morning, was able to get up from the bed and make my broth, make my Kachava, and then I got this idea. You know, Hallie’s in town this week. Maybe if I took another half Ativan, Hallie and I could go to church together. And that's what we did. I took another half Ativan, I put on some actual pants. I put on actual pants, as opposed to just no pants — no pants or just underwear or some yoga pants. Anyway, I put on some pants and I put on a shirt, my favorite green kind of fall sweatshirt made by Prana. We loaded up the wheel chair and we went to church! Hallie and I went to church, and it was pleasant. We first went to the discussion before church, and then we went to church. There's no doubt I was fragile. But we got to see some old friends. We got to hear the Tarnished Brass brass ensemble. We got to hear a nice service about gratitude, and I got to sit next to Hallie in church, and I kept my silencing headphones and a mask on just to be safe. It was very beautiful. And the sun, you know, as always, the sun coming through the UU church of Kent windows is a one of a kind sight to behold that someday I hope you can experience. And we left right after church, and came home, and I got into bed. So it was a success. And then I got inspired. I said, “Hallie, let's take advantage of this Ativan window and go record some ‘Low Key Gliding’ out on the front porch. We can bring back 2020, back to the days of playing the khaen for all the young people on TikTok. And let's see what we can make happen… Here we go.”And Hallie said, “Are you sure, daddy? It's been a while since you played any music.”I said, “Let's go for it.” That's what we did. Hallie Walker and I went out on the front porch and recorded 80 seconds of “Low Key Gliding”. We did it with her phone, which has a great camera and a great microphone. And Hallie is a great videographer. And 80 seconds was enough. It was quite satisfying, quite enjoyable. That piece is deeply embedded in my lungs and sitting there on the front porch, the best front porch on South Chestnut Street in the sun, and all the glory of the wind… and the air, I was inspired to pull out the best version of “Low Key Gliding” ever. And that's what I did. So 80 seconds of my hit song “Low Key Gliding”, which made it big in 2020. There was a whole generation of young people between the ages of 16 and 25 that experienced “Low Key Gliding” for the first time back in 2020 during the pandemic. And now they've all grown up, and they look back and see this song with great nostalgia. It means a lot to ‘em. This symbolizes the pandemic and their earlier years. There's so much emotion tied up in this song. So anyway, I posted this 80 seconds of “Low Key Gliding,” well filmed by my daughter, Hallie, and we watched it pop, we watched it go, we watched it do numbers. And let me just say the numbers for you here: Within three days, the video has 30 million views. Dagnabbit, I can't find my phone. I have a bed full of stuff, and sometimes my bed does not look like the guy who is the hole in the donut. It looks more like the guy that just ate a whole dozen of those donut holes, and there are crumbs all over the bed and in the car, but…I don't eat donuts. And I don’t eat donut holes. Anyway, here's my point… 30.2 million views in 72 hours, 4.9 million likes in 72 hours, 19,000 comments in 72 hours, and 595,000 favorites in 72 hours. So in case you're unfamiliar with the numbers in Tiktok, these are huge numbers. For the last three days, I've literally been the most famous guy on Tiktok, and here I am trying to be the hole in the donut. And I don't even know what that means, but let me just tell you the reason I'm feeling so upset right now. Things have been going along well, haven't had a crash in at least three weeks. I found a little bit of stability. I thought I'd mastered the crash zone. But once I posted that video, I couldn't stop checking the numbers, and it's a very familiar feeling.Okay, there's a video popping off. Let me check what it did. Let me check that number. Let me get that little hit of serotonin, let me get that little hit of dopamine. And all it takes is one glance at the number and I get the little hit, which is the last thing I need as an addict in recovery, a guy living with severe ME/CFS, seeking to grow along spiritual lines. I don't need those little dopamine hits. I need peace. I need calm. I need connection. I need God. I need… to be the hole in the donut. That's what I want. I don't want little hits of the material world that will never be satisfied. I woke up on Tuesday morning excited but disappointed that it was only 19 million views. That's the kind of s**t we're dealing with here, man. You don't understand. So anyway, it was about noon today. My Ativan window was clearly coming to an end, and I wanted to check my numbers one more time. And I did…and with just a glance on that phone, it touched my brain real weird and I felt that seizure come on, that crash. And right away I try to pretend that I didn't actually check my phone, convince my body to go back. “No, this didn't happen. I didn't do this.” Doing whatever I can to reverse this, but I was unable to reverse it. And it happened. My brain clenches up. My heart starts racing. My stomach gets sick. It lasts 30 seconds and it's over. And then I was like, “Damn it, Hal.”This approach that I'm taking with Ativan is essentially using an addictive drug that loses potency to cover up very, very severe illness. I'm amazed at the low doses of Ativan. I'm taking a total of 1 milligram, which is small. I mean, just the recommended dose is 2 milligrams a day, and I'm taking 1 milligram. If it went on working like this for years and years, I'd be satisfied. But you never know. I have no idea how this little Hal Walker method, how sustainable it is. It's working today. At least I thought it was, until I had that crash…. a crash , maybe we should call it an episode. It's an undocumented episode that no one knows what the hell it is. No doctor knows. You know, my sisters know about it. You guys know about it. By the way, I got some unfortunate news. Remember that post I did “Good News,” talking about how I was accepted into this hospice program? Well, it turns out it was too good to be true. (lol) I'm laughing because my mom likes the sound of my laugh, but it was too good to be true. They let me know a day later that… no, I mean, the woman came in and said, “You're accepted. You're accepted into the hospice program. There will be a nurse here on Friday.” And then when the nurse didn't show up on Friday, that was weird. And then on Tuesday, I called them, and eventually it became clear that I didn't have the proper diagnosis. Chronic fatigue is not a proper diagnosis for end-of-life hospice care. I'm not in an end-of-life situation. But somehow, at the time this woman took a real liking for me and was sending me into the program, but they changed their mind, and I am no longer in a hospice program. It was hugely disappointing at the time. And on top of that, recently I had an appointment with the supervisor of my nurse practitioner psychiatrist. He made it clear that they can no longer prescribe Ativan to me. It’s a controlled substance and I don’t have a psychiatric diagnosis. A psychiatrist can’t prescribe that medication for a diagnosis outside of a psychiatric diagnosis. So another big disappointment.. like a huge disappointment. Like “What the f**k am I gonna do” kind of disappointment. But here I am figuring it out on my own. Telling the whole world on Substack — that this boy is not well cared for in the medical world. I have poor insurance from the healthcare.gov. You know, I have a primary care doctor downtown at the local, (sigh) Axccess Health. She's a wonderful person, but, you know, I need someone who's ready to think outside the box. The fact is, there is no known cure, there's no known treatment, no known cause, barely a diagnosis. There are a handful of youtubers that seem to know how to solve the problem, but everything they say is everything I've tried. And usually I feel like they’re talking about a different illness. They’re talking about “chronic fatigue.” Not whatever this beast I have is. And it's a scary place to be. Let me just say that out loud. I'm scared. Right now, thanks to a half milligram of Ativan, I'm not as scared. Whenever it starts running low, I start getting scared. And as an addict in recovery, I don't like the idea of becoming a pill addict, but I don't see any other option. But I guess I’m gonna find out the other options when my Ativan runs out in a couple weeks. So stay tuned. So…be the hole in the donut. Let's explore what that means and see if it has anything to do with any of this. What I think it means is live in the spaciousness. Let God do most of the work. It's talking about humility, seeing things as they truly are. Be one among many. Reach out and see where you can help somebody. I’m saying this to myself, by the way, not to you. Hal, be the hole in the donut. Live in the spaciousness. Be willing not to know. Be willing not to know the answer. Yeah don’t pick up that bite of attention. Put the credit where the credit’s due.My sponsor called me an “attention seeking missile” and he was right. Hey everyone, look at me. Look over here. Look at me. See what I can do. Watch this. Seeking attention. seeking validation. Trying to fill that God sized hole. But at the same time, I'm helping people. That's the curious part. Over and over again, thousands of comments saying, “Thank you so much. Hal, this song changed my life”. I'm gonna read a few of the comments for you, a few of the good ones. They're so amazing. Twenty thousand comments. I won’t read ‘em all. Let me just pull this up for a sec. There's this one I loved. Let me find it… “Take us there. Magic Man, we need to escape for a few.” “Oh man, missing hearing this sound. Thank you so much.” “I feel like I just ascended. What is this instrument?” “Bro has been playing this since 2020 and he just gets better every year.” “I miss when nostalgic beats were TikTok’s primary trending music”. I know. TikTok has changed so much since back in my day. I'm looking for one in particular one… “I know this guy since like 2020. Crazy he's still doing it.” “It's sad. I've been following this man for years and I haven't heard this sound in a while. It brings so many memories and I'm so grateful I get to hear it again today.”“The way my mouth dropped. the sounds… amazing. Oh, my God.” “This scratches my brain in a good way. I don't know why, bro.”There's one I'm looking for, but I can't find it about this guy who read a whole book while he was listening to Low Key Gliding the whole time. “Thank you for always trying to play such a breath heavy song for us with your condition.” “That song, when I first heard it so long ago, brought me a moment of peace when I needed it the most.” “Your songs, to this day and forevermore will hold a special place in my heart.” “Hal, you are an inspiration and an artist, bringing the music you make to all of us. Thank you so much for everything you've done. I hope this reaches you to tell you love you, man”. So there's thousands of these comments of people expressing their appreciation. And there I am hungry for the numbers, making myself crash because I needed to check one more time. But what I want to be is the hole in the donut, the empty vessel. The empty vessel. The flute, open and hollow, full of space. And the divine moves through the flute to make the beautiful, melodious sound. Yes, that's what I want! That's what I want.That's what my sponsor says. He says, ”Feel the joy, feel the appreciation for the gift, read the comments, connect with the people, and then move on, live your life and let it all go. Be the hole in the donut. Hal”.I don't have any answers for you, but I think I may have said everything I need to say. I'm in a very uncomfortable place. I'm in an uncomfortable place. It's scary. It's scary being so powerless over my body. I guess that's the hole in the donut. You know, there's no condition, there's no diagnosis. There's just what is. This is what is. This moment is what is.It's just the hole in the donut. (lol) I think that's it. There is no donut. There's no, there’s no anything but what is. And what is is the hole in the donut. It's all just fine. And all the scary thoughts that my brain comes up with, that's just the crumbs, that's the mess. The hole in the donut though… I don't know, I'm gonna let you have the final word on this. Tell me in the comments, what the heck does my sponsor mean? “Be the hole in the donut.” Thank you for listening. It's been fun. Thanks for letting me go on and on. Thanks for sticking with me. I really appreciate you. Sending love, sending all the best, sending care and love and appreciation. I'll talk to you next time. bye, bye…Hey… remember. Enjoy living that body of yours. It's not going to be around forever. May as well love it while you got it. Play frisbee, go on a walk, play ping pong, go dancing. If you can do those things, or roll around in your bed. Kiss your partner. Pray. Sit quietly. Wait. Be the hole in the donut.Bye, bye. ❤️ Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Welcome! Today I’m starting a multi-part series called Autobiography. I enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy listening. Please click PLAY above for the full experience. (13 min listen)Autobiography- Part 1 They call me Hal, but my real name is Harold. I was named after my dad who was named after his dad. That makes me the third - Harold Walker lll -- no middle name. When I was a kid, I was always embarrassed of the name Harold. It was such an easy name to make fun of and none of the other kids had that name, Harold. I recently made a friend who lives in central England and I love the way she says "Harold." It makes me realize that Harold is meant to be said in an English accent, not in an American twang. "Harold... Prince Harold." As a kid I always wished I had a cool name like Dave or Mike or Steve. Today I'm Hal, but Harold is in my blood. I spent the first part of my life on the south side of Chicago. My dad, the minister of the First Presbyterian Church in Woodlawn, was perfect in every way. He never told a lie. Dad spent his life advocating for the poor, visiting the sick, taking care of his family and devouring every liberal book on theology that was ever written. When I think of my dad, I think of him sitting on a cozy porch with a cup of coffee reading some dense book that was more than my pot smoking, musician brain could handle. My dad was a man of deep faith, but when I’d ask him about God, he’d give me a 15 minute sermon and two books to read. Most of it went right through my ears... and I’m not much of a reader. But my dad was my biggest fan. He’d travel all over Ohio just to see me play the harmonica. My mom, an ex-republican from Oak Park, devoted her life to making art and creating a beautiful home for her family. For years, she put dinner for six on the table every night and it usually included some amazing dessert which was her specialty. Today, my mom is still living in the house where I grew up over on Beech Drive. She stops by occasionally to give me a hug and a kiss and to plead with God that someday I get better. She wants to see her Prince Hal back on the stage making music, being amazing. With two older sisters and one younger, I was the lone boy in the middle. I always kept myself just a little bit on the outside. I was the joker and the tease. I remember one time my dad saying, "Son, can you ever be serious for just one moment?" At the end of my senior year, I was voted best personality of my high school class. I was so surprised by this outcome that I felt it must've been some sort of joke on me. From an early age, I suffered from insecurity and fear of conversation. Small talk and mingling at coffee hour or happy hour has never been my strength. But put me on some kind of a stage and it becomes a whole different story. The headline in a 2010 Scene Magazine article about my music called me a "folk charmer." They were right. I was a people pleaser to the core. I could say just the right thing at the right time to get everyone in the room to like me. Currently living with severe chronic fatigue syndrome, I can see now how exhausting that was. The Walker family lived in a brownstone apartment on the corner of 58th and Kenwood in Hyde Park. One time my dad and I got held up at gunpoint while we played catch in the grassy lawn across the street. In 1971, our family was featured in the Chicago Tribune for hatching and raising a bob white quail named Arnold. We started with six eggs in an incubator, but Arnold was the only one that hatched. In our city apartment, my whole family learned to love Arnold's familiar call. "Bob White, Bob White." (whistle) In first grade, I was at church running full speed during coffee hour when a large oak coat rack tipped over and fell on top of me. Though a big brass hook just barely missed impaling me, the heavy oak structure fractured my left femur and I was rushed to the hospital. At 6 years old, I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas alone in traction at Michael Reese hospital. I remember growing a sweet potato plant and writing an illustrated book called, Teddy Goes to the Hospital. My older sisters tell me that I would call home in tears saying that the food tray was out of reach and that there were no nurses around to help. In September of 1973, my dad got a job as the minister of the First Presbyterian Church in Kent, Ohio. Our family packed up the red Volvo and moved east to a little college town called Kent. Just a hop, skip and a jump up the hill from Longcoy Elementary School, the Walker family put down roots in a lovely ranch there on Beech Drive, a street that had no need for sidewalks. While my elementary classmates Mike Gilcrest, Dave Prendergast and Tim Patitsas were having epic touch football games down on Ada street, I became best friends with my next door neighbor Georg. Georg and I invented games. We created a nine hole Frisbee golf course in our back yards and a secret Nothing to Do Book Clubhouse in my basement. Georg's family was from West Germany and his mom drove one of the original VW bugs. Their house smelled like german chocolate and waffles and they usually spoke German in the house while I was over. Georg was two years older than me and I always felt like he was the smarter, more inventive one. But looking back, I see it was our joined forces that made our creativity so unstoppable. Georg and I had a bit of a breakup when I went on to junior high school, I became friends with Dom Mandalari and I'm not proud to say we used to make fun of Georg from a distance. But I'm glad to report that Georg and I are still friends today. Currently, his daughter Elanor is working on a documentary about me called Living in a Body. Today, Georg is one of my favorite people on the planet. Throughout my childhood, our family spent at least two weeks every year visiting my dad's folks who lived up on Red Mountain overlooking Birmingham, Alabama. These were deeply formative times in my life. With no seat belts, the six of us would pile into the station wagon and drive 14 hours south. Sometimes, we'd break up the drive with a stop at the Holiday Inn in Bowling Green, Kentucky. My mom was the master of packing a cooler full of meals for the drive. I'll never forget those picnic table lunches at the old rest areas along 71 and 65. My dad's parents, who we lovingly referred to as Granny and Grandad, owned a stately home on the dead end section of Lenox Road on Red Mountain. The neighborhood up the hill was full of incredible mansions over looking the city and the woods behind their house was full of snakes. Sometimes, those snakes would find their way into grandad's cricket filled garage under the house. He'd just knock 'em over the head with a shovel. I, on the other hand, was nervous to grab one of the crickets in the jar to put it on a fishing hook. As the only boy in my family, I had the very special privilege of spending a couple days every year with Dad and Grandad out at the lake. From the old cobweb filled dock of boats with small engines, we'd head out early in the morning to fish for bream and sometimes trout . After a long day in the sun, eating Vienna sausage on white bread and drinking Coca-Cola out of a glass bottle, we'd come home with a big mess of gutted and cleaned fish ready for Granny to fry up in the griddle. Corn bread, black eyed peas, collard greens, tomato slices, and wedges of ice berg lettuce were the standards around that Birmingham table. The chocolate cream pie that granny served for dessert was the best dessert that anyone has ever tasted. Our playground every summer in Birmingham included Redmont Road which was a winding hilly road of mansion-like homes that overlooked the city. There was very little traffic in the neighborhood and the streets were nicely paved with smooth blacktop — perfect for downhill skateboarding. While my three sisters did things that sisters do, I would go off on my own and spend hours on my old school (1970’s) aqua blue skateboard slaloming down those hills. Over and over I would walk to the top of Redmont Blvd. and choose my route down. For a fast adrenaline-filled ride, I could make the risky turn onto Lenox. I remember a couple significant wipe-outs going that way. For a long slow ride though, I'd just wind down Redmont, past the thick forest and the rock wall practically all the way to Altamont Park. These hours by myself on those hills were the most formative times of my childhood. The combination of the southern breeze on my skin, the summer quiet of the mountain, the dense scent of the southern woods and the freedom of the ride touched me forever. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

On Oct 31, I recorded this in one take into the microphone with no edits. I hope you’ll take some time to slow down and listen. (17 minutes). The full transcript is below, but the audio is what I suggest. ❤️ Hal. Big thanks to Cameron Mack for the photos. Good NewsHey, we're back. My name is Hal, and this is the “Living in a Body” podcast. For those of you are that are new, I'm Hal Walker. They call me the ‘slow talker’. Kind of a legend in my own head. (lol…) Sorry. Actually, just a humble guy. Mostly bed-bound, trying to make it through some very challenging circumstances. Living with a brutal version of ME/CFS, myalgic encephalo-f****n’-myelitis, also known as chronic-f**k you-fatigue syndrome. Just so you know, this podcast does not usually have bad words in it, but I'm in a mood, so you'll have to apologize for me…. Or so I apologize ahead of time, I mean. Today's episode 95 is called “Good News.” Gooood news. The subtitle is, “…But There was a Hat. Where's the Hat?” It starts with a story. It goes like this. So there's a mom and a son, a young son hanging out at the beach. The mom is all dressed up with her nice sun hat and her very appropriate swimwear, covers up nicely. They've got their sunscreen on. They've got their little lunch bag and sand buckets, and the little cute boy is dressed up in the sailors outfit. He's absolutely adorable. He's got a sailor's hat, little blue sailors suit on and the day is going swimmingly. Then a big wave comes along and sweeps the boy into the sea, and the mom freaks out, as you would expect any mom to do. “Oh, my god, I can't swim”. “My son, my three year old son, has been swept into the ocean, and he's drowning, and I can't swim!” And fortunately, fortunately for everybody, there was a lifeguard who popped up out of his chair, swam into the water, saved the boy, brought him back onto the shore, reunited him with his mom, and the mom says “Oh, but he had a hat.” (lol) That's the story. “Oh, but he had a hat. Where's the hat?”I'm not sure exactly how this story relates to my story, but I heard this story this morning and it made me smile. It's a story about being grateful for your son's life being saved, but then complaining to the life guard because he lost the cute little sailor's hat. I had an amazing experience yesterday that I'd like to share with you. It begins with a friendship that I made last year with a woman named Annette who is a Quaker. And as you may know, I have high regard for Quakers. And if you know any Quakers, they're a special sort. They're a special sort. And Annette is a special Quaker, among other things. She reached out to me when I was quite unwell last year and asked if she could visit. And she visited, and we sat quietly together in waiting worship, waiting for the still, small voice, and we did this day after day, week after week, as she would sit by my bedside. We sat and waited. Annette and I became really good friends. We discovered that we have a similar sense of humor. We discovered that we have a similar outlook upon spirituality and God. We just discovered that we like each other, and it was, it's just been a real blessing. And then when all hell started breakin’ loose, Annette became a very important role in my life, which is kind of like a health advocate. She never asked for the job. She never signed up for the job, but she showed up. She showed up and started helping. And Annette, just so you know, I am forever grateful. My whole family is forever grateful. You are a life saver. I told Annette yesterday, “Annette,” I said, “Annette, I don't know where I'd be without you. I would probably be destitute, living in a cardboard box, barely surviving”. But that's maybe an exaggeration. The point is, Annette has been a real blessing in my life. She has witnessed the… she has witnessed the difficulty of my situation, the fucked-ness of my situation. You know, there are times when I say to myself, “Hal, you're fucked”. My sponsor doesn't go along with that. He said, “Hal, God's got a plan. Look for the good. Trust God. Keep asking. Stay open. When one door closes, another one opens”. But honestly, if I'm being truly honest, I have this general sense that I'm fucked. (lol) Keep it light. Easy does it. Anyway. The point I'm trying to make is; Annette witnessed the fucked-ness of my situation and she started taking action. She reached out to an organization called Crossroads, which is an organization for palliative and hospice care. She made a connection with them and scheduled an interview and yesterday a very kind woman came into my home and started telling me about Crossroads. Right away, she informed me that the palliative end of their organization is not currently running, so it's strictly hospice. I immediately thought, “Well, I don't need hospice. I'm not dying”. But looking at my situation, from what Annette shared with her and from what I shared with her, she felt that I may be a candidate for this hospice program. She told me about it. Apparently a nurse would visit once a week. Nurses would be on call 24/7. I could have a nurse's assistant come a couple times a week. There was counseling, grief counseling, and all the medications would be paid for, and I was waiting to find out, “Okay, who's paying for all this?” And she said, “Well, your insurance pays for it all”. And then I chuckled (lol) because she doesn't know my insurance. I have the worst insurance possible. I go to healthcare.gov and buy the cheapest one there is because, for the most part, I have found health insurance to be useless for ME/CFS. There are very few doctors who have a clue. So why buy a bunch of healthcare insurance when no one knows anything? I'd rather spend my money on the out of the box thinkers who are willing to throw random s**t at you. (I'm sorry about all the language today. lol. Normally, I'm a very clean cut guy, kind of an angel. I must be in a mood. Anyway.)So I said, “Who pays for all this?” And she said, “Yeah, your insurance covers everything.” I said, “Well, my insurance won't cover it.” She said, “let me look into it.” She had me sign a couple papers just to make sure I was interested. I said, “Yeah, I'm interested. I'd like to find out more about what this is all about.” She went out to her car for about a half hour while Annette ran to the CVS store, and she came back in a little while with a big smile on her face and said, “Hal, you've been accepted. You're enrolled! You're enrolled in Crossroads hospice.” (lol) I thought, and I said, “You mean my insurance is going to pay for this?” And she said, This is what she said, listen, listen closely to this. She said: “Well, no, your insurance is not going to pay for it. But for some people whose insurance doesn't pay for it, we like to pay for it”. So, for whatever reason, this woman took a liking for me, felt like I was a real candidate for hospice and decided that the Crossroads organization would cover it. I was rather blown away. Like, when does that kind of thing happen? The day before, I cried for two hours about the fact that I am not being served. I feel like I do not have the health care that I need. So suddenly, the lifeguard saves the little boy, brings him to his mother, and then the mother says, “But he had a hat”. And I'm not sure how that fits, but I'm over the moon about this, having a nurse come to my house, building a relationship with a nurse. Building a relationship with a doctor. Whatever medication I need. But the reality is, it's hospice. They're not digging in to find a solution for ME/CFS. They'll do whatever they can to make me comfortable. I'm hoping I might be able to educate them. But they're not ME/CFS specialists. They are probably very kind, very generous, Northeast Ohio nurses and doctors. Let's hope that they've even heard the word myalgic encephalo-f*****g-myelitis, also known as chronic-f**k you-fatigue syndrome. There is no easy answer. There's no known cause, no known treatment. There’s a certain fucked quality. There is a certain fucked quality to this illness. However, as my friend Emma says, “This is why we're here, this path, this path that I get, this path, even though it looks fucked on the outside. this is the path where I get to find out who I am, my true self’. This is the path where I get to go in and find out the true reality of life, not the scary dreams that my mind makes up, the true reality, the wildflower reality, the reality of the trees and the mountains where life and death exist in harmony.”Along the way, I get this beautiful little miracle, Crossroads that comes along, Stumbles into my house and says, “yeah, we'll cover it. No cost to you.” So I'll keep you informed about what happens. I wish I were saying that, never mind(lol). I wish I were saying that “it just so happens that Crossroads are ME/CFS specialists who are going to be in my house studying me and learning everything they can to know about this illness”. But that's just the missing hat. Otherwise, I've had a life saving experience. I have more people in my corner helping out, and I've still got Annette.We're gonna start doing more quiet time together, because we've gotten so wrapped up in all the business of healthcare, advocating for my health care. So Annette, I'm waiting for you. I'm sitting here. Anyone else too. Let's fill my house. Come on, people, fill my house with anyone who wants to do quiet time. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of all your racing. I'm sick of all your to-do lists. I'm tired of all your thinking that all your stuff is so important. (lol) We need to do some quiet time together, man. This is the serious work. This is the work. I believe it. Quiet time is the work that needs to get done. I'm teaching my daughter 10 minutes of mindfulness every day, not every day, but every few days. It's the highlight of my day. I get to feed her this little propaganda for 10 minutes about how important stillness is, about how important quiet is, about how important sitting in community in quiet is, and how unimportant all your to-do lists are. I didn't mean to get all preachy and bent out of shape about that, because I know your to-do lists are important, just as important as my to-do lists. But what I'm inviting you to do is come fill my house up. Anytime you want. Have a seat. You can sit downstairs, on the front porch, on the back porch, or right here in my bedroom. It's a peaceful, quiet place. You're welcome. You're invited. No talking allowed. Only whispering.…and I may have just said a little too much in the heat of the moment. The fact is, you are not invited. (lol) To just stop by my house anytime you want and walk right into my bedroom. Unless you are highly spiritually evolved, and know how to how to walk into a space without causing any commotion. In that case, you're totally invited. This is a ‘no commotion zone’. I'm hoping those nurses I get from Crossroads are spiritually evolved. I may have to teach them. Thanks everyone for listening to my goof, my goofiness today. I appreciate it. It's a nice break from all the scary ME/CFS business that I'm taking care of. I love you. I care about you. I miss you. I'm cheering for you. I'm cheering for you. I'm praying for you. Looking forward to getting to know you better. You know… you are me. I am you, you are me. Let's do it together. Bye, bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

On Oct 20, I recorded this in one take into the microphone with no edits. I hope you’ll take some time to slow down and listen. (28 minutes). Thank you. ❤️ Hal Keep it LightHello, friends. Hello, loves. Hi beauty. Hi, mom, dad, brothers and sisters. Hi, Hallie. Hi, everybody. Hi nieces and nephews, all my cousins, aunts and uncles and grandparents, all the ancestors. Hello, Goddess Lover, Earth Mother, Father Sky.Hello, all the small critters and all the flying, soaring birds, and even the groundhogs. Hello! It’s me, Hal.  Welcome. It's episode 94 and it's called “Keep it Light.” Stay in the moment. I've had anything but a light last couple weeks, but I'm keeping it light. This could be a difficult Substack for some of you to hear, but I want to encourage you just to keep it light. Keep smiling, keep sipping on that tea. Keep aligning yourself with this moment, which is exactly the way it's supposed to be. I really believe that.It’s been my most helpful tool lately, to keep it light. I smile and say, Oh, yay. I get to have this moment.Yay, I get to have this moment.I have this desire to start using more affectionate names for the people in my life. I met this woman, Emma, who lives with severe ME/CFS in England. From the moment I met her, I wanted to call her Queen Goddess, Earth Mother. I'm realizing I don't have the time for not noticing the divine in everyone. I'm done seeing people through the chaotic lens of my critical brain, of my critical, judgmental brain. When you walk into my room, you are a divine light. When you listen to my Substack, you are a holy brother, a holy sister. Holy they/them/theirs. I have no more time to take it for granted. I'm so tired of my old way of thinking of it's not enough, you're not enough. I'm not enough. I'm done with it.So anyway, after meeting this woman Emma a couple weeks ago, who has really been through it—years and years of just barely hanging on with ME/CFS—and basically talking about not doing, and the magic of not doing. And the spiritual gift of not doing. That’s been one of my big regrets with ME/CFS is that I didn't stop doing much sooner, like episode five or something is called “No More Striving.” Then I went on and strived for 90 episodes, trying to be amazing. Trying to get my story across, and here I am at the end of my rope, just trying to get one more out.But anyway, a couple weeks ago, I told Emma, I said, Emma, I'm done all I'm done with all doing. I'm done with doing. And I sat on my recliner and I felt peace. I don't have to do anymore. I don't have to create. I don't have to do amazing things. All I have to do is be. And I told Emma, and she sent me this beautiful one minute and a half recording that I've been listening to several times to inspire me. Here's what she says.Hi Hal, just a little cheeky message. I was really happy to hear that you were stopping doing, stopping all doing. It's not forever, you know.But I was pleased, because being, you know, like being in being for a consistent time, that's where the magic happens. And that's so exciting. So while you think you're having the worst time of your life, you're actually at the doorway of the best thing that could ever happen to anybody in their life, finding their true true self, their true being, the God that lives within, God that is what you connect with in that space. I mean that's like being on the precipice of the highest human experience possible. So you know, it's quite a privilege to have met you at this time, I think. Anyway…So I was sitting on my recliner, glowing, in my newfound determination to do nothing, thinking that I had finally beat ME/CFS. My attitude was finally ready, and by doing nothing, I would have no more crashes. And then I started getting ready for bed. And my daughter and her mom and I have started this book club where we're reading. What is it called? It's a great book. I'm halfway done with it. Where the Crawdads Sing. That's it. I was really enjoying that book, reading it out of my Kobo device, and I read about two pages of a kind of sexy scene. I didn't know they had R-rated scenes in Where the Crawdads Sing. I had no idea, but there it was, and a crash came on, and I gotta say, I was devastated. Minutes after I had had this realization that I had beaten it. I basically learned that reading is not an option, and that began a series of my 10 days of crashing constantly. Like I would say, probably within a week, 10 crashes.If you don't know what my crashes are, read a previous episode they’re…It’s almost like a seizure. My brain does something weird, my heart speeds up, my stomach gets sick. It lasts for about 30 seconds, and then it's over. But I've had dozens and dozens of these in 2024 and each one has had devastating consequences. I don't know why they happen until it's too late, over and over again, I give it a cause, but never really understand, they come out of the blue. The only time I'm safe from crashes is when I'm on Ativan. I'll tell you more about that in a minute.I had a crash one day, I was lifting a fork to eat, and I crashed from the weight of the fork. One day I was…normally after I crash, I get sort of a boost of adrenaline, and I'm free from crashing for about an hour, a couple hours. This time, I decided to use that freedom to go watch a little YouTube. This was insane. This was one I really beat myself up about. I had just had a crash. I was feeling crash proof because of the adrenaline, and I opened up YouTube, and guess what? Had a crash really hard where I really beat myself up for that one, like, You stupid, you motherfucker. That was not a light attitude, just so you know.I basically haven't gone a day without a crash. One day I woke up, I was so weak I was scared to reach for the water, and there was loud leaf rustling outside my window. And then an airplane came by, and I feel like it was the sound of the airplane and the leaves that caused a crash. So I'm wearing noise canceling headphones now.The most devastating one came just a couple days ago, and I was determined to go four days without a crash by doing nothing, having people feed me my food, just total light attitude like, Yay, I get to spend the day not moving my arms. By the way, I've lost most function in my arms unless I'm on Ativan. I can't write, I can't move water. I can’t. So anyway, a friend of mine was feeding me oat bran, and I said, Give me just a little bit bigger bite. And he gave me a bigger bite, and it was a hot bite. And as it went down my throat, I crashed. I took a light approach to that. I said, Okay, Hal, there's the crash. Keep it light. Just keep smiling. A few minutes later, I was voice memoing My sponsor to let him know what had just happened, using a very quiet voice, saying about two sentences and I crashed. A little while later, I attempted to eat a small piece of salmon, and even just putting in my mouth felt weird, but I put the salmon in my mouth and it made it down to my stomach, and then I crashed. That was three crashes in one morning. Never experienced anything like that. My light attitude turned into reaching for Ativan. I've been very resistant to using Ativan too much. I know it's addictive. I know it loses potency the more you use it. So I'm just trying to do it very conservatively.But ever since this, these crashes happened around eating, I'm realizing some action needs to be taken. I probably need, or I'm certain I need, medical help, medical intervention, probably one of these nasal tubes, nasal feeding tubes. I've got a team of people trying to figure that out. Unfortunately, they're mostly clueless.There are few if any doctors in northeastern Ohio that even know the word ME/CFS, you go into a doctor's office and start telling them about crashes, and they don't know what you're talking about. I went to a well-respected guy who sort of knows about ME/CFS this year, and he became basically said Here, let's give you a bunch of blood tests to find out if you have anything else besides ME/CFS, because if it's ME, I just can't treat it, I don't know how to treat it. So that's the kind of illness we're living with, millions of us, the millions missing. The doctors are clueless.We have to take it into our own hands. You know, I call my ME/CFS friends to find out what they would do. And couple of them said, Hal, use the Ativan. You feel free to use the Ativan so that you can eat while, while you're figuring out what to do next, use the Ativan freely. So that's what I'm in now. I'm in this process of daily use of Ativan, trying to find just the right dosage that's not too much, but keeps me from crashing. Ativan has been a miracle drug, if it if it weren't addictive, and it's been amazing. I mean, I'm able to function, I'm able to eat, talk quietly. I'm able to be in a room with lights on. I'm able to do this podcast right now.I'm able to go to the bathroom without assistance. So for now, it's a Saturday, and this is going to be a week of finding medical help. And believe me, I don't know how that's going to happen. Probably go to my primary first, see where she leads me. But the point is, I'm trying to keep a light attitude. Just keep it light. Keep smiling now.You know, in the end, we're all just part of nature. We're all part of this amazing thing called nature, and we get sick and we die. New generations grow up, the old generations die. My grandfather, you know, that's one thing we don’t…we don’t call the ancestors into it enough. Calling Harold, my granddad and AlviDa, Lilian and Earl. They had this moment in their lives when they thought they were the kings of this world, kings of their families, kings of their household. And it lasted a split second. And now I was the king of the household for a little while. I was the king of this dysfunctional household here on 131 South Chestnut. We did alright, though. Now Hallie and Andy, they're the kings, kings and queens.The one regret I have is that I don't get to grow up to see Hallie as an old woman. I really am dying to see Hallie as an old woman. Oh, my God, how fun that would be, but we don't get to do it. So we die. We die, and it's not that big a deal. You know, we feel the feelings. Up until the moment I die, I want to be keeping a light attitude, smiling, maybe some crying, a lot of hugging, lot of loving, lot of calling each other affectionate names, none of this b******t, holding back, I’m sick of it.Oh, and by the way, I know what kind of funeral I want, and I'm gonna close with this. In case you don't know, I've become a Quaker. I found my home in the Quaker church. I found the Quakers first back in 1989 and I loved it. And then I got pulled into the Unitarian Universalist for about 25 years. And it was a job, a perfect fit as a job, it was the most beautiful community I could have ever hoped to work for, to be a part of. Some of my happiest moments in my life were in that church and at SI, but it never really felt like my spiritual home, to be honest. This year, I found the Quaker Friends meetings to be my spiritual home. I love it so much. There's a daily meeting out of Pendle Hill, which is a Quaker center near Philadelphia. I enjoy the central Philadelphia Quaker meeting on Sunday morning. I go out to Portland, Oregon, Sunday afternoon, sometimes San Francisco. And there's a Quaker sharing group that happens on Wednesday, that I've become close with, and I just find so much depth there. Quaker meetings are based in silence. Sometimes the whole meeting could be in silence, but it's called Waiting Worship. Waiting Worship, where we're waiting for the Divine to speak, waiting for the still, small voice to move. And these are a lot of these people have been sitting for many, many years, and when they speak, you listen, sometimes people will sing out of the silence. Sometimes people will sing an old hymn out of the silence. There's no orchestra, no band, no choir. It's just depth and silence, which is what I've been longing for my whole life. I wish so bad I could go to these places. I mean, I'm doing it from my bed on Zoom, and they make it a good Zoom experience. But I just want to sit in that Quaker meeting hall in Philadelphia or in Pendle Hill and soak up all those old smells, feel all the spirit in the walls.Anyway, I want my funeral to be a Quaker meeting, a meeting for worship in the style of the Quakers, based in silence, concentric circles in Hobbs Hall. Annette will welcome and explain what a Quaker Meeting is, and then we sit in silence. And then you discern, is this message that I'm hearing, is it meant to be shared, or is it meant to be held to myself? And if you're moved to share, then you stand and someone will bring you a microphone, because I'm imagining it will be Zoomed. I'm hoping it will be Zoomed so everyone on Zoom can hear the message. And then you speak. You give your ministry, whether it be a story or a prayer or a song, however the spirit moves you. And I don't know how long this goes on, but it goes on till Annette shakes the person's hand next to her. That's what I love about what they're doing. There are no clocks. When Annette shakes the hand of the person next to her, then everyone shakes hands, and then they go drink water. Drinking water, that's what I want. Everyone drink water, and we'll have a meal of abstinent food. No, just kidding, you can eat whatever you want. Have a big party. I really wish I could be there.I was actually thinking about doing this for my 60th birthday, but you never know. You never know if I'll be around when I'm 60, the way it's been going. But maybe Ativan will keep me going for a couple more years, or maybe once I get a feeding tube in, my body will get to rest the way it needs to rest, and I can improve.All right, keep it light, everyone. I know this was kind of a…I threw a lot at you. I bet you hadn't expected to hear about my funeral today. But I love you.Also, I recognize that keeping it light is a heck of a lot easier when you're when you've got a significant amount of Lorazepam running through your blood. Believe me, there have been some very, very uncomfortable times of great distress and suffering in many of my worst moments. But even then, keep it light. Keep smiling. I love you. I love you, brothers and sisters and lovers, friends, cousins, all the critters, angels, lights, the light. You are the light. You are the light, and I appreciate you sharing the light with me. Yeah, there's a lot of beauty, a lot of living I still want to do. There's so many stories I have to tell. I want them highly edited. I want them highly edited, not these off the cuff ones, but I guess off the cuff’s okay, too. For now. I love you. Stay in touch. Don't give up. Keep it light. Bye, bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Wildflower StoriesThis Spring, I bought two packets of flower seeds off the seed rack at the Kent Natural Foods Co-op. With a vision of adding to my wildflower mix, I chose the giant purple zinnias and the bronze petaled sunflowers. A few weeks after planting the seeds, when the sunflower sprouts were just about 8 inches tall, a fat groundhog that lives behind my garage climbed up and over the fence and had itself a feast. It didn’t touch the zinnias, but the sunflowers were gone. As I rode up the stairlift that June afternoon, I cursed that groundhog and I wanted him dead. But then I remembered my own instructions... "Say yes!"In my work as an artist-in-residence, I used to love making banakulas (pr. bah-nuh-KOO-lah) with students. It’s two shaker balls tied together with a string that you spin, throw and knock to make cool rhythms. We made hundreds of pairs of these things in schools all over the state of Ohio. With a banakula in each hand, I could get the whole fourth grade playing in unison some beautiful and satisfying syncopated rhythms. But eventually, with enough drops on the linoleum floor, banakulas would break. Too many times, I listened to students whine and complain, "Mr. Hal Walker, my banakula broke!" . When I'd had enough, I came up with some clear instructions. From then on, the rule was, "When your banakula breaks, say 'Yes !'"These instructions baffled the students. “Why would you say ‘Yes’ if your banakula has just broken?” In my mind however, it was clear. I had no tolerance left for their complaints and I wanted to teach an important lesson. When your banakula breaks, you say "Yes" because the banakula has broken. There's no going back and there's no use complaining. It's time to get on with the business of making another banakula.So the sunflowers were gone. I could either spend my afternoon cursing that damn groundhog or I could say “yes” and simply figure out what I was gonna do next. Admittedly, it took some time for my heart to heal, but eventually I got over the loss of those sweet little plants. I moved on. A couple weeks later, Merl, my next door neighbor, let me know that he had trapped the groundhog and relocated it out to the woods somewhere. I didn’t ask any questions. By that time I was happy with my garden full of wildflowers and a nice little crop of zinnias.This year, the annual bronze petaled sunflowers were not meant to be. A big ol’ groundhog took ‘em out. Instead, the giant purple zinnias took center stage. This year, they were the stars of the garden. I hope the groundhog’s doing ok out there.Back when Hallie was about five years old, I picked up a vagabond hitchhiker at a truck stop outside of Columbus, Ohio. Rainbow Jim and I had such a pleasant drive up 77 that I invited him to come back to my house to do some work for me. He had no other plans, so it worked out for the both of us. Jim was a kind, gentle and hard working soul that ended up living with Hallie and me for about two months. All that was required to keep him going was a case of beer after work every night. At the time, I was happy to provide.Jim built a wooden slat fence around the yard with three gates. Thanks to that fence, my dog Nell got free of the chain and had about a quarter of an acre to roam. He tore a big hole in the back room and put in a sliding glass door. This completely reconfigured our house and revolutionized our connection with the backyard. Then he built a nice little platform deck upon which my wheelchair ramp is built today. To finish off his residency in Kent, Ohio, Jim painted the house.As you might expect, Jim was missing a front tooth and had a bit of a beer belly. Though he drank way too much, he had the kindest smile and the warmest handshake of anyone I’d ever met. His great joy in life was running the "A" camp kitchen at rainbow gatherings around the country. (The A-camp is the only camp at a rainbow gathering that allows alcohol. It’s where Jim was the self-proclaimed host and the master chef.) A couple years after he left, I got a phone call from Jim from a motel somewhere south of here. He let me know that he was dying of cancer. That was the last I ever heard from my friend Jim. The fence and the deck that he built are still standing strong. They’re starting to show their age in a real beautiful way though.Thanks Jim. You were a bit of a wildflower, weren’t you?For as long as I can remember, my dad had a compost pile and a vegetable garden in the way back part of the property. That garden was his pride and joy. My sisters and I all fondly remember dad's familiar invitation, "Wanna go back and see my garden?" His specialties were tomatoes, yellow squash, zucchini and green beans. My dad wasn’t much of a handy man but he could jerry-rig a pole bean trellis like nobody's business. He used to put duct tape on his gardening shoes so they'd last forever.About 20 years ago, I hired a concrete crew to remove a big section of my driveway and fill it with garden soil. I became a vegetable gardener and a composter like my dad -- jerry-rigged trellises and all. My specialties have been rainbow chard, beets, purple pole beans, cucumbers and tomatoes. But this year, I wasn't well enough to plant vegetables, so I spread wildflower seeds instead. This little patch of living color has been my pride and joy ever since. I love taking visitors out back to revel in its glory.I'm different than my dad around shoes though. I once found a style of Ecco shoes that I liked so much that I bought four different colors of the same shoe. I have a history of being kind of extreme that way. I can’t imagine my dad ever doing something like that. He wore the same blue gardening shirt for 40 years. Just recently, my caregiver put a whole shelf full of shoes into a black plastic bag and carried it up to attic for storage. Pretty much bedbound with ME/CFS, I don’t wear shoes much these days.For about a year now, every night I write a list of ten things that I’m grateful for. I used to make a numbered vertical list, but my friend Carol gave me a different idea. Instead of vertical numbering, I separate each grateful word, phrase or sentence with a little bullet mark. Continuing on that same line, I write the next one. Last month, I bought a blue spiral bound notebook that I’m filling up of gratefulness. Using Carol's idea, I now have many pages that are completely full. No matter how rough the day has been, (and there have been some rough ones) I search out the day for the “Yeses.” Tonight’s gonna be easy. I’ll start with this one…• Spending time with Hallie taking pictures by the wildflowers •It occurs to me that every one of us is a bit of a wildflower — Merl, Jim, Hallie, Carol my dad and the groundhog. Each one of us special… reaching to the sun. And even though we do what we can to deny it, we live in the wild. No matter how hard we try, we can’t escape the rigor of the natural world. I’m finding it out first hand as this illness sweeps through my life like a rogue wave.I'm grateful for the wildness in my life today and the wildflowers that keep showing up on my path. I hope I can pause long enough to recognize their beauty. I hope I can care deep enough to honor their presence in my life. I hope I can love wide enough to do no more harm. May we stay open to the growing and the shining that we get to do right along side each other as we reach for the sun - you, me, the cosmos, the dandelions, the Black Eyed Susans, the zinnias, the sunflowers and all the wildflowers among us. 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My life these days is that of a monk. Cloistered and terrorized, I'm a fledgling monk of the Taoist-leaning Quaker variety. Believe it or not, I'm the only one in this particular local order. With the help of a few trusted guides and a robust 12 step program of recovery, I'm sort of blazing the path as I go. When I'm not desperately trying to figure a way to get myself out of this situation, I breathe, I pray, I listen, I wait and I smile. I spend most hours of each day in silence. If there's such a thing as grading in the monastic life, my sister tells me I'm getting an A+.To be clear, contemplative living was not my first choice. I'd prefer to be growing spiritually on the ultimate field or on a mountain trail or in front of a gymnasium full of elementary school students. But they say "grow where you're planted" and it turns out, this is where I'm planted. After all my hard work at being amazing, after all my striving and all my reaching, this particular path got especially chosen for me. The path of humility. I'm not sure who did the choosing, but there's a mean-spirited, complex, multi-system chronic illness involved. She goes by the initials M.E./C.F.S. and she's been my bedmate for years.I live in luxury accommodations over here on South Chestnut Street. I know it's not your typical setting for a monk's life, but I'm grateful for the amenities. Come to think of it, the number of electronic devices by my bedside alone may disqualify me for official monkhood. But full disclosure, I never actually applied for the job. I've got two electric wheelchairs, an adjustable bed, a stair lift, a wicker recliner, a live-in caregiver and a wide array of connections to the outside world. From what I hear, most monks get nothing but a wooden stool.I remember visiting an actual monastery when I was a much younger man. Mostly, I recall how scared I was of the quiet. I remember the suffocating thought of having to live in such tranquility forever. On that summer afternoon somewhere in Ohio, probably high on coffee and muffins, the lack of distractions felt sickening to me. From where I lie now though, in this darkened room with silencing headphones and an eye mask, the natural setting of that monastery sounds heavenly. My windows are covered. My view is mostly of the inner world -- a dense swirling soup of chronic illness. I spend my days hungrily seeking the stillness that lies hidden somewhere beneath the internal chaos.Let me tell you a little bit more about my bedmate, ME/CFS. Honestly, to call her my bedmate is a bit misleading. She doesn't actually live in my bed. She lives in my body. But except for the fact that I'm sick all the time and I barely have the strength to whisper, there’s no proof that she even exists. She’s a phantom complex of subjective symptoms that me and millions of others have come to know as a horrible illness called M.E. I guess depending on how you look at it, she is me. Seeing it that way, I should probably figure out a way to make friends with her. I'm workin' on that, but for the sake of the story, I'll refer to her as the scary monster that's terrorizing me from underneath my bed.I carry with me a constant underlying fear of her attacks and I never know when the next one's gonna happen. It seems that she strikes when I've broken the rules; but unfortunately, after all this time, she's never actually told me what the rules are. When I think I've finally figured 'em out, she changes 'em without asking me. So I walk on eggshells and I push the boundaries. I'm in a perpetual state of hoping that maybe this time I've outsmarted her. Usually I'm wrong.Over the months and years, I've survived many dozens of her attacks. Because of their sudden and unpredictable nature, I call them "crashes." Each of these crashes has been a specific event with a date and a time. I used to mark them on the calendar, but today, due to their frequency, I just shake my head in weighty acknowledgment of my powerlessness. Each crash lasts only a few minutes, but the long term consequences are devastating. Within a day or two of the event, I'm left more disabled than I was before. It's been a brutal and traumatic process of loss. Crash after crash, my body's been slipping off into the realm of the spirit.Like a good monk, I alternate between vowing to be perfect and saying, "Screw it. I'm just gonna live my life." With all my first hand experience of the cruelty of this particular monster though, I've regretted having ever taken the latter approach. These days, I lie awake at night trying to breathe away the fear of the monster. I use a variety of bedtime mantras to get me through the night. "Total surrender. No resistance" is one of my favorites. A half milligram of Ativan works even better. Sometimes I go under the blanket to kiss my own knees and cry. It soothes me to whisper a familiar message from my dad. He says, "I love you, Hal. I'm here for you. I'm so proud of you, son."I woke up on Sunday morning grateful that I'd finally fallen asleep the night before. It had been six days since the last crash and I was relieved that I made it through one more night without one. Within minutes of becoming conscious however, at 6:00 in the morning, I felt the sudden onset. It began with a distant quiver in my chest which soon turned into a racing heartbeat. On this occasion, with the presence of a monk and the submission of a beaten man, I remained calm while I watched the whole thing come and go. I didn't text my caregiver. I didn't call my sister. I just lied there and felt... as a tear welled up in my eye .The same story has happened many times. As the monster slinks back to her place under the bed, she leaves a little shot of adrenaline in my blood which actually makes me feel better. My breathing calms, my heartbeat steadies and my nervous system relaxes. I've learned that this feeling of wellness after a crash is the calm that precedes the storm. As the pattern goes, after a wired day of adrenaline, I experience a deep drop into weakness on the day after. Then after a day or two of grieving the loss, I settle in to the new normal. Over and over again, I adjust.Yes, 2024 has been the “year of the monster," but it's also been a year of personal growth. My body is feeble, but my spirit is strong. Having been forced to slow down so radically has given me time to recalibrate my whole code for living. With special thanks to the monster, I'm a different man today than I was. Values such as honesty, humility, gratitude, purity, unselfishness and love have become the guiding principles of my life. I'm far from perfect, but today, instead of yearning for fame, I'm practicing quiet. Instead of lusting after what's not mine, I'm opening my heart in search of the divine. Instead of grasping for more, I'm sitting with the discomfort of what is. In a life now led by stillness, I'm getting glimpses of contentment like never before.That is, up until just a few days ago. You see, last Friday, I went viral on Substack. By Tuesday, my “Note” had gotten 1500 likes and 47 restacks. With 200 new subscribers for my publication, I got a taste of success on this “powerful platform of the cool people.” Reminiscent of blowing up on TikTok in 2020, I'm faced with a familiar struggle. My soul yearns for wildflowers but my brain craves that little notification bell all lit up with numbers on the screen. Whereas a week ago, I was in full-time monk mode, now I can't stop reaching for my phone in search of more.Starving for anything that feels good, my hunger is insatiable. But rather than filling the soul, the numbers are like ashes in the mouth. The craving pulls me away from the direction of the spirit and leaves me unsatisfied. On the other hand, there's so much goodness in the creative process and I’m so grateful to have an audience. So where do I find the balance between the Source of all Being and the undeniably addictive nature of social media? With the way my nervous system’s been runnin’ lately, I better be mighty cautious while I’m doing the research. In the household of the monster, anything beyond prayer and meditation is questionable.In case you haven't figure it out yet, there’s no actual monk and there isn’t a monster. It’s a real life story about a spiritual guy who's stumbling along on the path of severe chronic illness. I wonder where the story goes next. We can all be certain that there'll be some tall mountains to climb and probably deep valleys to trudge. I imagine there’ll be some grand views along the way. Who knows? Maybe the monk and the monster’ll find their way as the most unlikely of friends. Whatever happens, I hope we all join up on the mountain, hands on shoulders in a big circle, with all our beauty and all our brokenness, holding each other, loving one another and making sure everyone’s ok. I hope to see you up on that mountain. Be sure to wait for me if you get there first.P.S. I saw this photo on a post by Madelleine Müller of The Bed Perspective and it touched me so deeply that I wept. I cry easy. Also, thanks to Scott Mulvahill for playing bass with me on the podcast recording. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Thank you for your patience as my pace for producing these episodes has slowed. I appreciate you. Please press PLAY above to hear the podcast version of this episode. Enjoy. The Fleeting MomentMy ever changing wildflower garden is turning into a jungle. The rain storms of the last week hit hard and left some of the more elegant petals mangled and disfigured. The early June days of delicate poppies and perfectly placed cosmos have given way to a tangled barrage of black eyed susans. They’re taking over. One passing day at a time, this garden of photogenic perfection is becoming a dense forest of disorder. With some humility, I'm beginning to acknowledge the hazy distinction between a wildflower garden and a plot full of colorful weeds. This summer, there have been too many blooms for me to name each one individually. As I watch my little friends reaching for the sun, I've noticed how each one is a miracle. I'm glad to have captured a few of my favorites for digital eternity. This Sony Alpha telephoto lens of mine loves to pull focus on the intricate details of the leading characters in the garden. For the first time in my life, I'm fascinated to discover the stigma and the stamen, the pistil and the petal - words I vaguely remember from Mr. Lambert's life science class, but never put into the context of real life. The photos I've taken may last for years or even generations, but truly, the moment is fleeting. The flower shines and then it's gone -- kind of like you, me and Mr. Lambert. When Hallie was in Elementary school, on the last day of school, we'd go to Katie's Corner to celebrate with ice cream. Every year, I'd break the news, "Enjoy it while it's here, Hallie. Snap your fingers and it'll be September." She didn't like hearing that, but it was always true. A snap of the fingers later, we'd be taking her picture with a backpack for the first day of a new grade in school. Now, a snap of the fingers later, she's 26, married and living the good life in Brooklyn, New York. Somehow, I turned 58 this year and it’s already August. Damn. Who knows what another snap of the fingers might bring. I think I’ll take my own advice and enjoy this day while it’s here. As I navigate the reality of living with a brutal and seemingly progressive version of ME/CFS, I'm more aware than ever of the fleeting nature of my current experience. They say, "this too shall pass" and I'm finding out they were right. Six days ago, my symptoms were less severe. Two weeks ago, my symptoms were less severe. Three months ago, my symptoms were less severe. One year ago and ten years ago, my symptoms were less severe. For me, it’s been a 32 year progression of downward steps. I’d do anything to go back to the previous step, the previous baseline, but for today, it doesn’t seem to be an option. It seems my best option is to find my home in this moment — this body, these circumstances, this weather, these feelings. The alternative, I guess, is to yearn and to grasp, to fear, to resent, to regret and to suffer. I've certainly done my share of all those things. I'm more committed than ever to the practice of sitting with the feelings and being with what is. Though the sensations in my body often make me desperate for an escape, my friends remind me that there is no escape. So I practice. All day long. I smile and I practice -- letting go of the past (and by the way, it's all the past), saying yes to the moment (and all I have is the moment) and doing whatever I need to do to stay out of the future. Generally, the current severity of my symptoms determines my success in this practice. It's remarkable how much easier it is to live in the moment when the illness eases up even just a little bit. On my most severe days, I hang on twelve minutes at a time, always just one thought away from panic and despair. Today however, I'm quietly content with this slow, soul-growing path that I’m on. One day at a time, I’m learning to take it as it comes. In the last few months, I’ve received news of the deaths of five men in my life. Unexpectedly, the world faced the sudden loss of Steven, Kevin, Max and Doug. And after an extended illness, we lost Maurice. Never to be lived again, I cherish the fleeting moments that I spent with each of these men. I remember Steven’s vulnerability when he expressed appreciation for the big hug I gave him that Fall day before church. I had just learned of his purchase of a new home and he seemed glad to have a new friend. I remember the day that Kevin installed the threshold ramps in two of my doorways. Those ramps have significantly improved the quality of my wheelchair life here at home. I can still picture Max sitting in the back of the church manning the sound on Sunday morning. From my place on the chancel, I'd give him a little nod of the head to fix the level of the microphone. I remember being thankful that he knew just what I meant by that nod. I remember Doug holding my head for hours last January with the subtle movements of cranio-sacral therapy. His hands helped me feel safe with the scary monster of ME/CFS living inside my body. And I remember being enamored with the feeling of Uncle Mo's big strong chest against mine as we enjoyed a brotherly hug between two townies at the co-op. And then just like that, they were gone. I'm glad to be a human on this earth for a little while. Little by little, I’m discovering that I’m not as invincible as I thought I was. I very well could've died in that big wave back in 2013, (See Bonus Life) but I didn't. I got to walk Hallie down the aisle. I got to hold my dad’s hand as he was dying. I got to fall in love. I got to become TikTok famous. I got to win 2nd place in a table tennis tournament full of 10 year olds. I got to meet Peggy Munson in person. And I got to plant a wildflower garden. Today, I’m grateful that I get to tell a little bit of the story. It’s wild being one little part of this thing called life. For thousands and thousands of years, miracle bodies have been being born, aging, getting ill and dying. I’m sure glad to have been included in the cycle. But I need to be reminded that my true nature is something so much more vast and more subtle than this body. I want to live in that vast and subtle place. I want to make my home in the realm of beauty, where each moment is another gift. For now, I’ll rest my mind in the whisper and I’ll wait. May we all find peace in the ephemeral nature of all things. May we all enjoy the ride of impermanence. ‘Cause snap your fingers and it’ll be September. Have fun. Bye bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

In an age of constant movement , nothing is more urgent than sitting still. ~ Pico IyerUrgent: Do NothingThe highlight of my days this week has been wheeling out to the old vegetable garden which I converted into an Ohio wildflower garden earlier this year. The explosion of blooms is just beginning. I love to sit in my wheelchair and gaze over the short fence at all the delicate shapes and the vibrant colors. I love to see the white moths flitter from petal to petal and play in the breeze. I love to watch the tall waves of green move with the wind. Whenever I see a bee land on one of the flowers, I feel a great sense of satisfaction like I did something really important when I spread those seeds back in May. I hope someday to learn the names of all the flowers, but for now, I just like to look around and pick out my favorites.It has occurred to me that I was never that interested in flowers before. I didn't have time to be interested. It took a nasty illness called myalgic encephalomyelitis, also known as chronic fatigue syndrome, to slow me down enough to care. I hate this illness, but now those flowers touch me in a way that I've never been touched before. Their beauty has at least once brought me to tears. Sometimes, I picture myself walking in a whole field of Ohio wildflowers and I think about what I've been missing my whole life.Lately, I've been receiving an urgent message from all the forces of the universe. As if offering an easy solution to this complex illness, the voices simply suggest, "do nothing." Backed by the power of all that is, they say, "just be." Then ironically, they follow it up by insisting that I compose an eighteen hundred word essay on the subject. Juxtaposed between contradictory instructions, I'm busy crafting words in shrinking windows of energy while attempting to adopt a life-saving practice of total rest. It's a treacherous line that I walk here with prayers that my love for writing doesn't drive me into still greater depths of illness.For a driven, talented and creative "human doing" like myself, being mandated to "do nothing" seems like cruel and unusual punishment. With desperate pleas to the unknown, I cry out, "But you don't understand! I'm Hal Walker. Haven't you seen me play the banakulas!? If I do nothing, where will I find my purpose? How will I serve my community? How will I prove to the world that I’m amazing?" After an extended pause, nature responds with stoic clarity, "You're not amazing, Hal. I'm the amazing one. You're just another one among the millions. Now go lie down, get quiet and start doing nothing."So that's what I did. For a few days before I got pulled into this essay, I did nothing. I spent full afternoons in quiet time -- reclined and smiling. I ate a few meals, I made a few phone calls, I read excerpts from spiritual literature, I took cold showers, I cried, I rested and I smiled. Mind you, I wasn't smiling because life is easy and I have everything that I want. I was smiling because those are the instructions that I've been given. Through all the discomfort, the still small voice just keeps repeating, "Say ‘Yes’ to what is, Hal. It’s your best option. Breathe, relax and smile."As I gradually awaken to the brutal and unforgiving nature of ME/CFS, I'm taking more seriously this call to do nothing. I can see the life giving, soul growing benefits of radical rest, but like an addict, my brain craves activity. In search of anything to escape the moment, I hunger for projects, connection and mindless distraction. Housebound and mostly bed bound, my longing to do the things that I love is stronger than ever. But as my condition worsens, I have less and less say in the matter.These days, it's clear that playing the piano or riding my scooter down to the river would be risky and unwise. In compliance, I ride a wheelchair around the house and live mostly in silence. I never stray too far from the bed. On the other hand, I'm well aware of the risk of conversations with friends, writing this essay and scrolling on Instagram, but I do it anyway. Most of the time, the ideal of complete mental and physical rest is more than this 58 year old lover of life is willing to take on. Upon each setback however, I reconsider my willingness.You see, post-exertional malaise (PEM), the poorly named defining characteristic of this poorly named condition, means that activity of any kind, whether it be mental or physical, can make the condition worse — possibly permanently. Having experienced many dozens of these worsenings over the course of weeks, months and years, I still haven’t learned the rules for this beast of an illness. If I knew the rules, I assure you, I'd follow them exactly. But the only rule that ME/CFS offers is the nearly impossible: do nothing. Everything outside of those bounds, I do at my own peril.It's the only illness known to man in which the entire severe population is thinking, "Damn. If only I'd started doing nothing sooner. I could've saved myself from so much suffering." Truly, if I knew back then what I know now, I'd promptly drop everything and spend my life sitting contentedly under a tree -- breathing softly, welcoming friends and trusting God. I guess I know my marching orders for the day -- without any actual marching, that is.Last Thursday, I was glad for an extended afternoon quiet time with my mom. We basked together in the glorious memory of my daughter’s wedding. Mom's not so comfortable with silence and I've barely got the lungs for speaking, so it makes for some interesting mother/son dynamics. With much love, I tolerate her barrage of motherly questions and she tolerates my one word answers. During our visit, as the sun moved into view in the west, mom knitted and sent a few texts while I gazed off into the trees, smiling. I’m grateful for my mom’s visits. I know how much it pains her to see her only son living with such a mean spirited illness.I'm also grateful for the other visitors that sit quietly with me throughout the week. I appreciate how sensitive they are to my nervous system's need for low volume and a slow pace. I like to think that I'm doing some service by offering a peaceful place to sit for a while away from the pressures of the fast paced world. From where I lie, I'm in awe of the way most people are moving so fast out there. I watch the way cars fly down my street. That used to be me — always on the move. Now I'm at home holding down the fort for anyone out there who could use a little bit of slowing down.After my mom left, at nine o'clock that night, I felt so good about having had a full day of self care and peace. So I decided to treat myself to half an episode of "The Bear" followed by a few minutes of the 2024 presidential debate. What I really needed was one more round of quiet time, but instead, I found myself indulging in loud, edgy television and a God awful display of modern day tomfoolery. Yes, the old familiar me that does self harming behavior in search of instant relief took over for a little while that night. Like the rest of the modern world, the ever available screen is my current narcotic of choice.Once I got my fill of political angst, I shut down the laptop, turned off the lights and tossed myself to sleep. As so many times before in the course of this illness, I closed the day with a little conversation with my dad, "Hey dad. I did it. I made it through another day.” “I’m so proud of you, son. I know it’s not easy.” “Goodnight dad.”When I woke up at about five am on Friday morning, the first sign that something was wrong was the louder than usual ringing in my ears. My breathing was labored, my arms were heavy and I felt that deep aching weakness in my core. I knew instantly that I was in yet another crash - an overnight sudden onset of intensified symptoms. In the last few months, I’ve experienced dozens of these and each one is as disheartening as the last. "No! What did I do wrong?! Was it the TV show or the conversation with my mom? Did I sit on the porch too long? Were the passing cars too loud? Why does it keep getting worse!?" Of course, there's no way to know why this illness does what it does. Nobody really knows. I may be a fool to think that I can somehow control the course of it with quiet living and a positive attitude. Over and over, I keep finding out how powerless I am on this journey.If you enjoy “Living in a Body,” please consider supporting my work by becoming a free or paid subscriber.ME/CFS has broken my heart a thousand times, but it hasn't yet broken my spirit. If I’m honest, I can see that it may actually be growing my spirit. For the first time in my life, I’m appreciating the wildflowers. I’ve lived my whole life here in Ohio and I never noticed the wildflowers. Now I’ve got a whole garden of ‘em back there whispering to me all day long. Somehow, those delicate flowers are helping me move forward on this difficult path. They’re part of a great community that’s helping me see the lessons along the way. I wonder if any of this growing would have happened without the nothing that ME/CFS has forced me to do. Hopefully I’ll find out someday that it was worth it.Today, I’m grateful to be doin’ some doing. Here I am showing up to the page once again to tell my story. I’m really hoping the beast won't punish me for it later. I think after this I'll have some lunch and take a rest before sharing some quiet time with my friend Marion.  Marion and I understand the importance of the work we’re doing when we sit quietly together on the porch. When I get quiet enough, I can tell that the wildflowers agree. For now, I’m gonna keep watching for their beauty and listening for their whisper. I can’t wait to hear what they have to say.   Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

The WeddingLast Saturday afternoon, my daughter Hallie married her college sweetheart, Andy Donnelly. June 15, 2024 was truly one the most beautiful and memorable days of my life. The wedding was a blue skies, sunshine, smooth-running, reasonably-budgeted, love-filled festival of family and friends all packed together in a perfect 78 degree day on the Hines Hill Campus in the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. Seriously, no bride or groom could have wished for more. Though I spent much of the day face down on a mattress in the hatchback of my Toyota Prius, I’m grateful that I was able to be there at all. I missed a bunch of it, but I made several public appearances at key moments throughout the day. I’d like to share a few of my favorites with you. The PosseCameron was my driver for the day. I’ve known Cameron since he was a kid. He’s grown into a fine young man and he got all cleaned up for the wedding. He looked good with a nice jacket, a haircut and a cool hat. I was glad to have him along as a key member of my posse. Mango was my anything-I-need helper and Annette was my guest and spiritual advisor for the day. Annette’s a Quaker. She knows how to sit quietly and wait for the still small voice to move before speaking. My ME/CFS ridden brain deeply appreciates that quality in a person. Annette also knows how to have a good time. One of my favorite moments of the day was watching my best friend from childhood walking side by side and laughing with Annette as they headed toward my car. It didn’t surprise me one bit that they were getting along so well. I appreciate how loving and affectionate Georg is. He and I sat together on the back of the car and held each other’s faces close while we expressed our care for one another. I so appreciated our closeness as I felt the bristles of his beard on mine. There was a whole lot of love present on that Saturday afternoon. I had almost no endurance for the day, but I didn’t want it to ever end. The First LookMy first public appearance was at 3:15 pm for the “First Look.” I wheeled my chair into the stone cottage and waited in the hallway for Hallie to step out in her wedding gown. I didn’t know what to expect from myself, but it didn’t surprise me a bit that as soon as she appeared in the doorway, all the emotions of 26 years of fatherhood welled up in me and I burst out in tears. I was grateful for the release as I sat there in my wheelchair. I was feeling so much. Deeply touched by her beauty, her youth, her effervescence and my love for her, I wept like a grown man. It turns out that was just the first of a full day of similar emotional releases. It was a remarkable day of big feelings. The WalkMy next honor was to walk Hallie down the aisle. For weeks leading up to the wedding, I wondered whether I would walk or wheel the over 50 feet of land that needed to be covered at the processional . Even though she’d never admit that it mattered, I really didn’t want to disappoint Hallie with a wheelchair ruining the picture perfect moment. On the day before at the rehearsal, I wasn’t humble enough to use the chair. I kept popping up to stand as I shook hands with Andy’s family and the wedding party. Every ounce of my granddad that lives in me said that that’s what a man does. He stands up to shake a hand. When the time came to rehearse the walk, a momentary combination of self-will, fear and people pleasing took over and I walked — all the way down and all the way back. The next morning, as I trembled with weakness in my bed, I knew that I was paying the price for my pride. With ME/CFS, that price is rarely worth it. Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. At the last minute before the actual procession, with a clarity of thought breaking through the weakness in my brain, it became clear that rolling down the aisle was the right thing to do. When I told her my plan, Hallie didn’t flinch. I realized once again that when it comes to this illness, my daughter is one of my most compassionate supporters. We took our time getting down the aisle. I held Hallie’s right hand while my elbow rested on the arm rest of my chair. Being in the chair put me right about at her level. I kept my eyes fixed on my daughter the whole way down. With tears running down her face, she was truly stunning. The HugHallie’s aunt Johanna and Andy’s aunt Ann were the co-officiates of the wedding. They waited with Andy as Hallie and I approached the arch. The moment after our arrival is a moment that I will never forget. I stood up to give Hallie a big embrace. My arms wrapped all the way around her and I kissed her head. When I turned around to hug Andy, there were tears pouring down his face. Those tears welled up all the same feelings in me. I looked Andy straight into his eyes with great warmth and gratitude and love. As we murmured a few heartfelt words of affection, we embraced.Then I sat back down in my wheelchair, maneuvered myself over next to Hallie’s mom and settled in for the ceremony. The SongI had hoped to sing a song at the wedding. A few weeks ago, I even texted Andy’s dad to see if he’d like to back me up with his acoustic guitar. Having never met me in person, Bill gave a resounding “Yes.” But over the next few weeks, my symptoms got worse. It became clear that it would be absurd for me to get up in front of an audience and try to sing. With one more ME/CFS heartbreak, I let go of the idea.Fortunately, Hallie and Andy thought to invite Andy’s sister, Ellie to sing the song in my place. I’m SO glad that that’s what happened. With her dad backing her up, Ellie did a wonderful rendition of Kate Wolf’s “Give Yourself to Love.” While she was singing so beautifully, I was glowing with gratitude that it wasn’t me up there struggling through the song. I guess God works in mysterious ways, doesn’t she, though? The VowsWhen Hallie was a freshman at Kent State, she got cast in a two-person play called The Stonewater Rapture. Guess who was the co-star? Yep. Andy. It was soon after the close of that show that Andy and Hallie started dating. That was seven years ago. Since then, they first moved to Atlanta to weather the pandemic and then in June of 2021, they found a great apartment in Brooklyn, NY where they live their full lives today. During the ceremony, we were treated to more of the story of their love and then we got to listen in on the intimate vows shared between these two best friends. I’m continually struck with how well they get along and how much they like each other. It warms my heart. When Hallie was asked when she knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with Andy, she responded, “It never crossed my mind that I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life with Andy.”I’m so happy for these newlyweds. They seem to have found a wonderful match. Jim Bray, the director of The Stonewater Rapture in 2017 was in attendance at the wedding to confirm that he was the first to see the great chemistry between Hallie and Andy. The Mother of the BrideIt was 28 years ago today that Shannon and I threw a DIY wedding at a lake in Geauga County called Shangri-La. Our marriage didn’t last, but it produced a shining light in the world. After many years of co-parenting at a distance, I’m grateful for my friendship with Shannon and for the kindness expressed between us this week. We were two proud parents in the crowd. I appreciate Shannon’s role in making Hallie who she is. Every time I open up TikTok to see Hallie’s latest, there I see Shannon. I see her beauty, her intelligence, her wit, her impeccable sense of rhythm and her fire. In my welcome speech, I wrote “In spite of all the challenges, Shannon, I think we did a real good job. Who knows? Maybe someday, you and me’ll get to be grandparents.”The WelcomeI had the great honor of reading a welcome/father-of-the-bride speech at the beginning of the reception. After nixing my first attempt at writing, (which included a sermonette about Love and a weird, potentially inappropriate joke) I came up with a seven minute speech on gratitude that spoke of the joining of two villages. It began like this:“It was very early on January 1, 1998 and I was getting home too late from some New Year’s Eve festivities. Shannon hadn't been feeling well that night, but we had two more weeks till the baby was due and I hadn’t yet learned the joy of going to bed early. At 2:00 in the morning, I pet beanie for a few minutes as she clawed my chest and then I fell asleep pretty fast. I hadn't slept for more than an hour when Shannon woke me up. Within minutes, it became clear that she was going into labor and that we needed to get to the hospital. At 4 am, the contractions were getting closer and closer. Shannon held on for dear life as we raced our little red Honda civic station wagon to Robinson Memorial. A little past 6 am, just after the doctor finally arrived, our child was born. It was a girl and the nurse said, "She looks like a Hallie." Two weeks earlier than expected, Hallie Alvida Walker became Portage County’s New Years baby of 1998 and the whole world got just a little bit brighter.”I broke down a bit as I spoke the next line. I said, “Hallie. One of the things that I love most about my life is that I get to be your dad. Thank you for being such a light in my life. Thank you for being such a light in all our lives. I love you and I’m so proud of you... and I can't wait to see what happens next. You probably already know this, but one of the highlights of my day is opening up TikTok to see your latest. I'll always be cheering for you, Hallie. ”The Father/Daughter DanceBack in May, the DJ asked Hallie what song she'd like to use for the father-daughter dance. When Hallie and I tried to think of what songs were meaningful to us, we drew a blank. As she was growing up, we didn’t listen to much music in our home. The music in our house was Hallie practicing the piano and singing broadway musicals at the top of her lungs. But after several minutes of pondering, the obvious choice became clear. There was truly no other choice but my song “Underneath the Surface.” Hallie and I began performing this song together on stages when she was just a kid. For years, I’ve treasured a recording of that song that I made when she was five and we found the perfect use for it last Saturday. We talked briefly about how we should dance the song but we didn’t have a plan. I told her that it would probably be best if I stayed in the chair. But when I wheeled up to the center of the dance floor and met Hallie there in her gown, I stood up and took her in my arms. We began swaying back and forth and lived an eternal moment that brought the whole tent down in tears. The Drive HomeCameron and I left the wedding earlier than I had wanted to but I knew my body couldn’t take anymore. While Cameron drove, I took my shoes off, curled up in the back and wept while I read a thank you letter from each Hallie and her new husband, Andy. I’m keeping those letters by my bedside to remind me of the love that I have in my life.On Father’s Day, the day after the wedding, Hallie, Andy and I spent some time debriefing the whole event. We were all still glowing from the perfection of it all. They asked an intriguing question. “If the wedding had been a movie, who would have been the main character?” It couldn’t have been Hallie or Andy because it was all too perfect for them. Without too much argument, I humbly agreed that it very well could have been me that was the main character. “The Wedding” starring Hal Walker — a true story of love and loss, illness and courage, joy and grief, recovery and regret, success and failure, forgiveness and family and all the other qualities that make for a good tear jerker. When we hugged at the end of the evening, Andy said, "Happy Fathers Day, Dad." I laughed when he said it but it makes me cry now. What a great guy my new son-in-law is. Thanks for making my daughter so happy, Andy.Hallie and Andy are in Costa Rica right now having the honeymoon of a lifetime. I’m lying here waiting for the next photo that’ll hopefully be showing up in my messages before too long. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. I couldn’t resist the temptation to make episode 88 all about my song, “My State, Ohio - the 88 Counties.” Click PLAY above to hear the podcast version of this episode. Click the links below to hear the song. Enjoy. Hal My State, OhioI've had several significant accomplishments in my life. And one of them was a song that I wrote back in 2003. A song that incorporates the 88 counties of Ohio. It’s called “My State, Ohio.” I couldn’t resist the temptation to make episode 88 all about this song. I've taught the song to hundreds of fourth graders around the state of Ohio and I always thought it should be taught to every fourth grader in Ohio. It's a fun song to sing. Once you learn it, you never forget it. It's a challenging song to learn though. It's highly syncopated and you really got to spit out all those words. Maybe someday, “My State, Ohio” will be in the Ohio social studies textbooks. Though I doubt it unless I do something about it. It's probably not going to just happen on its own while I lie here in bed. The story goes like this. Back in 2003, I was hanging out in downtown Kent on North Water Street with a few friends. And just for fun, we were trying to list as many of the counties in the state of Ohio that we could list. And I, as someone who at the time was traveling all over the state of Ohio, bringing music into the schools, could only list about three. I knew Portage, Summit, and maybe Geauga. My grandfather was a tax collector in Alabama and he prided himself in knowing every county in Alabama. So I vowed then that I would go home and I would write a song, a song that would incorporate the 88 counties of Ohio… and that's what I did. I went home and I got out a map of the state of Ohio and a pair of banakulas. Up in the northeast corner of the state, I saw Ashtabula County and I knew that's where the song needed to begin. So I picked up some banakulas until I felt that nice syncopated rhythm and I sang right down the eastern side of the state. I sang, “Ashtabula, Trumbull, Mahoning and Columbia, Jefferson, Belmont, and Monroe.” Amazingly, I made it all the way down to the southeast corner of the state. So I went back up to the top and sang, “Lake, Geauga, Summit, Portage, Stark, Tuscarawas, Carol, Harrison, Guernsey, Noble, and Washington.” I spent the next two weeks writing this puzzle of a song until it was done. And then I drew up this lyric sheet. It was a map of the counties of Ohio with little arrows showing the way the song led us through the state from the northeast corner, all the way to the southwest corner, the county of Brown. It just happened that during that summer of 2003 we were celebrating the Ohio bicentennial. I had just started working with Frank Jacobs at the Summit Children's Choir and we came up with an idea to teach all 100 members of the multi age choir to sing the 88 counties. And then we performed it in front of the Governor at EJ Thomas Hall in Akron that summer. It was an amazing night. So here we have it. “My State, Ohio.” The 88 Counties sung by all the voices of the Summer Children's Choir back in 2003. Enjoy. (See the full lyrics below) There we have it — the 88 counties of Ohio from about 21 years ago. Well, this episode is going to be a short one today, everybody. I'm sorry to say it's been real tough lately. My symptoms have taken another turn for the worse. You can probably hear it in my voice. I don't have much oomph. It's been brutal. But I appreciate you listening. It's amazing to me. We've made it all the way to Episode 88 and I'm wishing you the best. Hallie's getting married in two weeks. I’m looking forward to that. I'll send you some photos after the fact. All right, I'm gonna take a little rest now. All the best to you. Oh, if you're interested in learning the 88 counties there's some videos you can watch on YouTube to learn the whole song. I'll put that right down here below. Okay, bye bye.My State, OhioAshtabula, Trumbull, Mahoning and Columbiana, Jefferson, Belmont and Monroe. Lake, Geauga, Summit, Portage, Stark, Tuscarawas, Carroll, Harrison, Guernsey, Noble and Washington.These are the Counties of my state, Ohio, I offer them to you to sing along. The names that I’m sounding there’s eighty eight that I know and they all come together to form a song. Won’t you sing a-long!Cuyahoga, Lorain, Medina, Wayne, Ashland, Holmes and Knox, CoshoctonMuskingum, Morgan, Athens and Meigs.Erie and Huron, Richland, Morrow, Licking, Fairfield, Perry, Hocking, Vinton, Jackson and GaliaLucas, Ottawa, Sandusky, Seneca,Wyandot, Crawford, Marion, Union and DelawareFranklin, Madison, Pickaway, Ross, Pike, Scioto and Lawrence,Fulton, Williams and Henry, Wood, Defiance, Putnam, Paulding, Van Wert.Hancock, Allen, Hardin, Logan, Champagne, Clark,Mercer, Auglaize and Shelby, Darke.Oh, Miami, Preble, Montgomery, Greene, Clinton, Fayette, Highland, Adams, Butler, Warren and then there’s Hamilton, Claremont and Brown.Two hundred years old.  My state, Ohio.Learn the song by clicking below… Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Welcome. Press PLAY above and please share this with a friend. ❤️ Hal The Front RowFor about 10 years before the pandemic, I was the host of a live music venue in Kent called the Cuyahoga River Concert Series. It was in the summer of 2011 that I got a call from a Michigan folk singer who’d recently moved into town. As the story goes, Matt Watroba had heard from several trustworthy sources that he needed to get in touch with a potential kindred spirit named Hal Walker. Matt and I met for the first time on my back porch to drink tea and swap songs. With guitars in hand, we discovered that between the two of us, we held the potential for a concert series made in heaven. I had a key for the sanctuary of the UU Church of Kent, a room with the finest acoustics of any room in Ohio and Matt had connections with top quality touring folk acts from all around the country. Together, we conjured up a big idea to bring concerts and community singing to that old space built in 1868 on the bedrock of the Cuyahoga River. The series got off to a good start. With the combination of affordable tickets, my new found agility with Adobe InDesign and a relatively new promotional tool called Facebook, we pulled in good crowds from the beginning. Matt's wife Kim baked guitar shaped cookies to serve at intermission and Matt and I shared the role of emcee with ease and joy. Time after time, artists would show up for their sound check not knowing what to expect and by the end of the evening, they'd be raving. "Wow! What a great venue." Matt and I were proud hosts. We always started the Fall season with a Matt and Hal concert of our own. When Matt and his wife made the decision to relocate back to Michigan, my friend Kim stepped in with great diligence and made it possible to keep the series going. Kim and I made a good team making those concerts happen. I look back to those Friday nights at the church with great nostalgia. The Cuyahoga River Concert Series was a warm, intimate, affordable venue that lasted until November 2019 when we hosted our last concert. The corona virus put a long pause on the series and my battle with ME/CFS closed it for good. Occasionally, I still receive requests from musicians around the country who’d like to play, but sadly, I have to inform them that the Cuyahoga River Concert Series no longer exists. Back in 2016, we hosted an award winning band from the East Coast called Ayreheart. Led by Grammy nominated lutenist, Ronn McFarlane, the band had a reputation for dispelling all previous conceptions of the lute’s limitations. This concert promised to be an exciting and powerful night of original music. As usual, I greeted the band at the back door of the church and helped with the load in. Ayreheart then set up their own gear and did a sound check without my assistance. I took the opportunity to go live on Facebook in hopes of rounding up a few last minute patrons to come out for these well travelled musicians. I opened the show with a musical welcome and a brief introduction of the band. Then I retreated to my usual spot in the rear of the sanctuary. It was there in the back that I had the freedom to kick up my legs or even lie down on the pew to ease the perpetual symptoms of chronic fatigue syndrome. For the first half of the show, I sat alone in the back row -- just me, my smart phone and the critical conversations that have a tendency to go on in my head. “Hm, the drums are too loud and the vocals sound kinda weird… They should have put the vocals through our sound system... In fact, this vocalist is kind of getting on my nerves. You know what, these guys really aren’t all that good after all. Maybe I’ll go check my Facebook…” As the world class, grammy nominated musicians continued, I found reason to disengage. I reached into my pocket for that electronic block of plastic and glass and I began the all too familiar ritual of flipping through apps in search of some kind of relief. Maybe a mind numbing word game or some stimulating content from the cloud would soothe my existential angst. Hungrily, I searched for something more entertaining than the top notch musicians that were playing real live musical instruments right in front of me.Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.At the intermission, my friend David Badagnani came up to me and said, “Wow, these guys are incredible, aren’t they!” I nodded and agreed. I didn't have the courage to confess that I’d been paying closer attention to my Facebook feed than to the lute, the drums and the bass. I wasn’t ready for that humbling of a confession. After a quick cup of tea in the social hall, it was time to flash the lights again and get everyone seated for the 2nd half of the show. Just so you know, David Badagnani has a deep passion for music. He’s an ethnomusicologist, a world music connoisseur and he's willing to travel long distances to seek out unique musical combinations. In the realm of music appreciation, David Badagnani has what I want -- curiosity, a long attention span and a good listening ear. As the music started up once again, I noticed David sitting in the front row with an empty seat right next to him. It suddenly became clear to me. From that hidden place inside, I heard the still, small voice loud and clear. It said, “Hal, put your phone back in your pocket and move to the front row. Go now... before it’s too late.” Without any delay, I stood up and walked directly to the front and center where I claimed the best seat in the house. Within moments, I watched my experience transform completely. Suddenly, I was in the presence of great musicians doing amazing things. I was inches away from a passionate drummer with sweat pouring off his brow. His every limb was dancing with the rhythmic sub-divisions of every beat. His eyes were transfixed on the bass player who was tall, relaxed and easy on the eyes. The connection between these two rhythm makers was vibrant and a pleasure to watch. Together, they provided the foundation for a multi-layered musical experience. Before the show, the drummer had confided in me that two weeks earlier he’d had a heart attack. He shared with me that the exertion of performing a concert was a lot for his body to handle. As a performer who's been living with ME/CFS for many years, I knew just what he was talking about. As I sat in the front row, I was immersed in his humble and powerful energy. As the feeling of compassion for this guy came over me, I felt a sincere hope that he would find a way to continue providing his musical gift to the world for a long time to come. Sitting over to the left, lutenist Ronn MacFarlane maintained a quiet and masterful presence. His left hand flew over the frets of that ancient instrument with incredible ease. Within minutes of sitting down next to David, it became clear to me that this evening of music was something very special. Face to face with the humanity of these musicians, my thoughts became friendly, even toward the lead vocalist who'd been getting on my nerves for the first half of the show. In the front row, I was free from the distractions that separated me from the experience. The music brought me to the edge of my seat and I became a participant in the concert. The negative conversations in my head faded off into the distance.From a delighted place of attention, at the next applause break, I turned to David Badagnani with wide eyes, a big smile and an enthusiastic nod. I let out a chuckle of disbelief to confirm my amazement. “Are you seeing this!?” There in the front row, with an old friend by my side, I experienced connection. I’m pretty certain that that’s what I was craving the whole time. Still today, I notice areas of my life where I’m hiding in the back, crawling into my safe little zone of protection. With a lifelong proclivity toward preoccupation, who knows what kind of beauty I’ve been missing out on. I’m certain these critical conversations that go on in my head are separating me from the people in my life. I can only imagine the extent of connection that might be possible with my full attention. And I’m well aware of the ways that I numb myself to avoid the discomforts of this human experience. I wonder what would happen if I just felt it all. Would I crumble? Possibly so. Or I might just start blooming. Maybe the whole world would open up like a music box. For real, I wonder what it would be like to move fully into the front row of my life. I have a pretty good feeling that it wouldn’t be easy. I imagine there’ll be some real growing pains along the way. But if it's anything like that Friday night with Ayreheart in 2016, I don’t want to miss out. I'm ready to take the best seat in the house. Won’t you come join me? C'mon. Let’s do it. Let's head up there together. We can sit next to each other and do high fives at the applause. We can stay all the way to end of the show. Thank you for being here. I appreciate you. Go easy. Easy does it. Take care of that body of yours and enjoy living in it while you got it. It won’t be here forever. Alright… I’m sending all my best. ❤️ Hal Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Welcome. Press the PLAY button above or read the full transcription below. Enjoy. ❤️ HBest Day EverI've got a friend named Annette who's got a pretty awesome and amazing attitude about life. Just to give you a little taste of the kind of person Annette is… she went on a trip recently. She sent me a letter and part of the letter says, “to me, all the travels in the world could bring me no more joy than a hug or handshake, or a quiet time sitting on the porch with a dear friend.” In my eyes, that's a wonderful way to look at the world. Annette doesn't need a whole lot. She doesn't need all the travels in the world. Sitting on the porch with a dear friend is enough. Annette visits me a couple times a week and we sit and have some quiet time together and then we ponder the big questions of life. And often it's the case that her great attitude about life rubs off on me. It happened today. That's why I'm here now, after one of the hardest days of my life, creating an episode called “Best Day Ever.” Thanks, Annette. No, really, thank you. She told me a little story. I was only 90% listening, so I can't remember all the details, but it went something like this. There was a dad and there's a child who's like five or six years old and the child gets a terminal diagnosis, maybe six months to live with cancer of some kind. And I don't remember how it goes, but the dad says we're gonna make this the best day ever. I missed a part of the story. But basically the dad who's about to lose his child is gonna let go of his grief. He's gonna put all that aside and he's gonna make this the best day ever. And Annette said, “we could all learn from that. Put aside all our grumbling and make this the best day ever.” What if today were the best day ever?It reminds me of a piece I've been wanting to write for a while called “The Happiest Guy in Ohio.” The essence of that story is basically all it requires to be the happiest guy in Ohio is a shift in my attitude, a shift of my thinking. Here I am living with severe chronic illness, waking up wanting to die, but I'm the happiest guy in Ohio. It's gonna take tremendous discipline and lots of practice… and usually I don't think I'm cut out for it. Usually in my own mind, I'm more cut out for the prize of the guy with the most difficult life in Ohio or the most grieving guy in Ohio. But it makes me smile, just thinking about the possibility of being the happiest guy in Ohio, all with just a switch of my thinking. Today's been a really hard day. I woke up moaning with discomfort…loud audible moans, moans of suffering, moans of illness, moans of loneliness, moans of “how am I going to face this day.” My symptoms today have been scary and severe and I have no idea how long they're gonna last or if they're ever gonna go away — deep weakness in my core, a sick feeling all over my body, a cold kind of clammy feeling on my skin, weakness in my legs and my arms, aching weakness in my belly and a loud, overbearing whistling in my ears and I'm scared. I'm scared that this is my new normal once again.I had a few better days last week. My daughter was here to visit with her fiancé Andy and I had a few better days. By the way, I hesitate to even call them “better” days for fear of what you might think a “better” day is. My bar of better days has gotten pretty low compared to a year ago. But I was having a few better days and I got to spend some time with my beloved daughter Hallie. We played “Risk.” Andy, Hallie and I played Risk and it was fun. I love that game. I hadn't played since like 1980. It’s a cool game of world conquering. I was winning and then they teamed up on me and brought me down. We actually didn't finish the game. Risk is a many, many hours long game and we didn't finish. And then Hallie left and I crashed. The last three days have been kind of hellish. It's so incredibly difficult living in this body. It's such a brutal illness. It has no mercy. Every night when I write down my food for the next day, I write a few words about how my day was today. And for weeks, at the first part of this year, over and over again, I was writing “hardest day ever,” “worst day ever.” I was experiencing decline after decline. And I was writing it down every night, “worst day ever,” “hardest day ever.” It kept getting harder. I know that gratitude and peace and happiness and contentment and acceptance are just a thought away. But I've got this crunched up, tightened up, exhausted brain that’s so stuck on grief and fear and illness and loss. Focusing on the illness comes so much more naturally than looking for the good and focusing on all that I have. It's gonna take a lot of letting go to make this the best day ever, to see it that way. Annette, how could this possibly be the best day ever with this rain, this damp air, this ringing in my ears, this pain in my gut? How could this be the best day ever? But I sat quietly with a friend on the porch today and we connected in an imperfect way and maybe that’s enough.And before Annette came over, my friend Christie came over and sat by my bedside and held my hand and gave me a beautiful gift. She created this tribute book to honor my 25 years of work at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Kent, complete with photographs and a beautiful tribute that she wrote. I laid in the bed on my belly with labored breathing and I cried a couple of times and she held me and we talked about the good old times at the church. We had some good days back then. Man, I miss it. I gotta admit, it's really hard for me to call this the “best day ever.” It's been brutal. It's been bru-f****n’-tal. I asked Annette, I said, “Annette, how do you make this the best day ever? How do I change my attitude?” And she said, “You appreciate the garden, appreciate the rhododendrons, appreciate the rain, how happy the garden is receiving the rain today, appreciate this moment sitting here with a friend.” I realize that the “best day ever” is kind of a hyperbole. I'm not looking for the best day ever. I'm looking for some peace, some contentment. Really, I'm just looking for some relief from this physical discomfort. It's so taxing. It's so exhausting. That was another thing Annette said on the porch. She acknowledged the fact that I’m grieving. I'm grieving the loss of my old life. I've been doing a lot of grieving for a while now. And she said “at some point, you've got to start practicing embracing your life now. And maybe you can do both of those things at the same time — grieve the things that you've lost and embrace your life now at the same time.” It's so hard to embrace this life of discomfort, of suffering — physical discomfort. But no matter how badly I want it to go away, this is what I get. This is my reality. I've said it many times before. I'm just so impressed with how satisfied Annette is with the small things.I always liked the big things, the big exciting things — being on a stage, getting lots of attention, having intense romantic love relationships, creating amazing projects and doing amazing things, landscaping the entire backyard over the course of a summer, getting everything done on my to do list, traveling to Kauai, traveling to Thailand. I'm less familiar with the satisfaction of sitting quietly with a friend on the porch like I got to do today. Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.But I'm grateful. I'm grateful ME/CFS had been the best thing that ever happened to me (lol) and this has been the best day ever. I got to sit on the porch with a friend. Oh, I'm turning my vegetable garden into a wildflower garden and I planted a bunch of sunflowers and Ohio wildflowers and some brussels sprouts. Brussels sprouts have never done well in my garden, but I'm determined to make it happen. I love brussels sprouts. I loooove brussels sprouts. Thank you God for the brussels sprouts. Anyway, I think that may be all I got for you today. Best day ever. I hope you'll go and have the best day ever. Or if not the best day ever maybe just a good enough day. Maybe that's what today's been. It's been a good enough day. I’ll write my gratitude list of 10 things tonight. I didn't hurt anyone today. I didn't act out today in any of my addictions. I'm truly blessed. I'm blessed with support and love. My daughter's getting married next month. I'm hopefully gonna be at the wedding, giving the welcome and the blessing before the meal. Hopefully walking her down the aisle in some fashion. It's gonna be a beautiful day. It's gonna be a beautiful day. She's found a beautiful man to spend her life with. I'm so happy. And I appreciate you listening today. I'm really glad to connect with you. Tell me what's getting in the way of you having the best day ever today. You can share it in the comments. Anyway, I'm gonna leave you with a little bit of rain that was recorded in my backyard. It was a rainy day in Ohio today. Hey, enjoy living in that body of yours today. If you can go on a walk for me. Go on a bike ride. Go on a run and love every single minute of it. Seriously, come on. Come on! Love every single minute of it — of that walk, of that bike ride. All right, I care about you. I appreciate you. And I'll see you next time. Bye bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Press the PLAY button above or read the full transcription below. Enjoy. ❤️ HSlow DownHi. I'm Hal. This is the “Living in a Body” podcast. Welcome. I'm glad you're here. Today is episode 85. Can you believe it? You better go back and listen to the first 84 of ‘em before you listen to this one. (lol) Anyway, 85. It's called “Slow Down.” And it goes something like this…You didn't ask for my advice. But I'm gonna give it to you anyway. You can thank me later. Slow down. Slow the heck down. Join me in finding areas in our lives where we can turn the speed down a couple notches. Slow down, sister. Slow down, my brother. What's the big hurry? Slow your walking down. Slow your talking down. Slow your breathing down. Slow your eating down. Slow down as you're going up and down the stairs. There’s no hurry. Slow down your love making. Slow your thinking down. Slow your heartbeat down. Slow down. What's all the urgency? What's the big rush? It's gonna be okay. I have a feeling that someone here that’s listening to this goes too fast. And it might be me. Yep, I tend to go too fast. I think too fast. I breathe too fast. And I tend to do too much. And the thing I'm learning… the main thing I'm learning living with a severe version of ME/CFS is to slow down. I’ve become convinced that the key to being satisfied, the key to being content and happy and at peace, the key to being present, the key to being in relationship and the key to surviving in this crazy sped up world is to slow down. As a species, on a cellular level, we gotta slow the heck down. Put the phone down. Put all the devices away. Slow down. And be. Be with yourself. Be with nature. Be with your family. Be with your friends and thank me later. Slow down, you’re movin’ too fast.You got to make the morning last, you’re justKickin’ down the cobblestonesLookin’ for fun and feeling groovy.But it's not gonna be easy. I make it sound like you just push a button and it's the slow down button. I warn you it's probably gonna be hard. It might be painful. Depending on how fast you’re going, it may take a while. Every part of yourself is gonna resist. Cause we live in a sped up world and if you’re anything like me, that world’s rubbed off on you. You’ve probably been runnin’ at this speed for a long time and you may not see any reason for slowing down. Well, this illness has taught me something that I never would have learned without getting sick. Slowing down is a good thing. Look at the trees, look at the snails. Look how happy they are. Now, I'm not an expert in this area. But it’s my main practice these days. Today, I was moving around the kitchen preparing some food and I was zipping from the fridge to the table to the sink on my wheelchair. Zip zip zip… I kept running into the stove and running into the cupboards. I’m living in a body with a nervous system that's constantly on edge, constantly on fire. When I’m downstairs, I feel some urgency to get back to my safe place which is belly down in the bed, so everything's got to go fast. And then I pulled up my wheelchair to the back door and I opened the sliding glass door and I looked out at the earth and she was movin’ real slow and I remembered. Slow down. Slow down, Hal. Look at the trees move. Feel the breeze on your face. Look at the sky, how it moves. Even better than slow down, just stop. Stop. Just stop for a few minutes. And listen. And watch. Many years ago, I went on a vision quest. My friends, Michael and Judy of “Shared Vision” took a group of us down to southern Ohio to the woods and did this vision quest. It was four days and four nights in a 10 foot circle by myself in the woods with nothing but four gallons of water and a tarp. No food. Just a tarp. Just four gallons of water. It was a beautiful ceremony. The night before we had a sweat lodge. We did prayers. And we had protectors. Protectors that would check in on us. Every morning I would walk down to the trail and I would stack a little rock letting my protectors know that I was okay. I had survived the night. And I sat in that 10 foot circle. And the main thing I remember was how slow the Earth moves. How slow the sun moves across the sky. There were no clocks, no cell phone, no devices, just me and the earth. And the Earth moves painfully slow. After four long days and nights, we came back down to the main camp. They welcomed us with broth and miso soup and really easy foods to break the fast. And as we were leaving, there was this huge circle of like 20 or 30 turkey vultures that came and started circling the camp. It was very meaningful. And I somehow remember then a downpour… a very cleansing downpour. When I got home from the vision quest, I wrote this song called “The Beauty Before Me.” May I be complete within my open circle.May I be willing to see some hope in a broken world.May I be like this tree standing in the center of my circle.I am solid on the ground and I know I’m not alone. May the beauty before me open my eyes to see…On the drive home from the vision quest, the main thing I remember was a stop at a rest area along the way. I had this very clean feeling in my mind and in my body. Four days of nothing but water and I was clean and pure. But at the rest area, I couldn’t resist one of those cookies that the volunteers were giving away. So I ate a cookie. And right away my head clogged up. My nose and my ears and my head — everything clogged up. And I lost that slow peace, that slow, clear peace. And the cookie set off the speed of the world. Yeah, that sugar. It’s a powerful drug. Sugar is a big part of this society. I know it adds to the speed. I haven't eaten any sugar in almost 10 years. Well, that's not true. Let's say two years because I sort of played around with some protein shakes that had sugar in it a couple years ago. “Kachava.” After not eating sugar for six years, I was introduced to chocolate Kachava in my illness and it was heavenly. But for the last two years, I've had no sugar and for many years now I’ve consumed no caffeine and it’s definitely helped with the slowing down. I haven't looked at porn for about 10 years. That helps with the slowing down. I'm off social media. It's been several months now and that helps with the slowing down. Although I do go on Tik Tok every day to watch my daughter, Hallie Walker. (@ hallielooyaa) She's doing some amazing work on Tik Tok. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that in that vision quest, we got slow. And I was face to face with the slowness of the way the sun moves across the sky. And it was painful. And that's got to be a symbol! It's got to be a sign! That's got to be our teacher!I’ve been noticing that it's lawn mower season now. Whereas up ‘till now, my room has been very quiet, but now every day I'm hearing the lawn mowers and the chain saws. These are all fast moving things, things that get the job done fast. Whatever happened to the cross cut saw? Wouldn't you love to hear your neighbor doing some cross cut sawing? Wouldn’t you love to watch your neighbor out there with one of those old fashioned rotary lawn mowers and a rake? Yeah, I'm advocating the slow life to save the world.And I need to learn it myself, ‘cause I tend to move fast. You know, give me something to think about and my brain starts thinking… fast. Even the way I approach this podcast. When I get an idea, it’s hard for me to take a break ‘till I get it just right. I’ve learned that it’s right action that leads to right thinking, so I think I’ll take a nice little break right now till after lunch — slow my brain down. I’ll see you on the other side. Slow down. I’m back. I did it. I took a break.So the key to my survival lately has been to slow down. Feel the feelings. That's the thing. When I slow down, then I have to feel the feelings. And somehow by feeling those feelings, getting through to the other side of the feelings, I find out what it is to be human. As opposed to constantly running, constantly spinning ten plates in the air. You know, running from my house over to the church at the last minute having all the papers printed out for the folk orchestra then running back and forth between the printer and the folk orchestra and making last minute changes and it had to be perfect and then Sunday morning showing up, last minute changes pulling it off. Some people did not like that side of me. I created beautiful tornadoes wherever I went. But lately, I’ve been forced to learn to pause. I'm learning to wait. Slow down, Hal. Smile and slow down. Breathe more slowly. Talk more slowly. Go on my wheelchair more slowly, so I'm not constantly running into the doorway. (lol) I've had several pretty major wrecks in this wheelchair just on the second floor of my house because I'm zipping around too fast. I hope this helps. Tell me what your experience is. Do it for one day. Do it for one hour. Slow down radically. Ride a bike instead of driving. Walk instead of riding a bike. Make a phone call rather than sending a text. Even better, write a letter rather than sending an email. Yeah, walk instead of riding a bike. And if you go on that walk say, “Thank you God that I can walk.” Because the thing I want to do more than anything is go on a walk. I want to spend my life walking. That's all I want to do. I want to be one of those people that you see every day walking. And then meeting people along the way and saying, “Hey, I know you. I ran into you yesterday when I was walking.” And if you go on that walk, stop by my house. Knock on the door, walk right in and come right upstairs. You're all welcome. Come right in and stay for ten minutes of quiet time. Stay for ten minutes of slowing down and thank me later. Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.All right. Maybe I've said too much. I love you. I care about you. That's why I'm giving you this advice. Even though you didn't ask for it. I care that you're moving too fast. I care about your health. I care about the Earth. That's why I'm telling you this. Okay. I think that's it. That was what I wanted to tell you. Slow down. Let me read this page from the 24 hours a day book. Just one sec… The goal of slowing down is calm. We want calm. We want serenity and peace and contentment so we can be available for others. What I'm venturing to say here is the slow life brings quiet and brings peace to the whole world. Here's the 24 hours a day book from April 15 — meditation for the day. I must keep calm and unmoved in the vicissitudes of life. (Look up that word vicissitudes.) I must go back into the silence of communion with my higher power to recover this calm when it's lost even for one moment. I'll accomplish more by this calmness than by all the activities of a long day. At all cost, I will keep calm. I can solve nothing when I'm agitated. I should keep away from things that are upsetting emotionally. I should run on an even keel and not get tipped over by emotional upsets. I should seek for things that are calm and good and true. And stick to those things. And what I find is slowing down promotes calmness. And in this wildly overactive nervous system of mine, living with ME/CFS, what I'm seeking more than anything else is calm. All right, I care about you. Slow down. Help me slow down too. We can slow down together and change the whole world. Imagine that — a slow moving society. Imagine how much love there could be in the world if we all moved a little slower. Alright, let’s keep the dream alive, you and me, one slow step at a time. Okay, I’m signing off. bye bye. ❤️ Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. I’m a day late, but here I am. This is the “Living in a Body” Podcast. Press the PLAY button above or read the full transcription below. Enjoy. ❤️ H No EscapeHi, I'm Hal. This is the “Living in a Body” Podcast. I'm feeling pretty weak, pretty out of breath. But I'm wanting to make this Episode. It’s Episode 84. I don't even know what I'm going to say, but I'm gonna call it “No Escape… So what are you gonna do with it?” Here we go… episode 84. No escape. It goes like this. Occasionally, I ask myself this intriguing question. Would I rather live with ME/CFS or be a prisoner in a prison cell with a healthy body? It's an interesting question because they're both forms of prison. There's no escape. There's no escape from this illness. If I had a healthy body in prison, I could work out. I could write a book. I could interact with many different people. I could build community. I could practice meditation, probably become a really good watercolor artist. Similar to prison. with ME/CFS, there's no escape. I could possibly do some of those things I mentioned, but I’m sick all the time. My limitations are very severe. There's no escape from this illness. There are many times like this morning when I was feeling like I was in hell. And there was no end in sight to the hell. And I just wanted an escape. Give me an escape, I'll take anything. But there is no escape. (Full disclosure, I took a half milligram of Ativan and it's not doing like it used to do because my symptoms have been worse lately, but it cut the edge a little bit and I'm not in as much hell.)Okay, that's the end of the episode. (lol) That's all I got for you. Someone turned me on to this book by Pema Chodron called “The Wisdom of No Escape.” And I read the first chapter. And it was inspiring….this idea that when we have no escape, we get to find out who we are. Using curiosity, we explore the fear, explore the grief, explore the discomfort, explore the sadness, explore the joy. And it all happens in this moment, in this body. This is what we have to work with. This is our canvas. This is where we do the exploring with exactly what we have now. We don’t run from the discomfort. We go into it and let it grow us. And that inspires me, like wow, I have the opportunity to do the hardest to do the hard work. We do hard things. That's one of the mottos in my 12 STEP program is “we do hard things.” In recovery, we learn to be adults. We learn to face life on life's terms and do hard things. And the spiritual work of finding out who I am, under very difficult circumstances is the hard work that I have to do. But I don't want to do hard things. I want an easy life. I just want to have fun like everybody else. I just want to go out for dinner and play ping pong and go contra dancing and make love and play frisbee and go to cool music festivals. But a friend reminds me that not everyone is just having fun. They've got their own problems. If we piled up everyone's troubles in a big pile, they say that most of us would choose our own troubles back. I get to be Hal Walker with all my troubles. It's not easy living in this body with no escape. And I'm just a folk singer from Ohio. Lots of times I don't feel like I'm cut out for this kind of work. Sometimes my mind gets so crowded with fear and dread and grief and despair and hopelessness and it's hard to see the light through all that. It's hard to listen for the still small voice hidden beneath all those feelings and all that clutter of negativity and all these crazy uncomfortable physical sensations. As I was approaching this podcast, I was thinking, “How can I be of service? What can I offer that might help?” I'm not sure what that is. I'm not sure what kind of help you need, but I guess I'd like to provide hope. I wish I had smarter thoughts. I wish I had wiser thoughts. I was thinking, why don't I get to be a Pema Chodron? Sometimes I'm writing in my “freewrite,” and I write hundreds and hundreds of words. And most of them are just frivolous gibberish. There's not a whole lot of wise phrases that you would cut out and post on a spiritual billboard. (lol) Why don't I get to be one of those guys. That's all my ego, I just want to… if all else fails, maybe the one thing that this illness can do for me, is make me wiser so that so that people would want to quote me on spiritual billboards. (lol) That's funny. But really the practice is to be one among many, one special shining light among many shining lights. One Bozo on the bus, just another Bozo on the bus. One among the millions missing of ME/CFS.I feel missing today. The “Who’s Your Mama” festival is happening downtown. And I was always down there. You know, I never felt particularly comfortable there. I was always…. you know, it's been hard for me to connect with people my whole life. I go into a crowd and I’m nice and I'm friendly and I say the right things. But I have a long history of just lacking that feeling of connection. So all my songs that I ever wrote are about connection, about community. I love this one song, It goes…I've been writing community with every song I promise, but the words are nothing but poetry till the work of love begins. It's the beauty I’m seeking in you and me. That'll carry me through these questions. And to move together in unity is the action that I choose. What's the point of us doing this? What's the point of us holding hands? How do we trust the truth of this? How do we make the circle dance? How are we held accountable? How do we hold the mystery? How do we join together and stay free? I'm on a small boat riding wild oceans. Oh, how can I just go and roll with the motion? Oh, we're on a wide ship, riding in open seas. It's been such a long trip, it’s taken its toll on me. That's it. That's a great song. I've been writing community with every song I promise. But the words are nothing but poetry until the work of love begins. It's time to begin the work of love. And here I am living in a big house by myself. Forgotten. I was complaining to a friend saying, “why don’t people check up on me? Why don't people visit and check up on me.” There are several people that do, but then I said, “but I don't check up on them. I don't check up on them.” Hal, you don't check up on them. In order to have friends, you have to be a friend. That's my service for today. That's my wise words. It's sort of a cliche. I'm not sure that I'm making this up in this moment. In order to have a friend, you have to be a friend. And I'm getting better at that. I'm getting better at sending cards, making phone calls and saying, “how are you doing?” A friend sent to me this prayer of Saint Francis. Let me get it. Let me grab it. (Phone Rings) Hold on I’m getting a call.That was a call from my new sponsee Peter, who has been the highlight of my week. We've been working together for about three days now. And we spent about three days getting to know each other before that, and he eventually asked if I would be his sponsor. And it has just been a wonderful three days of being of service, helping. You know, I have something to offer, which is a program of recovery. And I have lots of experience in it and he's a delightful guy and we talk every day on the phone and we talk sometimes several times a day on the phone. And when I'm helping this guy, I'm not thinking about my own problems. So it's beautiful the way the 12-step program works that way. You know, in order to keep it, we got to give it away and I'm giving it away to Peter one day at a time. And I'm so grateful. That was him just then, just wanting to share a funny little story. So anyway, I’ve got this other friend, Andrew who sent me this text. And the short version is “Let me seek to love, to comfort and to understand,” (Rather than to be loved, be comforted and be understood.) In my illness, I have been craving comfort. Like… please, someone comfort me. Where is the comfort? Please, understand how hard this is. Somebody understand how hard this is. Somebody love me. And no matter how many friends I have, no matter how many phone calls I make, no matter how many likes I get on my Substack post, no matter how many people hold my hand while I cry, it doesn't take away this illness. Every night, I’ve still got to face my mortality on my own. It certainly makes me feel like I'm not alone. But it doesn't fill up what we refer to as the “god sized hole” in me. People keep saying it's God's love that can comfort. Only God can comfort me in the way that I'm seeking to be comforted. And I don't know what they're talking about. But I'm open to it. Because where else am I gonna get comfort? Maybe I could try medical Marijuana again. It didn’t work the first time though. Generations of people and a lot of the people that I'm in contact with are having that experience of God's love in their life, the love of a higher power. It's our own understanding of a higher power. And I get glimpses. I get glimpses of what they’re talking about, that power. And it's mainly when I quiet my thinking, when I get quiet. My mind is so full of what I want. Like, I want an easier life. I want to go to the Who’s Your Mama festival. I want a life partner. I want somebody to comfort me. I want to go shopping. I want to play ping pong. I want to do all the things I used to do. But that's not what I have. This is the body that I have. This is the situation that I have. This is the life that I've been given. “There is no escape, Hal. What are you going to do with this?” We do hard things. This is a hard life but we do hard things. What's the next right action? It's easier to say right now because I'm cutting the edge a little bit with the Ativan. This morning was so hellish. Three days ago, I basically experienced a dip, a worsening of symptoms. It wasn't a crash like I had been having. I've had about five weeks free of crashes and some stability. But three days ago, it took a turn. I felt this weakness in my gut that sort of emanates to a weakness in my arms and a weakness in my legs and a weakness in my brain. And I have just felt like an emaciated muscle-less, limp rag with zero or negative energy. I keep hoping that it's gonna get better and I wake up every morning not knowing what body I'm going to wake up into. It occurs to me that some people choose a life of severe limitation in order to explore the inner life, in order to find out who they are and how the world works. I sure didn’t choose this but sometimes if I imagine that I did choose it, it helps me a little bit. There’s so much to learn here. Anyway, I hope you can glean… (I've used that word twice in three weeks.) Hope you can glean some wisdom out of all I've said. Maybe you can use some of it for yourself. But you know, here's my wisdom. Reach out to someone and check on how they're doing. That's what I'm gonna do. I'm going to make several phone calls this afternoon and say, “How are you doing? …How are you doing? No really?” Don't say “how are you!?” Don’t say, “Hey, Jimmy, how are you!?” Say, “Hey Jimmy, it’s Hal. I was just thinking about you. Yeah, I'd love to hear how you are.” I don't know anyone named Jimmy. But no, you say it however you want to say it. I'm not gonna tell you how to say it. But just reach out to someone and find out how they are. And maybe even write them a card. But better yet a phone call. And maybe they'll ask you how you are and you can share your burdens. I think that may be it for today. I'm glad I turned on the microphone. Turns out I had more to say than I thought I did. It's called “No Escape. What are we going to do with it?” I love you… and I don’t even know you. And I'm also resentful of you (lol) for not having checked in on me and not leaving a comment and not signing up for “Quiet Time with Hal” and not sharing this podcast. I'm just kidding. Sunday afternoons at 4:00 EST on Zoom. All are welcome to share 20 minutes of “Quiet Time with Hal.” Join here: Zoom Invite LinkAfter I'm done with an episode, when it goes up, I'm done. It's all God. Now God you do the work. Whoever it reaches, whoever it touches, that's enough. My job is done. Enjoy living in that body of yours today. It’s a beautiful, beautiful world we live in. Even this room I live in is a beautiful room with this “Healing is Possible” painting. There's a photo of my wild daughter at the age of six, doing this beautiful pose. I've got these watercolor supplies nearby. I've got several cool devices nearby. I'm well blessed in the devices department. Anyway, I’ve said enough. Have a good day. ByeLiving in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Welcome to “Living in a Body.” Please press the PLAY button above to listen to the recommended podcast version of this publication. Enjoy. HBTW… “Quiet Time with Hal” is ongoing…Sunday afternoons at 4:00 EST on Zoom. All are welcome to share 20 minutes of quiet. Join here: Zoom Invite LinkIn-person (Kent, Ohio)— Schedule one on oneBody SoundsIn every publication with the title “Living in a Body,” there comes a day when you got to have an episode that talks about body sounds. Well, this is that episode. As you know, I live with M.E., myalgic encephalomyelitis. In the last several months, it's become quite a bit more severe. It's a multi-systemic illness. For years, I prided myself in having a rock solid digestive system. I could eat pretty much anything and it always did fine. But that's not the case anymore. Within the last few years, with all these crashes, my digestive system has gone out of whack. And whenever I eat or drink anything, it turns into chaos in my stomach. My stomach fills with gas and chaos starts happening in the form of burps, rumbling, tumbling and boiling and squeaking — all kinds of sounds coming out of my stomach. You know, when I'm by myself, it's okay. I'm kind of getting used to it. But the other day, I was at the Quaker Meeting for Worship, which is a silent meeting. My friend Annette picked me up and I was really grateful to be out of the house and among friends. And there were about 12 or so people sitting in a circle at the Quaker meeting and the silence began. And the idea of a Quaker Meeting is that we sit in silence and we listen for the still, small voice within. And when the spirit moves, if the spirit moves you to speak, then you speak and minister to the whole congregation. So there are no ministers, every person in attendance is listening for that still, small voice and can speak it out when they're so moved. Well, for the first half of the meeting, I was in an utter, self conscious struggle, because my stomach was making so much noise. Here I am in this silent room, sitting in a wheelchair. And my stomach was just going crazy. It was awful. And I was so … I was so self-conscious of it. I was so embarrassed. I was thinking about the guy sitting next to me and the woman sitting next to me and they must be like, “Who is this guy in a wheelchair whose stomach is making so much noise?” It was making a significant amount of noise. Unless they were hard of hearing. I think everyone in the circle could hear my stomach. I was thinking at what point do I get up and leave the room and go to the bathroom. But I just kept sitting there and saying Okay, Hal? Listen for the still small, small voice of God. But I couldn't find it. Because I was so distracted by my stomach hoping that it would just stop. My eyes were closed, I was hunched over and I was just praying, God stop this. These noises. This is embarrassing. Well, then one of the other members spoke out of the silence. I was so glad that he started speaking because the attention could be taken away from the sounds that my stomach was making, to the words that he was saying. And he gave this beautiful share. I won't be able to repeat it, but the essence was he was comparing Quakers to the Shinto Buddhists of Japan. And how the Shinto Buddhists, I believe this is what he said, believe that there's that of the divine in each of us. In each of us is the light and the light is within us and the light is perfect. Each of us as perfect in our own way, as we are. And as I heard him say that I realized I was among friends. These are Quakers. These are older Quakers, they've been sitting silently for many, many years, in this Sunday morning gathering and they're not thrown easily by funny sounds coming out of some guy’s stomach. So as he was speaking, I got a new perspective. I realized I was among friends. And interestingly, right about that moment, my stomach actually settled down. And I was finally able to settle into the quiet. After the hour silence, they have a time when you can share things that might not have been appropriate to say during the meeting. And I was thinking, I'm gonna say something about my stomach and kind of apologize or explain why it was happening. But then I had this little glimmer of the Divine Light within that said, Hal, now's the time to say it, say it now. And it was very clear to me that the voice was saying, the still small voice said, Say it now, Hal. So I opened my mouth and I spoke, I'm living with an illness called M.E., myalgic encephalomyelitis. It's a multi-systemic illness. And one of the symptoms that I've been dealing with lately is a very noisy stomach. Well, I spent the first half of this meeting, battling self-consciousness about the noisiness of my stomach. And then I heard the previous ministry, I heard the previous share. And I was reminded that I'm among friends. And that I'm just perfect the way I am, noisy stomach and all. And I'm so grateful to realize that I can come here and be myself. Noisy stomach and all. I don't know if I said it exactly like that. But it came out and I felt good about it. And then I let it go. I also mentioned that interestingly, ever since the previous share, my stomach had settled down. For the rest of the meeting, my stomach was very quiet. It settled down. So that's my little story about body sounds — how embarrassing body sounds can be, like burping or farting or these noisy gurglings in my stomach, but it's a human experience. You know, these are bodies and they make noises. And why do I have so much shame and embarrassment around the fact that my body is making sounds? The truth is that each of us has that Divine Light within and we're perfect just as we are — body sounds and all. So I have one other story to tell about body sounds. And it's a totally different subject, but I think it's worth it. For the last 25 years, I've been teaching mass harmonica lessons in schools. I walk into a school and hand out harmonicas to the entire third grade or to the entire fourth grade. And within a few lessons, I give the entire grade level a foundation for a lifetime of playing the harmonica. And I developed a system that I am so proud of. It was so effective. It was a highly effective system. I could walk into a school and connect with those kids so quickly and get them playing real music on a harmonica because of this system that I developed in no time at all. So I'm going to just give you a brief explanation. I say that in all beginning harmonica playing, there are only two choices — blow and draw. The first step in learning to play the harmonica is knowing when to blow and when to draw — what it feels like and sounds like to blow and what it feels like and sounds like to draw. So before we ever picked up a harmonica, I introduced the students to hand motions, full body motions illustrating the push and the pull of the diaphragm. Push was a blow and pull was a draw. We would do this dance-like pushing and pulling where they would imitate me. “I go then you go.” “Blow draw Blow, Blow draw blow” with hand motions. It was is a beautifully kinesthetic approach to learning to play a musical instrument. After an extended period of time of mastering the hand motions without a harmonica, I would put a harmonica into their hands. Then we would continue the call and response, “I go, then you go. Play exactly what I play with hand motions at all times.” And within minutes, a whole chorus of harmonicas playing in unison would make a beautiful sound. And step by step I would add new complications. We added the harmonica going down and up and added some tonguing. The first song that we would learn was nothing but blows and draws and up and down. It was Turkey in the Straw. blow D blow, blow, blow, blow D blow D blow D blow, blow D blow, blow, blow, blow D blow, D, D, (the D stands for draw) blow D blow, blow D blow, blow D blow D blow D blow, Blow D blow D blow. And there were only two rules for mass harmonica instruction. Rule number one was “hand motions at all times.” This was the key to the success of this method. It was a full body approach to learning that harmonica. And rule number two was “no individual tooting.” You can toot whenever you want in the playground, when we're not in class, you can toot at home, you can toot on the bus. But when you're in my class, there is no individual tooting. When we toot, we only toot together, the only time that tooting is allowed is when I've asked you to toot as a class. And I will say this with a totally straight face. And the beauty of the way I taught was, I would walk into this large class. Like for instance, let's take Bucyrus Elementary School. I spent a year residency there. I was there once a week all year. And I was teaching the entire third grade to play the harmonica. The entire fourth grade was a choir that was learning my song, My State Ohio, which sings the 88 counties of Ohio in geographical order. The fifth grade was doing stick dancing, and banakula making. But the third graders were playing the harmonica. And I’d walk in there. And within 10 minutes, I’d let them know who's the boss. In a fun and funny and powerful way. I let those kids know who was in charge, and that I don't mess around. But I was constantly messing around having fun. Like I had this humor. I had this humor mixed in with authoritarianism. The teachers were amazed. In a calm and fun way, I created a very powerful technique for classroom management. I'd use this one technique in order to get the kids quiet. I’d sing “cuckoo cuckoo” in a hooting voice. And they’d respond “cuckoo cuckoo.” And after that I demanded immediate silence. Every 10 minutes or so, I'd say, Great job, it's time for a two minute break. Talk amongst yourselves. Let it out and the place would get loud. And then I'd sing “cuckoo cuckoo,” and they’d respond “cuckoo cuckoo,” and then immediate silence. And I didn't stand for anything less than perfection in the silence. And when they had harmonicas in their hands, there was no individual tooting. They learned that from the beginning. You can’t make a single sound with that harmonica, unless we're tooting as a class. So of course, I'm talking about tooting and they're all thinking about farting. But I never crack a smile and they can’t believe I’m saying this. I go around and I asked the third graders, what are the two rules and they'll say, “hand motions at all times. And no individual tooting.” I loved teaching these classes so much. I miss it so much. They called me Mr. Hal Walker. I was so good at it. I so regret that I never created the teacher manual about how to bring this into your school if I can't be there. You know, my hand motions were so big. They were full body motions. And I would do this one thing. I’d say, push, pull, push with a full body motion and then I’d get so into it that my legs would slide into the splits and I would be tottering with my legs spread, about to fall down and calling for the class to help. Somebody come help me! I'm about to fall down! Then the whole front row would rush up to save me and hold me up. And then they’d get back to their seats and we go on back to the teaching. And whenever someone did well, I'd go up to them and I'd say, what's your name? And he'd say his name. I'd say, it is a pleasure having you in my classroom. I heard you playing. And that was excellent. Thank you so much. And then I'll put my hand out to shake his hand. And then they’d usually give me a very weak handshake. And I’d take that opportunity to teach them the proper handshake, firm squeeze, small shake. Over and over again for a year, these kids were learning “firm squeeze, small shake”, and to look me right in the eye when we shake hands. We were practicing hand shaking as part of the harmonica class. Anyway, you know, it's all fun and games while I'm sitting here telling you guys this but I've gone through so much grief — letting go of the idea that I'm a harmonica player. Letting go of the idea of these mass harmonica lessons that I loved so much. But what does God have in store for me now? What's in store for me now? This is the life I've been given. This is the path I've been given. How can I be of service? How can I help others? Show me how this illness can grow me. And I've grown a lot. I have grown a lot. This illness is growing me. It's been a painful process of growth, but it is growing me. I don't get to be driving around Ohio teaching harmonica lessons. Instead, I'm going to the Quaker meeting on Sunday morning and sitting with a very nice group of older folks listening for the still, small voice of God. I left that Quaker meeting last week with this little idea, this thought of my alter-life, the alternative life that I might have lived as a minister, you know, following in my dad's footsteps. But instead, I got into the lying, cheating, stealing and the addictions and the drive and building the Hal Walker enterprise — proving to the world that I'm amazing, creating havoc. You know, I didn't always create havoc, but I created my share of havoc… and I created my share of beauty. So I'm glad to share this with you today. Thank you for listening to my story. Body Sounds. Enjoy living in that body today. It’s not going to be around forever. Believe me, I'm learning that the hard way. Anyway, I really wish you well. I'm so grateful to have this platform. I'm grateful for this way to connect with you. Tell me. What are the body sounds in your life? (lol) Leave them in the comments. Tell us your favorite body sound or your least favorite body sound. Or the most embarrassing time around a body sound or your thinking in general about body sounds. All right. All the best to you. Love you. Bye bye. ❤️ Hal Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. I’m Hal. Welcome to Living in a Body. This episode was produced with the intention of being consumed as a podcast. I hope you’ll click the PLAY button above to listen. You’ll find the full transcription below. Enjoy. HThe Money SituationI want to talk about money, but I'm scared. I keep thinking, “You can't say that, Hal. You can't tell them that.” I want to talk about my relationship with money and my sordid history with money, but then I think, “nah. Hal, why do you want to talk about that?” I'm asking myself that question and I'm not sure why. What is it that drives me to come on here and tell all my personal business? What is this obsessive need I have? Is it some sort of compulsion to confess? I'm not sure what it is. But I'm a storyteller, and I have a good story to tell. It has to do with money and my relationship to money. And my story is the only thing I know. So I'm here to tell it. What do I got to lose? You know, I'm laying here in bed 23 hours a day, contemplating my existence. So I'm here to tell you a story. I hope it can be helpful. I hope maybe, maybe it will help somebody. In the 12 Step Recovery tradition, it's all about telling our story. We tell our story so that we can help somebody else. So, I have my story. Maybe you can glean something off of it. And I hope it's useful.The whole topic got started when I purchased two new devices, two devices that have improved the quality of my life. I'm excited about both these devices. I can't wait to tell you about ‘em. And it made me think about money. It's a long story. Here we go. As young people in my family, we always had a joke. My dad would come to us with a serious look on his face and say, “Son, how's the money situation?” My dad loved to talk about the money situation. That's what I'm here to talk about today — the money situation.I think this part of the story kind of begins on May 1, 2020. I was doing well on TikTok. I had introduced the worldwide TikTok community to the melodious khaen, the grandmother of the harmonica from Southeast Asia. And I was in my living room. I needed another video. You know, I was posting every day and I was running out of ideas. It was late afternoon and the sun was shining in my west-facing antique windows with a glow on the wall. And I picked up the E minor khaen and I played a little melody. And it lasted about 40 seconds. And that performance changed my life. That actual recording of that 40 seconds led to me becoming a world famous khaen player, creating two hit singles. One of them you can find on Spotify. It's called Midnight Sun. It has 48 million listens. And the other is Banakula @ Meh. It has like 18 million listens. That means since those songs went up on Spotify, I've been getting paid every month. And as I have been laying in bed mostly bed bound, unable to work, brutally terrorized by this illness myalgic encephalomyelitis, I've made more income in the last two years than I've ever made in that period of time for my whole life. And I can't tell you what a blessing that is. The timing couldn't have been better. These songs came out then this guy, @llusion remixed one and made it the song of TikTok 2020 And then this guy @ramzoid remixed another version and it became the song of Instagram 2021 and it has had a profound impact on my life in a big way financially.The other big financial game-changer was in the fall of 2021. I had a significant downturn of health. You know I was going strong in 2020, I was having one of the best years of my life. In 2021 I started having downturns and then I had a big downturn. Around August, I had this really, really bad crash that brought me to a deeper state of illness. And I called my old friend David Ford. And the first thing out of his mouth was, “Hal, I'm coming there. I'm gonna come up there. This weekend, I'll be there.” This old friend from college, dropped everything, and drove from Winston Salem, North Carolina, all the way to Ohio to help me out. He drove up here and he stayed with me for a week. He cleaned out my basement. You know, he helped me around the house. He gave me moral support. He laid in bed with me one night while I was in the grips of a crash. And he came up with an idea to have a fundraising concert. And he pulled together a team to make it happen an they created a hugely successful GoFundMe fundraiser concert. All for me. It was amazing. It was wildly successful.So all of a sudden, I had all this money. And at the time, I had a full time caregiver that was incredibly, unbelievably expensive. We didn't know then what care costs, so we got the first guy we could find and Arnel was a wonderful caregiver and charging $2,100 a week. I had it figured out in my head. Well, at this much a week, the GoFundMe, gave me about 50 weeks of caregiving and that thought was rather sickening, because I know how fast 50 weeks goes by. But then I started feeling a little better. And we let go of Arnelle and had part time helpers that were much less expensive. And I had all this money. And I discovered the joy of interest. I put this money in interest earning accounts. You know, I sought out high interest accounts. I bought a couple I-bonds. And I found the highest earning interest over at CapitalOne Bank and put my money in the interest accounts and I started watching that money grow. And I started hoarding money. I realize that I had become a money hoarder. I don't know what my capacity to earn in the future is going to be, so I started putting that money away and loving watching that interest grow every month.Okay, let me just pause. I'm just starting to feel a little uncomfortable here. I don't know why I'm telling you all this, but it's leading to something. It's leading to something important. So stick with me. I'm just going to keep going. Let's keep going. Let's trust the process. All right, here we go.So I have this bunch of money in savings. And about four months ago, my health started. Week after week, every week I was in a deeper state of illness. I've had a traumatic four months,  it's been terrifying. You know, there's no other word for it, it's been terrifying and traumatic and devastating. And I am left bed bound, mostly bed bound. very ill with no prognosis, needing a wheelchair to get from this room to the bathroom and spending most of the day in bed feeling quite ill. I wanted so badly to hold on to my independence. But at some point it became very clear I needed a caregiver. So we reached out to someone and I've been paying him weekly. And after being this money hoarder the saver of money. It's very difficult for me to let go of that money even though it was given to me for this purpose, for the purpose of my care. It's been very difficult to let go of it. I had the idea of this money going to my daughter and my daughter's children for their college and leaving a financial legacy behind. But today I need a caregiver I have this blessing of a man. Anytime I need anything, I pick up this walkie talkie sitting by my bedside, and call his name. And he comes, he comes and helps me in whatever I need help with. He's totally managing the household. He calls it tending the compound.But this week he’s been out of town and I'm grateful that I've experienced some independence again, and I like it. So I'm not sure what the future holds with me and caregiving. But I prefer to stay in the day and today I'm grateful that I'm able to pay my kitchen manager named Leah, I'm able to pay my caregiver. I'm very grateful.Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.So this is the part where I confess to you how I used to be with money. Here we go. You know, I never had a wife or a budget to hold me back. If I had the money when I wanted something, I would buy it. When I wanted the musical instrument, it would get in my mind, and I had to have it, like that harpejji and that harp, and that African mbira, and all those other things, and there was nothing holding me back. And I would usually push the button, or hand over the card and get this thing into my life. And therefore I have a whole attic full of stuff. I have a whole house full of musical instruments that I'm unable to play today. And I'm very sad about it. I'm sad about the part that I spent so much money and collected so many instruments. And I'm sad about the part that I'm unable to use them today. So anyway, I have this history of compulsive buying where it was just like, Yep, I want that. I'm going to get it, bam, I've got it. And lately with this sponsor I have in my program, I'm really looking at this impulse of mine, and I have a new agreement with my sponsor. When I want to buy something. I first talk with him about it. And his response is “Hal, if it's a good idea today, it'll be a good idea in a week. If it's a good idea today, it'll still be a good idea in two weeks.” So we'll use the PAUSE factor. And from what I hear, God is in the PAUSE, P.A.U.S.E. is Pause Action Until Serenity Enters. So I don't want to be making a purchase that is out of the excitement of needing something or finding out about something or wanting something. I want to make my decisions from a place of quiet and peace and pause.So for a while I was researching this device called the FreeWrite. As you may know, I'm hypersensitive to screens. After spending years looking at my phone way too much, I no longer look at my phone, for even a moment, it's too risky. And I no longer use my laptop for writing. Again, I'm doing whatever I can do to avoid any further crashes. My brain cannot handle the movement or the light of a screen, it’s caused crashes over and over again, these surges of adrenaline, each one bringing me to a deeper state of illness. So I was looking at this FreeWrite. And I thought that this might be the thing that brings writing back into my life. It has an e-ink screen. And it's very lightweight, it could sit by my bedside at a pound and a half. I could pick it up throughout the day. And I could type. Because the first 75 episodes I wrote on my laptop, on my MacBook Pro. And that was suddenly off limits to me. I didn't know what I was going to do. But I brought it to my sponsor. And he said, “if it's a good idea today, it'll be a good idea in a week.” So we talked about it in a week. And then we talked about it in a couple of weeks. And my sponsor and I agreed that it made sense to give this purchase a try. And I bought it and it came a couple days later. And I love this thing. The FreeWrite Traveller. It is so satisfying. The keyboard is so fun to type on. I feel like I'm literally slapping the words down. Thankfully back in 2021, I learned to touch type. I spent a couple months going through those exercises. After years of hunting and pecking. I finally learned to type and today I'm so grateful because I pick up my FreeWrite Traveller, and I just start slapping those keys, and it feels so good. And the words appear on this really comfortable screen. This comfortable small screen, it only fits about one paragraph. You can't really do editing, like I can't be moving paragraphs around. But it's for creating drafts. And it all goes up into the cloud. And I'm writing about 3000 words a day on this thing. It sits by my bedside, it's light enough that I can just pick it up real quick and my fingers start flying, throwing words, slapping words down. It's got a very satisfying sound to it. The keyboard has a very satisfying feeling I highly recommend it. If you're looking for distraction free writing. Here, let me play a little bit over the microphone. (Sound of Typing)Okay, that was fake typing. I'm not that fast of a typer. But I am getting fast thanks to the FreeWrite.So that was a great purchase I feel really good about. It has improved the quality of my life. Those are the kinds of purchases that I want to make. With the help of my sponsor, this was an abstinent purchase. And it was the PAUSE that made the difference. The real challenge will be using the FreeWriteto write a full episode on Substack. That's coming soon, I hope.Then the next purchase I made (thanks to the fact that I have some money in the bank) was a second wheelchair. I have a wheelchair downstairs, I have a stair glide for going up the stairs. And I needed a second wheelchair on the second floor. So I ended up going with the Matrix Ultra carbon fiber wheelchair. It's lightweight, it's foldable. It goes around the little tight curves and my upstairs really nicely. When I first got it, I was like “Oh, I don't know, this one feels different than my Falcon. I don't know if I like it.” But once I got it upstairs and rode it a little bit, it's a little more upright. It's lighter weight, just a little smaller, it fits through the doors easier. And it was a great purchase. And it was the same thing with my sponsor. You know, if it's a good idea today, it'll be a good idea in a week. And we PAUSEd. We PAUSEd for a couple of weeks, and then I pushed the button and it came two days later, in a big carton already assembled.So I have these two new devices in my life that are adding to the quality of my life. I'm very grateful. Every Monday I fork over a big chunk of money to my caregiver. And that money was given to me for this purpose. So I just gotta let it go and I gotta be grateful. You know, I still can consider how much care do I need?That's basically what I wanted to say today. I went to a new doctor, Dr. Waikman in Akron, and I loved it. I liked them a lot. We had a nice conversation. I feel like he listened to me. He asked some good questions. He kept saying, “What questions do you have?” I feel like he's someone that I could build a relationship with. And I've been missing that, a local doctor that I really feel close to. And he gave me the attention that I needed and has some ideas. But I've been in pretty rough shape. I'm down to 145 pounds, I usually weigh 160. So I've lost weight. My legs look like the legs of my dad when he was dying of cancer. My arms have no muscle tone. They're just skinny little arms. I look in the mirror at 145 pounds, and I'm just very, very skinny. Maybe I'll take a picture and show you. And today my ears are ringing super loud. I am often panting with breath. I'm just in a lot of discomfort. But the good news is I have not crashed in three weeks. Three weeks from today was my last crash. I've learned my boundaries and I'm staying within them. I'm not looking at the screens. I don't even give myself the option to glance at a text. This is coming from a guy that used to look at his phone 100 times a day. I'm sure God has a plan. I am learning how to live a life without constantly checking my phone. Without constantly checking my email, without constantly checking TikTok or Instagram. It's a slower way of life. This is the slow life and from what I understand, slower is usually better.So dad, the money situation is not bad. I'm learning a lot, learning how to build some interest, learning how to let go of the money for things that are important. And I remember your phrase, I'll never forget it. “Money is s**t,” you always said. I'd give it all away for just 20% better health. Alright, dad. Thanks for asking. I love you.So I really appreciate you listening. I've gone on and on. I hope it all made some sense. What's the moral of the story? The moral of the story is…to be honest, I'm not sure what the moral of the story is. I bet it has something to do with gratitude and humility. It wasn't me that got me into this privileged position of owning two wheelchairs and a stair glide. It wasn't me that put this money in my bank earning interest. It was a force much greater than me. It was a whole community of people that showed up when I needed it. I realize there are so many people living with this illness that don't have the support that I have, the privilege that I have and the funding that I have. So I've got a lot of work to do in the humility department, and also in the gratitude department. But then on a more practical note, if you have a history of impulsive buying, like I do, I needed to get help. You know, it's helped me so much to have a sponsor, someone who cares for my best interest, guiding me and helping me make decisions around money and all kinds of life matters. Enjoy money, enjoy how you can use it for the betterment of your life and others lives. But don't hold on to it with a grip hold. (lol) This is coming from a guy who has just a few weeks of experience with this new way of life. I'm brand new to all these things I'm saying, but here I am sharing my little story with you in hopes that it might help. And remember that acronym PAUSE, Pause Action Until Serenity Enters. That's been helpful for me.Anyway, leave a comment, tell me about your relationship with money. Thanks for listening. I appreciate you. And I love you. I miss seeing you. Keep praying for me. I'll pray for you. I really do. I pray for people at night. I get down on my knees and I think about people and I say God, give them all the gifts. Sheesh, have a good time. Thanks for listening. Bye. ❤️ Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. I’m Hal. Welcome. To listen to the recommended podcast version of this publication, tap that PLAY button above. Enjoy. BTW… “Quiet Time with Hal” is ongoing…Click here for more infoSunday afternoons at 4:00 EST on Zoom. All are welcome to share 20 minutes of quiet. Join here: Zoom Invite LinkIn-person (Kent, Ohio)— Schedule one on oneWater, Color and Letting Go of Control The story begins when I got a card from my friend in San Francisco named Amir. He was just sending me a card letting me know he was thinking about me. And my first reaction was, I want to be the kind of guy that sends cards. I just appreciate it so much when people send me a card, especially with a personal letter on the inside or some sort of personal illustration. He created a little illustration of Ohio and I loved it. And I thought, “that's the kind of person I want to be.”So within minutes, I was over on Amazon, buying 100 blank cards. I got these nice brownish cardstock cards that you fold in half, and they come with an envelope. I wasn't sure what I was going to put on those cards, but I knew I wanted it to be personal and original. I was going to become a guy that sends cards.Then maybe the next day or next couple of days, my sister Caroline let me know that she had gotten into water coloring, and I thought that was cool. She showed me a few of her watercolors and I thought, “wow, KK, that's great.” I love the fact that Caroline is getting into water coloring.I've ventured downstairs the next day and got out my calligraphy set that I had purchased a couple years ago, thinking I would become a calligraphy artist and I set it all up in my bed. Within minutes I failed at calligraphy, I had a sense that calligraphy was not my thing. It was just too complicated with the ink and trying to figure out all those letters. I failed. And right after my calligraphy attempt, I had a crash. I looked down to the text and had one of these awful seizures or these crashes. It gave me a bad feeling about calligraphy. So it occurred to me that maybe water coloring… maybe I could somehow incorporate water coloring into this card-making effort. So who did I call? I called my amazing mom, my neptogenerian mom, I think neptogenerian is a word. And I asked her to bring over water coloring supplies. And within hours or at least a day, there was my mom, huffing and puffing up the stairs to bring her bed bound, chronically ill, 58-year-old son supplies for water coloring.My mom's amazing and she gave me a lesson. She gave me this beautiful lesson about taping off the edges, creating these little little rectangles of color, just throwing paint down. There are no rules, we would first draw a black line, a random black line, then throw some paint down. And right away we experienced success. And then I took off the tape. So it has really clear white edges. And then I cut these little little rectangles. Within minutes, I had them rubber cemented to these cards that I had purchased. My mom showed me the freeform way to create beauty using watercolors. And then I started sending cards out. I started collecting addresses through text, and then sending out these cards with a personal message on the inside. And it felt really good. It felt good to put the stamp on it. It felt good to write the address on it. I highly recommend it to anybody who's wondering. It was a very satisfying process. I just hang it outside the mailbox outside my house and the mailman takes it away. Well, um, so I adopted this freeform style of water coloring and I even invited a friend over and I taught her how to do this and we together we made a really beautiful set of rectangles using this. The first thing I said is there are no wrong marks. Yeah, there's no wrong way to do this.One way to do it, though, that was the lesson, you know, just throw paint down, throw water down, throw paint down. And that's what we did. And we had success. And then I bought a set. I needed more, I needed more, I only had like 10 colors, and I needed more. So I bought a set of 30. And it included something called a water brush. And I had no idea what a water brush is or what to do with a water brush. So it's a brush that you fill that you fill the handle with water. So I assumed that you just use a like a brush, and I've dipped it in the paint and started painting. But it was weird because it was hard to get the color off then once you add the color, so I was confused. And the next day I made a call to a fellow in my 12 STEP program, a guy named Rob in New York. And right away I said, Yeah, I've been water coloring. And he said, I love water coloring. He's a costume designer and a theater director. And he uses watercolors to create costume designs. Like he said he would create a dress and then color the dress in. And I was so curious, I was so used to the freeform style of water coloring, I had no idea how you could stay within the lines.So he mentioned a technique that I didn't know about, he would pre wet the paper right up to the line. And then when he would add paint, the paint would follow the water.And I was very intrigued. So the next day as I broke out my watercolors and put a few black lines down on the paper, I started playing around with this idea of while adding water. And then I had this huge epiphany, this moment of truth. The water brush is not about painting paint, it's about painting water.And my mind was blown. And I picked up this water brush and I drew a clean line of water right up next to that black line. And when I added the paint, when I added the color, the color flowed like a little river. Right along that perfect line of water.It held … the water holds the color.And I was blown away by this. And I adopted it. In that moment I adopted a new technique. So I got some real nice watercolor paper and Cameron and I went to Kinko's and we cut these three inch by four and a half inch cards. And we taped off the edges and I started making abstract designs using a black marker and then filling those designs with solid color, with bold solid color. And now I'm creating little mini painting after mini painting, using this new technique that I'm loving.For several days now I've been making these very satisfying projects using a very precise method of staying exactly within the line. Going right up to the line perfectly. You can see some samples here in the Substack but I've just been loving it. I'm loving choosing the color. I'm loving choosing the palette of colors I use for each piece. I tend toward fall colors. I love muted colors and fall colors, and almost Southwestern kind of colors. And I'm also using some bright colors, but I'm creating bold shapes, abstract shapes with bold, solid color.Which is very different from from what I had learned from my mom.In my new technique, the water brush plays an important role. You bring that water brush right up to the line and paint the stroke of water. A beautiful stroke of water perfectly right up next to the line. But every once in a while there’s a disaster. When the dam of water breaks and one color flows freely into another color, and I’m like NOOOOOO, It’s funny … and terrible. So it's been it's been really fun. Then on Sunday, three friends came over at Sunday morning. And I invited each of them to join me in water coloring. And I showed them my new technique of creating lines and then staying right within the lines. It's kind of glorified paint-by-numbers. It's like I actually am creating the design, but I'm just filling in the black lines with color. Sunday early afternoon, my friend Annette was over, and I had shown her my precise method of creating perfect shapes and perfect lines. And earlier that day, I had asked my mom to come over to give me a second lesson. Annette’s a Quaker and Annette and I do a lot of sitting quietly together. We sit in silent meeting; we'll have long periods of silence. And as we were watercoloring on Sunday afternoon, it was very quiet in here, we were both working on our own project. And then we could hear my mom come in.My mom is a force to be reckoned with, if you haven't met her. Her name's Janet Walker. And she is a force to be reckoned with a creative, artistic, amazing, energized energy bunny, going non stop cleaning the house, landscaping the yard, at the age of 92, still going strong.And we could hear her huffing and puffing up the stairs. And she walked in with a big coat on, holding this drape, holding a purse, holding a water coloring book. And she sat down, and my mom doesn't hear very well says she speaks, she has to speak kind of loudly and I need to speak loudly. And normally, when people come into my room, I ask them to whisper. But my mom gets special privileges, she doesn't have to whisper. So she sort of stormed in with a very great force of energy. And she sat down at that table where Annette and I were sitting, and she broke out the paper. And she broke out a brush. And for five minutes, I watched an experienced artist paint with abandon. She just let it go. She didn't matter if her brush that was already filled with one color touched another color. She’d just dunk it in the water, slap on a little bit more paint. And within three minutes, she created this beautiful masterpiece. She created this very simple but beautiful masterpiece. Totally different than anything I had created.She looked at my pieces and said, “Those are good, but you've really got to let go of control. You've got to let go of control, Hal. I thought you were the one that knew how to let go of control. I thought you were the free spirit.” Well, little does my mom know, I'm a highly controlled person. I don't know if you know this about me. But back in the 80s, I was a I was a bit of a hacky sack star. But my hacky sack playing was very controlled. It was very precise, very controlled. And the guys that were really good could let go of control. They could just flow. They could flow and be wild. And that's what I saw in my mom. She painted with abandon. She painted like a wild woman.Yes, she's not seeing very well either. So she didn't even care that she could see. She didn't even care what particular color she was putting the brush in. She just throw it down. And her strokes were just so fluid. And so it was all about the flow, and it happened fast. And Annette and I both were just stunned at her, watching this master at work. By the way, Annette asked my mom if she was an artist, and my mom, in some very unimpressive way, said, “Well, I spent many years substitute teaching. But as a young person, I had a job at Scott Foresman designing.” And I wanted to stop her and say. “Mom, stop. You're an artist. You're one of the finest artists. I know. I grew up with you. And I have seen your art.”We need to get a Janet Walker gallery show going. This woman is an artist. Forget that she spent many years substituting in local schools for 50 bucks a day. Forget that she worked at Scott Foresman. This woman is an artist. Mom, you're an artist. Get over it.So Annette and I were stunned. We watched as this woman stormed in, threw some art down, and then stormed away. It was like a tornado of creativity hit us.But my mom left me with that one note. She said, “Those are good, but you've got to let go of control, Hal,” and I realized that's the case. I'm gonna - I like my controlled water colors. I like them. I have a stack of them sitting by my bed. And I'll just flip through them and gaze at them , at their beauty. And I'm loving these pieces that I'm creating.And I'm loving what my mom created. And I'm loving what my friends have created. I'm a huge fan of water coloring. In fact, I'm going to start a Water Coloring with Hal session where you can sign up for free. There's Quiet Time with Hal; now we're going to have Watercoloring with Hal. Then my sister Julie showed up yesterday. And within five minutes of her showing up, I had her working on a watercolor project, because that's just the way we roll around here.And I said, “Julie, you got two choices. You can either do my style, which is very solid, you know, precise lines, solid colors, or you can do mom's style, which is loose, and lots of fluidity,” and Julie said, “Can I do my own style?” And I said, “Yes, you can.” And Julie, of course, being the genius that she is, you know, within minutes had created her own style and just made three really nice pieces that I was actually jealous of. I was like, Ooh, I can't do that.Well, I'm still drawn to the controlled shapes. I'm still drawn to the controlled lines. But I am going to try and loosen up a little bit. Oh, this is one thing. My sister was here. And I was watercoloring. And I made a sound of shock like, “Oh! Oh, no.” Like I had messed up. And Julie knows how important it is that I stay calm. And Julie said, “You have to learn to give up a little control, don't you?” She saw it in me, too.I am a controlled artist. I'm a controlled perfectionist.Maybe the stories that I'm telling, these hundred percent improv stories, are good for me because I'm not able to do that fine editing that I loved doing so much in the first 75 episodes.But here's one more aside about Julie.We've been rubber cementing the paintings to these brown cards. And I asked, “So, Julie, do you know how to use rubber cement?” And she looked at me with a funny look, like, “Hal, do I know how to do rubber cement? I'm the daughter of Janet Walker.” And that said it exactly. We grew up with rubber cement. Rubber cement was an important part of our lives. But interestingly - don't tell her this - but Julie did a poor job at rubber cementing. When you're rubber cementing, it's important that rubber touch all areas of both papers. Like you've got to have a full square of rubber on the card and a full square of rubber on the painting. The rubber cement only holds when there are two surfaces of rubber that are attached together. And Julie's corners are really sticking up from the edge. You could tell that she only put a dab of rubber cement on the actual card. Anyway, don't tell her I said that.It's okay, Julie.Obviously, I have some letting go of control to do.Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Anyway, that's my story. I'm enjoying water coloring. I love it. Come over and watercolor with me. I'd love to have you. My favorite guests, the guests I'm looking for, are guests who are willing to sit quietly and watercolor and whisper when we talk.If you're one of those people, please stop by and let's do some water coloring. And I think that's it for today. I just wanted to share that little story about how it all came together in such an interesting way. You know, serendipity, synchronicity, one thing happens, then another. And before long, I'm becoming a professional watercolor artist.That's my story. It was a little jumbled today.But thank you so much for listening to Living in a Body. Hope you're enjoying living in your body today.And I look forward to seeing what happens next. Two weeks without a crash. Keep praying for me.I'm feeling a little bit more like I know what my boundaries are, I know what my limitations are, and I'm staying within them.So stay in touch. Leave a comment. I'd love to hear from youBye bye Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. I’m Hal. I’m glad you’re here. Wishing a HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my dear sister Caroline. Please click the PLAY button above to hear the recommended PODCAST version of this episode. (15 min) Enjoy. ❤️ HBad Words and a Broken Moral CompassSomewhere along the line, my moral compass got broke. And I'm gonna let you in on a little bit of that today. But first, I want to talk about the subheading for last week's post, there was a bad word in it, and when I came up with that phrase—it's the F word, by the way, I'm not going to say it now—but when I came up with the phrase, that word fit so perfectly, it was so beautiful. I felt like it came spontaneously. And I knew when I said it, it was the right word.But then later on that day, or maybe the next day, before sending the post out, I was at one of my 12 Step meetings, and a woman was sharing. She said, “You know, back in the days when we were drinking and smoking and sexing and eating and swearing”...such and such and so and so. And it occurred to me that I am still swearing. I've let go of the drinking and the smoking and most of the other things that I used to do, but I'm still swearing and I thought, You know, maybe I should change this. Maybe I should take that word out of the subheading.What kind of words do I want to be putting out into the world?What kind of man do I want to be?And I battled it. I battled it for a little while because it felt so good to use that word. But I realized not everyone receiving the Substack wants to see that word in a subheading. So I went around to some friends and I got several different opinions. One said “You could probably remove it from the subheading, at least keep it in the body”.Several people said, “Hal, it sounds raw, it sounds like you. I think it fits.”And after doing a change away from it to shucks or darn or dang, I went back. I re-recorded it back with the original F word. And I put it out in the world. And there you have it. So just know that I gave it some thought. I'm making progress.I want to tell you a little story about the F word. I in my career became a master assembly giver. I gave assemblies that were so well-crafted, for 45 to 50 minutes I would have a whole school eating out of the palm of my hand, managing the whole school, managing the whole gymnasium with my calm presence. Over and over again, teachers were amazed at how calm I was and how I kept the attention. I kept the students engaged. I miss it so much. I loved that work. I loved walking into a gymnasium, setting up my sound system, and when those kids arrived, I had no fear. I was so relaxed, I knew exactly what was going to happen. And every time I performed an assembly I learned something and added it to the next one. So the next one was even better. And I got really good at it. I did a couple of “Hal Walker, Musical Explorer and Music That Fits in Your Pocket”. It was just magic. It was magic.Anyway, many years ago, before I got so good, I did an assembly at Stanton Middle School. This was one of my first all-school assemblies. My residency was called “The Art of Play”. I was an artist of play and I was combining the art of the game of Go with harmonica and banakula and table tennis and stick dancing. Oh, and frisbee! Yes, the assembly was a collage of my different skills in each one of these playful disciplines.And at some point, I lost the kids. Like, this was a whole gym full of eighth graders. And I lost them. They took over, and I was struggling for my life up there. At the time, I was hosting this open space night down at the Open Space gallery. Every Friday night, a big group of seventh and eighth graders would come and hang out at the Open Space and we'd play ping pong and basketball and Go and those guys from the Friday night gathering loved this song called “Don't Say the F-Word to Your Mother.” (To tell you the truth, I don't remember the actual title.) It was an old folk song that actually had kind of a funny message.I decided to break out that song. I didn't even know the song. I read it off of a lyric sheet in front of this huge gymnasium full of eighth graders. And, apparently, it was a disaster. The assembly ended and the superintendent had witnessed this. And the superintendent came right up to me and afterwards said, “Please, please don't say that. Don't sing that song in your next assembly.”I was so embarrassed. I went home and raked the leaves that night. And the whole night I was just so humiliated and embarrassed that the assembly had gone so badly and the superintendent had to come up to me and scold me.The next day I returned and I wrote a mass apology to all the teachers. I went into the office and I put an apology letter into every teacher's box. This was the beginning of my residency called “The Art of Play”. It wasn't a good start to the residency but it ended up going well and we played ping pong and played frisbee and played Go and played harmonica.But what I want to talk about briefly, before we close, is how somewhere along the line my moral compass got broken. You know, we didn't swear in the house. I grew up in a house that did not swear. In fact, I took it very seriously not to say God's name in vain. One of my sisters might say G-O-D, or Oh my G-O-D or G-O-D dammit. And I always took that very personally. I knew my dad hated that. And I think to protect my dad, I really stood up for my dad that there would be no taking God's name in vain. And every once in a while you might hear my mom or dad say the S-word but for the most part, we lived in a house that didn't do a lot of swearing.But somewhere along the line, I picked up swearing. It was probably about the same time I picked up alcohol and marijuana. It might have been the same time I picked up stealing from grocery stores, that is stealing candy from the store. It might have been the same time I picked up cheating on tests. Cheating on my French test and my physics test.It might have been the same time I got my driver's license. You know we'd be down in Birmingham, Alabama. The whole family would be gathered at my grandparents beautiful home up on Lenox road on top of Red Mountain. And when I got my driver's license, I would borrow the car and drive down into Birmingham. Drive down into the seediest neighborhood of Birmingham, 16 or 18 years old, and find the triple-X-rated movie theater parking in a little seedy parking lot behind this gross theater and hoping that nothing happened to the car so I wouldn't have to call my parents, and then coming back and being the charmed golden child of my grandmother. After a night on the town, coming back and being perfect in every way.So if this was the beginning of my life, a double life. On one side, I wouldn't swear in the house, and I stood up for my dad for no swearing. And on the other side, I discovered the joy of swearing, the joy of doing what I wanted to do to make me feel good. So it reminds me of going away to college. And I stayed in the humanities college, Chapin Hall. And this was a hall of highly intelligent people who were history majors, philosophy majors, English majors. I was just a frisbee player from Ohio and I felt quite insecure among all these intelligent people from New York City and from Long Island and from New Orleans and New Mexico and Minneapolis.And I remember meeting a woman who had never smoked and never drank, and had never smoked pot. And she didn't swear. Not only that she was the valedictorian of her class. And I just couldn't believe that that kind of person existed. Because in the last few years, I had ventured into the dark side, all those vices.Having let go of most of my vices in 12 Step recovery, I'm finding out the kind of person I want to be. You know, I wish I would have found this person a long time ago. But I want to be a man of honor. I want to be a man of his word. I want to live a life of integrity. You know, I want to live a life free of the drug and free of seeking that self-centered pleasure, a man who's willing to look at his swearing and call it into question.You know, I want to live a life of equanimity and contentment with the small things. I've been hanging out with this Quaker friend named Annette. And I'm just so drawn to the simple life of sitting quietly and listening for the light within me and looking for the light within you, and seeking God's purpose.So anyway, that all comes out of using a bad word last week in my Substack. I hope no one was offended. If you were, I'm sorry, but you got the real me. And I'm so grateful for you listening.I'm so grateful for the little community of people that is growing up here on Living in a Body. The people that share, that comment regularly, I thank you. Even the people that don't comment but are listening. Thank you so much. It's been a really meaningful venture for me. It's been such a joy, telling my story.By the way, it's been a week since I had a crash. It's been a solid week since I had one of those terrible seizures that sweeps through my body. Full disclosure, I took an Ativan this morning. You can hear it in my voice, I'm imagining. I'm upbeat and getting a little bit of relief today.I wish you the best. Enjoy this day and enjoy living in that body of yours. It’s not going to be around forever. Take advantage of it today and I'll do the same.And hopefully we'll be back next week. Bye bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. I’m Hal. To listen to the podcast version of this episode, please click PLAY above. I hope you enjoy. Big ❤️ and thanks to Natalie Mead for her help formatting the last couple posts. Quiet Time with Hal is ongoing…Click here for more infoSunday afternoons at 4:00 EST on Zoom. All are welcome to share 20 minutes of quiet. Join here: Zoom Invite LinkIn-person - sit quietly with Hal in Kent, Ohio— Schedule one on oneCrashThis is a hard story to tell. It's a story that my mom may not want to listen to. It's a real story of living in a body. Living in this body, the Hal Walker body that I've been so blessed to live in my whole life. But it's been rough lately.For the last several months, I've been having crash after crash, crash on top of crash, each crash bringing me to a deeper state of illness, and I want to talk about the actual episode of crashing. I want to give you some of the details.So this last week, I went a week without a crash. My whole life has been centered around doing whatever needs to be done to avoid further crashes. After seven days, I was feeling pretty confident. I was basically not looking at my screen unless I was on Ativan, which was maybe two times in the last week. I was very cautiously asking my caregiver Mango to read my texts for me. I was waiting for Cameron to come over to read my emails and to look through my bank accounts. And I was sitting quietly with my higher power for hours on end, in the dark much of the time, sometimes with the window open.And on this particular day, which was the day before yesterday (it was a Monday), I was laying here very ill looking across at the chair and saying, “God, it's just you and me today.” All day feeling incredibly fragile, like wondering what bite of food or what glance at my phone will make me crash. I was content with my new normal. I was like “Okay, I can handle this. It's not easy. It's a lot harder than it was two weeks ago, but now that I have mastered this avoidance of crashing, I can handle it at this level.”And then at about five o'clock, Mango came up and opened the curtains because it was a beautiful day. And light came in the window. I had noticed that Hallie had sent me a text earlier of her most recent TikTok video. In case you don't know Hallie has been really killing it on TikTok lately, she is doing these original monologues that are just awesome. If TikTok hasn't been banned by the time you get this go check it out.  (@ hallielooyaa on TikTok) She's really killing it. I love seeing my daughter using her creativity in this way. Anyway, I had asked her to send me her videos because I'm not watching TikTok these days and at about 5:00, I said, “you know, I'll just listen to her TikTok. I'll listen to it with headphones, but I won't watch.” I glanced over at my phone. I pushed the play button. It's a one minute long video. 30 seconds later, I was in a crash.Un-be-f*****g-lievable.It starts off…it's hard to describe, but it's almost like an epileptic episode or a seizure. It comes on suddenly. It lasts for no more than a minute, lately they've been 30 seconds, but the consequences are devastating.It starts with a boiling, a bubble in my stomach, like my stomach moves in a weird way. I’ve been having a lot of issues eating. My gut lately has just been a place of turmoil and chaos and bubbling. So it starts with a bubble in the stomach and then I think, “oh s**t.” And then my brain fills with fear. And then I don't know the order of things, but then my heart starts to race and pump. And then what I'm picturing is a dump of adrenaline. Like my body is dumping adrenaline. And all that is followed by several very big burps letting all the air out of my stomach. That's why I have this feeling that these crashes are somehow associated with my digestion, my eating. It always starts with the boiling in the stomach, the bubble in the stomach, then big burps.My immediate thought on Monday after having this was hopelessness, like, Oh, s**t, f**k. Another one. I didn't have it beaten. I shouldn't have looked at that video. Why'd I look at that video?! That was so stupid.And it's over in 30 seconds. I mean, 30 seconds later, my heart has stopped racing, and I'm left with the aftermath. The immediate aftermath is I feel better. You know, 20 minutes ago, I was lying sick in bed, and now my body is full of adrenaline, and I'm suddenly hungry. I suddenly can walk to the bathroom, no problem. Suddenly I feel a little bit better.And then, little by little—this was four o'clock or five o'clock—little by little for the rest of the evening, that adrenaline started running off. And I could feel the drop. I could just feel the dropping. But then here's the pattern. This is a pattern by the way. It's happened over and over again 30, maybe 40 times over the last few months. Definitely more than once a week. I'm having this experience…each time it happens at a different moment. I remember early on, I was trying my hand at some calligraphy. I went downstairs, got the calligraphy pen out, brought it upstairs, did a little calligraphy, and glanced down at my phone at a text from my mom and—bam! Crash.The other time my mom and I were making some watercolors together. I was staying really calm and I was having the thought as I was intently using the scissors to cut a piece of paper: “I’m actually enjoying myself. I can handle this. I can handle this level of illness.” Bam. Crash. 30 seconds later my whole life has changed. They come out of the blue. No warning. Or there's a momentary warning and I try to stop it. Several times I think I may have successfully stopped them…. I gotta simmer down for a sec. I'm getting all excited.So on Monday, the crash happened. I was immediately filled with despair and hopelessness. I thought I had beaten it. And then the next day the next day the pattern is I have a hellish day of being wired, coming down off the adrenaline. It’s a terrible wired feeling where I cannot get comfortable in my body, shaking in the bed, crawling in the bed, trying to get my legs comfortable. And also I’m immune from the screen sensitivity right after the crash. I'm suddenly immune from screen sensitivity because of the adrenaline. It's like I'm instantly in a whole different body.So I spent the day looking a little bit at the screen. I was cautious. But it was a hellish day. I had a visitor—I had my friend Annette over and we talked for a while. I've got little distractions here and there. But it was a hard day. Like one of the hardest days of my life. I keep having the hardest day of my life!I have this journal where I write about my food and at the end, I write a few words about the day. Over and over again, over the course of the last few months, I write, “the hardest day of my life.” And again, “the hardest day of my life…harder than the last hardest day.”Then guess what? I put out a Substack on Tuesday morning. The one about the song “Does Sound Have a Shadow.” And throughout the day, I was noticing comments coming in. I read a few comments, and I was feeling safe. I felt safe reading the comments because what my brain was telling me was I had the crash, I'm on the adrenaline, so I'm safe to read a few comments. Well, then at about four o'clock, I did a meditation. I did 20 minutes of meditation. Coming out of the meditation, I glanced at my phone and saw that there were a couple of comments. And I went to read one of the comments.Halfway through the comment, crash. 30 second crash. It was a whimper of a crash. It's like my body doesn't have the crashes it used to anymore. They used to be much bigger, like they would last longer and they were more intense. But this was just a whimper, like my body just has a little bit of adrenaline to throw out. It barely lasted 30 seconds, but it was that same experience.So this was two crashes in two days, and I haven't quite figured out the pattern. But normally, if there's a crash, the next day is the wired day. The following day is the new normal. And historically, that's been a very scary day. Waking up in the morning with a new level of weakness, lately it’s been a weakness in my arms where I can barely pick up a mug, or I barely have the strength to scratch my leg. So I never know what to expect on the third day, but oh God, it's getting rough.Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.I so wish some doctor out there would take an interest in me and say, “Dude, this is fascinating. Let's hook you up to some cables and figure out what's going on.” Instead, I'm left to figure it out on my own. I can go explain all this to my primary. She won't know what the heck I'm talking about. I can go explain it to my functional medicine doctor, she won't know what the heck I'm talking about. I can go explain it to my Chinese traditional medicine guy. He won't know what I'm talking about. It's a mystery.Myalgic encephalo-f****n-myelitis. Also known as chronic fatigue syndrome. I've got a nasty version of it, and it's shown its nasty head over the last few months, and I'm scared. I'm scared because I don't know how to stop it. For right now, I'm going to be more disciplined about looking at my phone. The phone is off limits.Anyway, that's the story of the crash. I know I sound all upbeat and enthusiastic about it, but it's devastating. Over and over again. I mean, three months ago I was in a whole different place, and each one of these crashes has brought me down to a new level of illness.You don't hear this particular story in the chronic fatigue syndrome world. Of course, I don't really know. I don't do the research. I have a few friends but I think this is a very specific pattern that's happening over and over again. I'd love to find other people who have found out how to stop it.Alright, I think that's all for now. I'm grateful to have this life. I'm grateful to have a life. You know, there are a lot of people that would love to have a life right now. I'm sure my friend Reverend Steven Protzman would love to have a life right now, even if it were a challenging life. Of course, he's in peace now. I haven't been having a whole lot of peace lately. I'm feeling some peace right now because I'm on a half milligram of Ativan and I'm able to create. I'm a creative. I love creating! I love making things and telling my story. You know that about me.Thank you God for this life.Thank you for Mango, who is saving my life.Thank you for my dear mom, who is just so heartbroken about my whole situation.Thank you for my sisters and my friends that stop by,and for all the tools I have to survive this.I mean, I gotta say I'm getting an A+ in the hard class, thanks to my higher power. I couldn't do it on my own, on my own I'd be heading towards suicide. But I got a lot of support, a lot of people cheering me on and a lot of people praying for me.So I hope you're well. Leave a comment, I'd love to connect with you. I won't read it though, not until Cameron comes over to read it for me.Alright. Bye. ❤️ Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. I’m Hal. To listen to the podcast version of this episode, press the PLAY button above. Thanks for being here.Quiet Time with Hal is ongoing…Click here for more infoSunday afternoons at 4:00 EST on Zoom. All are welcome to share 20 minutes of quiet. Join here: Zoom Invite LinkIn-person (Kent, Ohio)— Schedule one on oneBirthday BanterHey, it’s Hal. This is the Living in a Body Podcast. Today is Episode 78 and it’s called…it doesn’t have a name yet because I’m just winging it.I don't have a whole lot to say, so this should be interesting. It was my birthday the other day. My friend Pat from Kansas City sent me some beautiful flowers in a cute little tin wheelbarrow. It's been sitting on my bed table this week. And then my friends Julie and Brian brought me some nice day lilies. I think that's what they are. Makes a big difference in my room. And the window has been open for several days for the first time in months. I've been enjoying the breeze.So I'm living an unbelievable life and I want to try to describe it to you. I have basically cut out all activity unless I'm on a half milligram of Ativan. I do all my activity for about four hours while the Ativan is kicked in, which is right now. But when I'm not on Ativan, which is most of the time, I'm lying quietly in my bed in silence, meditating and staring off into the distance. Contemplating reality and saying my transcendental meditation mantra and praying and doing everything I can to calm my nervous system to avoid any further crashes. I haven't told you the story, but for several months I've been having crash after crash and each has brought me to a lower, deeper state of illness.Today, I'm pretty much fully bed bound. I use the wheelchair to go to the restroom. And I have a full-time caregiver–Mango–who provides all my needs. He showed up just at the right moment. I was really hanging on to my independence. And I finally told my sister Julie, I said, “Julie, get Mango here,” and she bought him a ticket from Kenya. And he showed up right at the right moment when I needed him. I am fully in need of a full time caregiver. He brings me my food, he pours the water, he heats up my broth. Sometimes he'll hold my pee jug, and he prays over me three times a day. He opens and closes the shade. And I am left lying here in silence. Doing nothing. I'm not looking at screens. I'm not opening my phone. Even Mango reads my text messages, because my brain is so sensitive. I cannot read a text message.I've had some bad experiences with reading text messages where I will go into one of these crazy crashes that lasts about a minute but has devastating consequences. I don't want to even talk about it because it makes me…I'm not going to tell you the experience of the crash right now because it makes me feel like I'm gonna have one. But amazingly, when I have the Ativan, the fear of the crash goes away and I'm able to do a few little things like check my email, or record this podcast. Oh man, it's been brutal. The reality is there's a good chance that I will be needing a caregiver for who knows how long, if not for the remainder. And we don't know what's going to happen with this illness, but the way it's been going, it is not going in the right direction.I’ve had a few visitors. You know, I started this thing called quiet time with Hal and I've had several people sign up and it's been really nice. I was mildly disappointed in the sign up. You know, people have busy lives, they don't understand the importance of Hal Walker and his quiet time! It does not seem to be on their first priority list. But it's cool. I’ve got some new friends too. I have this new friend Annette who I met at the Camp Friends meeting. And she is just so cool. She comes and sits by my side, and we whisper things back and forth. Spiritual things.One of the things that's getting me through is my Twenty Four Hours a Day book. This is the AA literature published by Hazelden. Throughout the day, I will open the book to the meditation for the day, and I'll read the meditation for the day and it will guide my thinking. And over and over again, it's spot on. I love it. Like today is all about training, spiritual training. I must prepare myself by doing each day what I can do to develop spiritually and to help others. God tests me. Yes, He does, and trains me. If I'm not properly trained, I cannot meet the test when it comes. So I'm in training now. That really is a helpful way for me to think about my life. I can't do a whole lot, but I can do spiritual training. I must not expect to have what I'm not prepared for. This preparation consists of quiet communion with God every day and gradually gaining the strength I need. So that's what I'm busy doing here: quietly communing with a higher power, quietly communing with the part of myself that knows what the next right action is. Quietly communing with that hidden mystery that is living with me in this room. The hidden mystery, the love, the powerful love that abides in me.Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Anyway, so I sit here with my ears ringing, feeling very ill, very afraid. And I just practice quiet. I practice calm all day long. So I think this will be a short one. I'll say that I had a nice little party. Three friends came over on my birthday and we sat around in the circle. I love that kind of thing! Man, that's what I want. I want people to come over and sit around in a circle. And let's share. Let's do little ceremonies and rituals and stuff. This alone life is brutal. People were not meant to live alone like this. I mean, I live with Mango, and he's wonderful company, but I loved it. The other night, three friends came over and we sat down and we took turns going around the circle giving our hopes for the next year. And I just love that kind of interacting. We were sitting on the floor with candles lit, and there was a flower in the center. That's what I'm all about. It's much harder to create ceremony and ritual when you're all by yourself in a bed in a room. So if you want to come over and have a little sharing time, just let me know. I'm gonna create Quiet Time with Hal and then we're going to do…I don't have a name for it yet, but we’ll have Sharing with Hal.The trouble is, unless I’m on Ativan I have to be whispering, and very cautiously whispering. I do not have any strength in my voice. And by the way, everyone who visits has to whisper too because I'm so sensitive. Sometimes I'm even scared of a passionate whisper. Someone came over today, and they were passionately whispering. And I was like, “Whoa, hold back. Be careful. Be careful.” This is wild. Chronic fatigue syndrome, myalgic-ensephalo-f****n'-myelitis is a nasty illness and you don't want to get it. I had no idea what I was getting myself into when it came into my life in 1991. There's no help for it. The doctors are clueless. It's like we gotta make it up ourselves?! We got to make it up ourselves how we're going to treat ourselves. There are no doctors. I'm going to this ME/CFS support group on Saturday nights, and everyone's in the same boat. We're making it up. We're making up our own treatment from the nastiest illness on the planet. It's like a bunch of cancer patients getting together and thinking, What are we going to do now? Let's figure this one out on our own. Unbelievable.Alright, I better simmer down, I'm getting all heated. But I appreciate you listening. I've been writing letters. I've written a few letters, though I can't write when I'm not on Ativan. This is not an advertisement for Ativan, by the way. Use it cautiously. I am not promoting it. I use it very, very conservatively. Just to have a little bit of a life. But when I'm not on Ativan, I'm not strong enough to write. And then a half milligram of Ativan somehow takes the edge off my brain and maybe gives me just enough strength to write a little letter. So today during this Ativan session, I've written a letter, responded to some emails, responded to some texts. Now I'll go two days without looking at my texts, without looking at my emails,I've got a helper Cameron Mack–a shout out to Cameron who is helping me out so much. He's helping me keep my budget, he’s helping me keep my accounts straight. That guy is great. Cameron Mack, if you ever need a recommendation for a job, or to be, I think…I just think you're a good man. Though you do have some things you need work on, haha. We'll talk about those another time. Anyway Cameron, keep up the good work. I really appreciate all the help you're given me.Alright everybody, that's it. Believe me, most of the time, I am not this animated. I am lying in bed silently whispering in fear, cautiously. Oh, and eating has been a huge issue. I'm struggling with eating. My stomach is like a nasty sort of soup of turmoil. Every time I eat it just turns into this thunderous turmoil. It's very scary. But I'm still here, man. I'm still here and we're still living in a body.I love you. Thank you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for caring, for listening. Okay, I don't know when the next one of these is going to happen, but hopefully this isn't the last. Bye. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Living with severe ME/CFS, the thing that I get to practice more than ever these days is sitting quietly and doing nothing. Currently, I'm in search of people who would like to spend 20-30 minutes of "Quiet Time" with me. This is your opportunity to slow down, breathe, listen, ponder, reflect and experience the calming effects of quiet. Please sign up to sit with me in silence. No Sign Up Necessary for Zoom (worldwide)All are welcome. Sundays at 4 - 4:30 pm EST. Arrive on time. STARTS TOMORROW Sunday, Feb 25Join Zoom Meetinghttps://us02web.zoom.us/j/87644318240Meeting ID: 876 4431 8240Sign Ups Available for In-Person (Kent, Ohio) Local to Kent only. Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays at 4:00 pm. Find the complete instructions in the sign up link here. (https://calendly.com/halwalker/quiettime)Quiet Time with HalHi. I'm Hal. This is the Living in a Body podcast. I'm glad you're here. Thank you. Today's episode is completely improvised. For the first time ever, I'm just going for it.So, here we go. It's episode 77. It's called Quiet Time with Hal... and it goes something like this.This post is made possible by a half milligram of Ativan. I don't think I could do it without it. Ativan is a benzodiazepine, also known as Lorazepam. And I use it very conservatively, half milligram a week. I don't want to become addicted to it. And I don't want to build up tolerance to it. So I use it very conservatively.It calms my nerves. It calms my fear of having a crash.Yeah, fear is such a big part of this illness. I'm living in constant fear of it getting worse. Throughout the week, one of my mottos is "God, be my Ativan." God, calm me to the core. Slow me down. Calm me on a cellular level.I find Ativan to be more fast acting though. And more... reliable... more reliable than God. But I'm working on it. "God, be my Ativan."Today's episode is basically an advertisement for you to join me in my latest endeavor. It’s called “Quiet Time with Hal.” I hope by the end of listening to this, you are convinced to sign up."Quiet Time with Hal" is basically an opportunity for you and I to sit quietly together and experience all the healing benefits of quiet.I came up with "Quiet Time with Hal" a couple of weeks ago. A couple of Quakers reached out to me and asked if they could come over and sit and have silent meeting for worship in my room with me. And I said, “yes, of course.”And they showed up. Margi had flowers with her and brightened up my room. And we sat quietly for an extended period of time.No one spoke. With the Quakers you can speak out of the silence, but no one spoke. We just listened. And it was so beautiful. I realized this is what I want every day.I want people to come over to my house at four o'clock with no obligation for conversation and just sit quietly.So I came up with this idea of "Quiet Time with Hal." And then I went over to calendarly.com and made a sign up calendar for people to come and sit quietly with me in my home. And then I posted on Facebook and I was expecting... To be honest, I had high expectations. I was expecting people to come running. Like, I was thinking I should put seven days a week for sign up because there's going to be so many people.It turns out that "Quiet Time with Hal" is not as attractive as I thought it was gonna be.It was crickets.Actually, within 10 minutes, Cameron signed up. (Thank you Cameron.) But I called Cameron and I said, "Cameron, leave your spot open for someone else. You and I can meditate whenever we want."But I was kind of a little bit disappointed at the the extent of the crickets. I know people don't go to Facebook looking to sign up for something. You know, they “like” it and move on. In a way, "Quiet Time with Hal" is the opposite of scrolling on Facebook.So.. what I'm offering is the eternal, the age old, the forever, real benefits of quiet... shared quiet.The first time I ever discovered shared quiet was at Farm and Wilderness camps in Plymouth Vermont. I graduated from college, went out to Mount Hood National Forest and worked as a trail maintenance and backcountry patrol person for the summer. Then I met this woman Ami, she was working there too. And we went on a six week bike tour around California. No credit card, no cell phone.And then she went back to Germany where she was from and I connected with JP. He said, "Hal, in the spring, let's go to my uncle's mountain top cabin in Idaho. Elk River, Idaho.”So JP and I drove out to Idaho, lived in this cabin with no electricity for a couple of months. We used a refrigerator with snow in it to refrigerate our food.And then somewhere along the line, I got a summer job at Farm and Wilderness. It's these Quaker camps in Plymouth, Vermont. And I came home from Idaho and that early summer, I rode my bike with my friend Chris. We rode our bikes to Farm and Wilderness from Ohio.Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Anyway, the point of the story is that at Farm and Wilderness, it was Tamarack Farm, a co-ed high school camp on an organic farm. There was something called fifth freedom. You had the freedom to go naked in the gardens and in and around the lake. This was an old camp. When I was there, it was the 50th anniversary. And that was 1989. It was a really well established Quaker camp in Vermont.And every morning, the whole camp would come together and sit in silence in a big circle in the woods. And I just fell in love. I fell in love with shared quiet. I fell in love with shared speaking out of the silence. I knew I had come home.I thought I was going to spend my life at Farm and Wilderness but I got distracted and did other things instead. But I loved that place. In the mornings, we would have work projects. All the campers would go into work projects and in the afternoon was all creativity workshops. I actually taught a class in Navajo weaving. I learned Navajo weaving when I was working for a summer at ghost ranch in Abiquiu, New Mexico.Anyway, we would sit in the woods and everyone just sit quietly and when the spirit moves, you could speak out of the silence. Well, I came back home and eventually ended up back in Kent. In 1995, I got a job with the Unitarians. So my Quaker days went on hold for 25 years.But just this last summer. I was looking for something to do on Sunday mornings. I wanted to get free of all my baggage at the UU church. So I started attending the Quaker service and it's very small. You know, they're not packing it in over at the Quakers, or the Friends Meeting. They are not packing it in... even though they should be because it's one of the most peaceful places you'll find in Kent on Sunday morning.And I went over there and I sat there. And all my years of arranging the music, running the show, running the orchestra, running the bell choir, running the choir... all that was put to rest. And I just sat there in my wheelchair, and I sat quietly with the friends, the Quakers.And I felt like I was home, I felt like I could find God there.And then, you know, after just a few couple of months of that, I started having these downturns, having these crashes and I got to where I wasn't well enough to go on Sunday morning.And I reached out to the Kent Friends (Quakers) to let them know what was going on. And they reached back and offered to come sit with me in silence. So that's what happened last week, or a couple weeks ago.And I decided I want that every day. I want people coming over to my house and sitting quietly with me. But then I went to Facebook and realized people were not as excited as I was.You know, I admit, in my previous life, I wouldn't have had time to go sit with some guy. Some guy in his house for 20 minutes or a half hour. I was too busy. I was too driven. I was too driven. I was always too busy.Now I'm not busy. I'm living with severe ME/CFS, mostly bed bound, in a lot of physical discomfort, a lot of fear, a lot of grief. But little by little, I'm adjusting to this way of life. And the way I'm doing that is by getting quiet.I've put down Tik Tok, put down Instagram, essentially put down Facebook and put down YouTube. When people come over, we sit and we whisper or we pass a notepad back and forth to write. I'm very fragile.So, quiet time is the best thing for me to spend time with people. I have to be careful even of passionate talking. It's amazing. This illness is brutal.But I'm adjusting. My sister keeps saying, "Hal, you're getting an A+ in the hard class." And I gotta say, I am.Thanks to my 12 STEP program. It’s saving my life. Thanks to several different things. Like Mango. Mango is here full time right now caring for me. So anyway, I hope you'll sign up for a "Quiet Time with Hal." If you're local, sign up in person. You get to choose between 20 or 30 minutes.All the instructions are there at the calendarly.com link right here. And if you're not local, join me on Zoom. I don't know how this one's gonna go. Four o'clock Eastern time on Sundays. We gather at four, we say hello, we bow to each other. We greet each other. We welcome each other to the silence.And then we go on mute and we'll sit silently together for 20 minutes. Zoom is going to be just 20 minutes. I know you're busy. Anyway, seriously, please consider this. Consider joining me.It's going to be either in person Tuesdays Thursdays or Saturdays at four o'clock Eastern time in-person in my home. All the instructions are in the calendarly.com link. — or on Zoom on Sundays at four 4pm. Eastern time.I think that may be all I have for you. But let's talk about what the benefits are.First of all, you get to help a guy with chronic illness. And I get to help you. I feel like it's the one thing I have to offer you... is silence. We get to explore connecting through quiet.And we’ll get to exchange a few words, a smile, some eye contact. But then we sit quietly and we just listen. And we get to soak in it. I have a very quiet room. It’s a quiet neighborhood.Usually, right now there's a beautiful sun shining through the window. You don't have to bring anything. Don't bring flowers. And then we'll just sit silently together.Have I sold you on it yet?Reduce your cholesterol! I mean, I don't know if it'll actually will reduce your cholesterol but reduce your blood pressure. Slow your brain down. Our brains are too sped up. Mine is anyway.I need every chance I can get to slow down. All right, this is my offer. I'm gonna let go of all expectations and trust that you will do the right thing.Thank you so much. This was fun. Thanks to my sponsor, Ativan and my other sponsor, Jim.Ah man.. what a life.I miss you guys. That's the main thing. I miss human beings. I miss being out in the world. I miss the people that you see at the store, the Kent Natural Foods. I missed just the daily life of human contact. So that's what you'll be giving me.All right.And what I'll be giving you is just my quiet presence.Thank you so much.Enjoy living in that body of yours today. Believe me, it's not going to be around forever. I miss you. I love you. Sending you my very best wishes. See you next time. ❤️Hal Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. I’m Hal. Welcome to Living in a Body. This is a very special episode today. Natalie Mead fromOops, My Brainand I have exchanged a few letters (via email) and we’re publishing them today. Press PLAY above to listen to the podcast version of this episode. And click below to check out Natalie’s Substack. Enjoy. Nat and Hal Hi Natalie. My name's Hal Walker. I read your recent note seeking collaborators on the topics of chronic illness and humor. Well, it just so happens that I’m living with severe ME/CFS and I used to be funny, so I’d love to connect. How ‘bout we write letters back and forth to get to know each other better? I’ll start. It’s true. In my previous life, I was really funny. I could make the whole room break out laughing. In fact, my senior year in high school, I was voted "Best Personality." The weird thing about that is that in social settings, I was always afraid of people. I felt like I didn't know enough about "current events" to carry on a conversation. I was so scared of my own silence. I still sometimes struggle with not knowing what to say, but I've discovered that I don't need to know anything about "current events" to connect with somebody. I just need to be myself. These days, I practice being vulnerable and honest. These days, I practice telling the truth. I hope that in our collaboration, we both feel free to tell the truth. I hope we can just relax and be ourselves through our writing. I'd really like that. I love laughing. In my previous life, I laughed a lot. I had a really heartfelt baritone laugh that would sometimes make me fall over. But I don't laugh much these days. It actually hurts my lungs too much to laugh. Due to this nasty illness, the"previous life" that I’ve been referring to seems like a distant memory. You're meeting me in the middle of the most challenging time of my life. In fact, today was one of the most challenging days of my life. I'm very sick and I'm very scared. On a regular basis, I question how I’m gonna survive this illness. It's a brutal one and it just keeps getting more brutal. From what I hear, of all the illnesses, ME/CFS is one of the rougher ones. So I cry a lot. In fact, I'm crying right now as I write this. Well, I'm sorry there wasn't much humor in this first letter, Natalie. Maybe the funny will come out later. I'm really glad to meet you and I look forward to getting to know you better. Sincerely, Hal Hi Hal,First off, I'm sorry to hear you're having a tough day. I don't know you, but I do know that chronic illness is mostly terrifying and only a little bit funny, and I think your condition is objectively more terrifying than mine. So let me start by saying: Keep holding on! There will be days that are better than this one, days where you will smile or marvel or gently chuckle.I actually don't think of myself as a funny person. I was the awkward nerd who was obsessed with marching band, not any sort of class clown. But when I was first hospitalized with chronic migraine disorder, at the age of 27, I found myself plunged headfirst into the chaos of both a sudden-onset disability and the American medical establishment. I saw only two ways to cope: cry about it, or find the humor in it. Five years later, I still do plenty of both.I look forward to getting to know you more, especially because you've dispelled the need for me to feign knowledge of current events. I have enough stress in my life, so I make a point of not reading the news. I think I know who Donald Trump is, and I heard that he was considering running for president a few years ago? I wonder how that turned out??When you feel well enough to write more, I'm curious to know more about ME/CFS and your life as a disabled person. Though we're both disabled, there's a broader spectrum of disability than most people realize. What is ME/CFS, in your own words, and how does it affect your life? What metaphors, if any, do you use when describing it to others? If you were to personify it, what would that person look like, do, and say?Hang in there, and talk soon :)Natalie! I so appreciate your letter. I laughed out loud twice. You are funny. You're funny in a smart kind of way. I'm funny in a more crude kind of way... like, "did he really just say that?!" I'll try to restrain myself, but I gotta warn you that I use bad words when it comes to talking about my illness. Many times, the readers of my Substack have heard me refer to myalgic-ensephalo-f****n'-myelitis, also known as chronic-f**k you-fatigue syndrome. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, I'll let you know that I was the son of a Presbyterian minister who rarely cursed and never told a lie. I, on the other hand, began lying, cheating and stealing at a very young age. As the only boy with three sisters, I was the prince of the family, perfect in every way. I spent much of my life trying to please everyone while veiling a secret life that I showed no one. Where I lacked in moral aptitude, I made up for in raw talent. I got hit by the sudden onset of ME/CFS in 1991. On Friday, I was a long distance runner and an avid cyclist. Then on Saturday, I couldn't run across the street without needing to lie down. For the first 30 years, it was mild. In the last 3 years, I've learned that ME/CFS is the meanest, nastiest teacher in the school and I'm in the hardest class. She never tells us the rules and she penalizes us whenever we break them. My lying, cheating and stealing days are behind me, but ME/CFS has me over her knee and she's punishing me with no mercy. I'm already enjoying the conversation, Natalie. You seem cool. Tell me more. H.Hullo Hal,You took my metaphor right out of my mouth! My chronic migraine disorder also feels like a persnickety school teacher. I've learned some of the class rules, but I’ve also learned that following the rules doesn't guarantee anything.My experience with chronic migraine disorder is somewhat unique, or at least more rare, because mine was sudden-onset, much like your ME/CFS. Most people with chronic migraines start out with occasional migraine episodes that grow more frequent over time, but that wasn't my experience. My very first migraine lasted for 10 months, landed me in the hospital for 3 weeks, and disabled me from my job (I worked for Facebook at the time). Fast forward a few years and, voila! I'm chatting with you about chronic illness. But that's not such a bad outcome, now is it? I'm wondering, does ME/CFS involve chronic pain? I don't know much about its symptoms, or even if everyone gets the same symptoms.Also, wow...I wasn't even alive for most of 1991! :) That's a long time to deal with such a strict school teacher. On my worst days, I fear having multiple migraines a week for the rest of my life, and spending basically my entire adulthood in pain. I can't imagine making it 30+ years with chronic illness. How did you come to accept your lot in life? Do you feel like you've made peace with your condition, or are there still days when you rage against it?Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Good morning Natalie,For the first 30 years, my illness was the ineffective substitute teacher who occasionally tried to exert her dominance over the class. For the most part though, I could get away with anything. I constantly pushed the boundaries of the illness and the consequences were never all that dire. Certainly, I spent mornings in bed and even days in bed, but usually, with another good 10 minutes flat on the floor, I could recover enough to go on doing what I wanted to do. I lived a very full life with mild to moderate symptoms. Lying on my back with my arms and legs flush to the floor became a familiar posture for me. I remember many times lying in this position in the green rooms of concert venues. But when it was time for the show, I'd stand up in front of that microphone and the magic would happen. With seemingly no effort at all, I became radiant with big musical energy. No one could ever have guessed that minutes before, I was plastered to the ground . Thanks to a healthy dose of talent, a big passion to perform and an adequate storage of adrenaline, I was the most energized guy you'd ever meet living with ME/CFS. These days, it's a whole different story though. I'm almost fully bed bound. My main symptom is a ceaseless and crushing void of energy throughout my whole body. To be honest, I'm hesitant to start talking too much about the reality of ME/CFS. There's so much darkness and hopelessness in the subject. Phrases like "the bottomless pit of suffering," "suicide is the number one killer" and "the lowest quality of life of all the major illnesses -- including end stage cancer" haunt me and terrify me. In the last three years and especially in the last three months, I've gotten first hand experience with these concepts and I'm scared for my life. Today, my gut feels like a twisted cluster of chaos. My arms and legs are achingly weak and my feet are cold. The ringing in my ears is constant and loud. My breathing is weak and irregular. My heartbeat races with almost no exertion. I'm having more and more difficulty speaking, eating, walking and typing. In the last three months, I've experienced "crashes" on a more than weekly basis and each one has brought me to a deeper state of illness. I live much of my life in fear of the next crash.But I'm not in pain and I've never had a migraine, much less a migraine that lasted for 10 months. I honor you, Natalie, for your story and your survival. It has occurred to me recently that I can be of service in the world just by staying alive. It's not the kind of grand vision that I've had for myself in the past, but this illness is changing me in so many ways. For one, it's teaching me to see myself as one among many, another child of God muddling through this human experience. Thanks to this illness, I'm connecting with you now. I'm grateful for that and I look forward to hearing more of your story. Hey, let’s keep writing these letters. I’ve really enjoyed it. But as we’re coming to the end of this first exchange , I'm curious… Where do you find hope? HalHiya Hal,Thanks for sharing some with me about ME/CFS. I know very little about it, so I am thankful to know a little bit more now, but I understand why it's a difficult topic for you.Though I can often fool people into thinking I'm a normal/healthy person, as my migraines continue, I find it increasingly exhausting to do so. At this point, I've had multiple seasons of pain so severe that I want to kill myself. That sort of darkness leaves scars of shame and fear, and those scars often prevent me from connecting with people who I love and who love me, which leads to more shame and fear. It's such a vicious cycle. But I agree, I think people like us have a lot to give to the world simply by surviving and sharing our stories. That doesn't make it all worth it, but it does give us some small amount of purpose in our suffering.It's funny you ask me about hope, because hope is something I rarely have in my day-to-day life. I'm a pragmatic person, and my disease has taught me to be rather pessimistic. But when I think about my main sources of hope, two things come to mind.One is the hope of remission. Though Migraine is an incurable disease, I know of people who are chronic who have managed to improve their condition substantially. For someone like me, the chances of this happening are pretty slim, so this isn't a very strong or certain hope. What is perhaps more possible is learning to make peace with my pain, not letting it control my life so much. But I'd be lying if I told you I don't often dream of remission.The second hope is a much stronger one, and I share it with you plainly because you asked me to write honestly: I pin all my hopes on the belief that there is a heaven. Having spent a good chunk of my life being sick, I need to know there’s a place other than this heating, warring planet full of grief and disease. I want to be made new and whole.I'm really enjoying writing to you, Hal. I actually just passed up watching the Super Bowl with my husband and dogs to draft this letter, though that's not saying much as I am neither a huge football fan nor a huge Taylor Swift fan (I DO like Taylor Swift, just not as much as I like writing).Hey,I'm enjoying this as well. We should go for another round of letters after we put these into the world. I have a feeling there’s a lot more to say. By the way, I hear you’re from San Francisco! I’ve got a few friends out there that I’m dying to see. Maybe someday, we’ll get to meet in person. I hope so. Sincerely, HalThank you for reading, everybody. And don’t forget. Enjoy living in that body of yours. It won't be around forever. May as well take advantage of it while it’s here. Have a great week and see you next time. ❤️ HalFollow me on Instagram. (232k followers) Hang out with me on TikTok. (2.7M followers) Grow with me on YouTube. (75k subscribers) I stop by Facebook occasionally. (5.4k followers) My website is super old but I’m hoping to revamp it someday. Finally, reply to this email to connect one on one. Thank you. H Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Welcome to “Living in a Body.” Thank you for being here. I appreciate you. Listen to the podcast version of this episode be pressing PLAY above. Enjoy. When you’re done reading, please leave a comment. I love your comments. ❤️ Hal A Whole New Hal I'm trying to make sense of this new life -- this life of perpetual rest, this life of moving from one bed to the other, this life of chronic illness, physical limitation and spiritual contemplation. I'm interested to see where it all leads, but lately, as my symptoms have worsened, it's been easy to lose hope. God knows I don't want this to be the last chapter. I'm too attached to this world to let it go yet. There's still so much more living to do and I was just getting started. My mom has been praying to get the old me back. She wants to glory once more in her multi-instrumentalist son that stood tall on stages doing amazing things in front of audiences of all ages. I have to admit that I'd do just about anything to get back there, but I have a feeling that God has different plans for me. My sense is that I have two options. I could forever long to return to the past or I could embrace, create and unravel a new me -- a whole new Hal. This morning, the sun is shining brightly through the south facing window in my room. The new me is soaking in these sunbeams, content with their slow path across the bed. I'm trying to believe that this is enough for me today. In fact, it's more than enough. How blessed I am to be alive. God, please help me to remember that. My Unitarian-Universalist colleague and friend, Rev. Steven Protzman doesn't get to savor these mid-winter blessings today. He doesn't get to soak in this February light. Steven died last Monday night. On January 29th, with almost no warning, his heart stopped beating and all his plans came to a sudden halt. If I could do it over again, when he came over last December to pick up that tone chime, I would have accepted his offer to sit and talk for a while. At the time, I probably had some pressing distraction pulling me away from an afternoon conversation. At the time, the familiar walls of fear and fatigue probably did their job to protect me from the risk of a human connection. At the time, neither of us new that two months later, Steven would be gone. It occurs to me how often it's been the case that when people in my life die, I regret not having spent more time with them while I had the chance. There was Meita Marshall, John Langstaff and Maj Ragain, to name just a few. Now I add Steven Protzman to the list. He was a good man. Steven and I butted heads a few times, but I deeply appreciate the ministerial presence that he gave me when I needed it the most. I just didn't know it at the time. With all this in mind, I think I'll put this writing down for a few minutes. The new me is gonna soak in some of this February sunshine like it's the most important thing in the room this morning. These days, I aspire to slow down and do just one thing at a time. When I'm soaking in the sun, I'm just soaking in the sun. When I'm eating lunch, I'm just eating lunch. When I'm talking on the phone, I'm just talking on the phone. When I'm resting, the new me is just resting. Of course, this is easier said than done for a master multi-tasker like myself. The old Hal was a one-man-band, the musical king of killing three birds with one stone. Have you ever seen me with banakulas in each hand, a harmonica strapped around my neck and shakers tied to my feet? The old me in action was a multi-tasking site to behold. If you were there, you know what I'm talking about. If you weren't there, let me let you in on a little story about the old Hal that I'm thinking my mom's probably never heard before. Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.I got an acting job in West Liberty, Ohio playing the role of Casey Jones with the Mad River Theatre Works in a traveling play for kids called, "The Legend of Casey Jones." (See The Legend) For several months, on Monday nights, I'd drive down to Logan County to be an actor for the week and then come home on Friday nights to be with Hallie for the weekend. My solo residence was an apartment attached to the funeral home halfway between West Liberty and Bellefontaine. It was a big yellow ranch style home and there were literally dead people living in the storage room right next to me. It was the early 2000's, I didn't yet have a cell phone and I had no laptop to keep me occupied. Hallie's mom and I had split up and I hadn't t yet found lasting sobriety in the rooms of 12 step recovery. While playing the role of Casey Jones, I was literally living the life of Casey Jones -- late night drives on dark county roads, burning the candle at both ends and pushing the reality of a mild case of chronic fatigue syndrome to the limit. I was tired all the time and always looking for somewhere to lie down, but I was on fire with life and I couldn't stand to sit still for much more than a minute. I remember arriving at my new yellow home on that Spring evening in 2004. My first stop was the grocery store where I picked up my sustenance for the week. I recall the satisfaction of finding carrot walnut muffins in the bakery and fresh ground organic coffee in the aisles. In those days, that was my primary nutritional concern -- coffee and muffins. I can't remember what other foods you might have found in my grocery cart that night, but I definitely remember the carrot walnut muffins and the fresh ground coffee. Right now, I can almost feel the buzz of that coffee's aroma as I drove the week's groceries back to the funeral home. The second stop was the public library. My mission there was to find a yellow pages directory that would guide me to the nearest strip club. Mind you, I don't say this with pride. In fact, later, I may regret letting you in on this juicy little detail, but there's an important point being illustrated here. The old me couldn't stand to be alone with myself for a single night. On the very first night in a new town, the old me found my way to the back corner of a free library in search of ten dollar lap dances, all in a desperate attempt to fill that God sized empty hole in me. From this current bed bound place of sitting alone quietly for days on end, the new me sends my deepest compassion to that lovable, hungry, bewildered young man. On the second night in town, after a full day of rehearsal, I got in the car and made the hour and ten minute trek to the middle of nowhere, Troy, Ohio. With the anticipation of slipping dollar bills into women's bikini straps, I was willing to go to any length. During the drive, I alternated between memorizing lines from the play and practicing music. I would steer the car with my knee while playing an English concertina with my hands and blowing a harmonica that was strapped around my neck. I can't remember all the details of all those trips to Troy, but on some nights, I'm certain there was marijuana involved in the picture. In a clouded high of piecing melodies together while navigating country roads, I was a musical madman on wheels. I gotta say that I'm grateful that I made it through alive. Casey Jones, however, wasn't so lucky. Working overtime and driving too fast, he died as a young man in a train wreck in Vaughan, Mississippi. The accident was his fault. I, on the other hand, got to live to tell the story. It’s been 20 full bonus years since that time and now, as I'm dropped into this new chapter, I'm learning to appreciate a whole new version of myself. I guess we could call this version Hal 3.0. Just to be clear, it hasn’t been an easy transition into this new life of limitation. I totally understand my mom's grief and I grieve with her. I find myself grieving at some point every day. But today, I'm willing to look for the good in this greatest challenge of my life. I'm willing to look for the awe in simple things. More and more, I'm becoming aware of the old patterns in me that stunted my growth, kept me grasping for more and separated me from others. Today, I'll practice being satisfied with what is, with all its imperfection, all its discomfort, all its mystery and all its wonder. Today, thanks to this illness, I'm grateful to be growing into a whole new Hal. I hope you’ll come visit sometime. Thank you so much for reading. Thank you for listening. Remember… enjoy living in that body of yours. It’s not gonna be around forever. Enjoy whatever health you got and I’ll try to do the same. I’m reminded of that song, “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone.” That’s how it is with me, for sure. Soak it up today. I love you. See you next time. Hal Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Two years ago, on January 15, I launched “Living in a Body.” Thank you for coming along on this not-so-easy journey. Today, I’d like to bring back one of my favorites — episode 16 from May of 2022. After you listen to this one, I encourage you to go back and listen to some of the episodes that you may have missed. There’s 76 of them! (ARCHIVE) In the comments, let me know what your favorites are. Thanks again. Enjoy. HalThe CD Mystery ReturnsMy mom refers to herself as a seeker. I guess that’s what I am, too. At the age of 57, you’d hope that I would’ve done a little more finding by now, but here I am — seeking, yearning, doubting, avoiding, questioning, struggling and longing. I can’t remember exactly how she said it, but a friend of mine recently suggested that God is in the longing. I wish I knew what she meant by that. I guess I could ask her.Several years ago, I dropped off my Prius at the Main Street Auto Center in Kent for some repairs. A few days later, as expected, I picked up the car, paid the bill and drove away. When I turned on the car stereo, I was greeted with music that I’d never heard before. In my CD player was a mysterious homemade CD with nothing but some handwritten text on it — “Jamie* 4-21-2018.” Within minutes of hearing the music, I started crying. Driving down the road with the stereo turned up, filled with emotion, tears running down my face, I was bawling.Even though my dad was a Presbyterian minister, we didn’t talk about God much in the house. When it came to faith, we were a cynical bunch. My dad said a prayer before every family dinner but never before breakfast or lunch. We never prayed in restaurants and as a family, we were generally opposed to any inkling of public piety. We were raised to question. The ultimate goal in life was to be a thinker. My dad’s brain was so full of books and thinking that somewhere along the way, I decided to leave the historical theologizing to him and I, instead, went desperately in search of a girlfriend. Church was my duty and my obligation. Every Sunday morning, I wore my Sunday best, but my time in the pew was spent dreaming about pinball — and girlfriends. (see Stolen Quarters)The music I heard on that CD broke through the analytical part of my brain. The trance pop melodies sung by soulful female voices shook my doubt and made me grieve for a simpler faith. The power drums and the huge bass broke me down from my high tower of intellect. Though my resistance to Christian praise music is deep rooted, these songs were calling me to the altar. Track after track revealed the pain of my having spent years trying to figure out who God is. The combination of the song lyrics and the live congregational singing brought forth my longing for religious community. As I drove, I put my heart and my hands in the air in an act of surrender. I remember driving along Wyoga Lake Rd. in Stow in tears and being on the verge of a religious experience — desperately wanting to let go but still holding on. I kept that CD in my car for six weeks. Every time I pressed play, I would almost instantly start weeping.“In the glory of your presence,I find rest for my soul.In the depths of your Love,I find peace — makes me whole.I love, I love, I love your presence 2xI love, I love, I love you, Jesus.”“I Love Your Presence” by Darren and Jessie ClarkeIn my twelve step program, we often talk about doing the “next right action.” At some point, it occurred to me that the next right action was to return to the Main Street Auto Center and give the disc back to the rightful owner. After I made my own copy, I approached the shop with the Jamie CD in hand. I remember feeling shy and a little bit embarrassed. I had a feeling that the return of this CD would be a bit outside of the norm for these grease covered mechanics. But I knew I was doing the right thing.I walked in, waited in line and then explained what happened. I apologized that it had taken so long for me to return. As I handed the CD to the shop owner, he made it very clear, “Our mechanics would never put a CD in the stereo of a customer’s car. That’s against our policy. It’s not our CD. Our guys wouldn’t do that.” He put the disc back in my hand and I returned to my car dumbfounded. “What? How could this be?” Suddenly, my understanding of the world turned upside down. “Then how the heck did this CD get in my car? Who put it there? This is crazy!” To this day, I have no idea where that CD came from.Months later, I made one more attempt to figure it out. I saw Hallie’s high school friend Jamie walking in downtown Kent. We hadn’t really spoken in years, but I stopped her on the street and asked her to sit down for the whole story. She laughed and thanked me for asking, but she assured me that the Jamie CD was not hers. I’m still bewildered.When I started writing this post, I went in search of the disc. I’m glad to say that I found it still living in the CD player of my car. (I rarely drive these days.) With the help of Spotify and Shazam, I’ve learned that the songs on the CD are mostly tracks from a live worship album called “Here is Love.” The singers, Jenn Johnson, Kim Walker-Smith and Leah Mari are part of the worship team at Bethel Church in Redding, California. This morning, as I traveled a slow wheelchair journey back and forth from my kitchen to the grill on my front porch, I listened to the songs on Spotify. They gave me some comfort. As I soaked in the music, I felt a kind of sad, quiet contentment. It was as though I was making peace with the grief and the loss in my body and in my home. My thinking slowed way down and I teared up a couple times.Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Recently, more than ever, I’ve been brought to me knees. Rendered ever more helpless, it seems that the spiritual solution is gonna my best option. Over and over again, I learn that the things I’ve tried in the past don’t solve the problem. 20 million views on a TikTok video won’t bring me closer to God. Acquiring more musical instruments won't offer me peace and contentment. And finding a new girlfriend isn’t gonna fix my life problem. They say it’s an inside job and no matter the circumstances, one day at a time, right action leads to right thinking which leads to…. who knows what — the great unfolding?I’m grateful to be on this journey — this bonus life of mine. Often, I wish that the universe would lighten up a little bit on me, but I know it’s my job to lighten up. I’m interested in the idea of holding this illness lightly and just going along for the ride. The gifts are so abundant and they just keep coming. I mean that CD, for instance… where the heck did that thing come from? The whole story reminds me to keep my eyes wide open for the miracle. You never know where it’s gonna show up.My friend said that God is in the longing. And there’s no doubt that I’m longing. I’m longing to take a walk down by the river. I’m longing for community. I’m longing for better health. I’m longing for healing in all my relations. I’m longing for peace to breathe through my whole body. I’m longing for freedom from my old ways of thinking. I’m longing to trust the unfolding and to love what is.Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading and for listening. I appreciate you. In fact, I am you. Thank you, highest power, for all the gifts of this moment. I love you.“If you want it, come and get it… for crying out loud.This love that he has given to you was never in doubt.Let go of your heart. Let go of your head and feel it now.”- “I Love Your Presence” by Darren and Jessie Clarke Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Welcome. For the podcast version of this episode, press PLAY above. Enjoy. HIn Case I Go MissingThe hashtag is #MillionsMissing.You know me. I don't go missing easily, but I can see how this illness makes it happen whether you want it to or not. There are a few things that I'd like to get off my chest in case I become one of the many. Please don't forget.Let’s raise a million for the millions. My plan for this post is to make it raw and unedited. There will be very little wordsmithing. I'll write it five or ten minutes at a time over the course of the next couple weeks. My intention is to face the perfectionist in me and make this an stress-free sharing that will not produce any further decline in my health. I'm thinking of this as me writing a letter to you. It starts like this, Dear Love, Dear Friend… Dear Mom. I remember when I used to write letters as a young man. From college, I wrote long handwritten letters to my parents. From the tops of trees and mountain peaks, I wrote letters illustrated with colored pencils to my college friends. In Greyhound bus rides. I wrote brotherly letters to my sisters (Remember Greyhound bus rides? -- Believe it or not, they used to have a smoking section in the back of the bus. I can't imagine that today, but it's true. I took several cross country trips on Greyhound buses in the 80's. I remember stepping to the back for a smoke. There was such a strong sense of community back there. It was the kind of joyous comraderie that happens when people gather together to kill themselves slowly. We knew we were killing ourselves, but we were ok with it and we were loving each other’s company. But, I digress.) The point I was trying to make is that when I used to write letters, there was no editing. It was one shot -- from beginning to end -- stream of consciousness. That's what I'm aiming for here -- like I'm hand writing a personal letter to you. Did you know that I used to be a smoker? I was the one or two, rarely three-a-day, roll-your-own variety of cigarette smoker. My preference was a special blend of Drum tobacco and the golden Three Castles tobacco. Then I'd roll it up in a very fine, glueless Club paper. Those cigarettes were intense. I can still recall the almost sickening high they gave me. I'd roll one after dinner or after a coffee and muffin at the diner. When I lived on the second floor of my parents house, I'd smoke out the window. I was so afraid of my parents finding out that I smoked. There were a lot of things that I hid from my parents back then, but I'm sure they knew anyway. I'm grateful that I'm no longer sneaking around and hiding parts of myself from people. These days, I'm an open book. I've got nothing to hide. For a few moments this afternoon, I found myself whistling in the kitchen. After a full morning and early afternoon belly down in bed, there I was, standing at the counter top paring an apple. I thought, "What the hell are you doing, Hal!? You better do this fast and sit back down in that wheelchair. This is dangerous behavior!" Imagine that. Whistling and paring an apple is dangerous behavior. It's crazy. It's called myalgic ensephalo-f****n’-myelitis. My whole life these days is about preventing another crash. All I've got to do is get through today without a crash and my day will have been a success. Since the New Year, I've had several devastating crashes. Each one has brought me to a deeper level of illness. I live my life with a constant underlying fear of the next crash. Every time I get used to the new normal, ME/CFS throws another one at me. It seems I still haven't learned the rules. To be honest, I'm not even sure that there are rules. For months now, I've been saying, "C'mon God. Ease up on me." I find a few moments of ease here and there, but for the most part, I'm still waiting. Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.I just dozed off for a few minutes as I was lying on my second bed and I had a dream. I dreamed that my two sisters and I were careening out of control down a steep and winding mountain road. Johanna was driving while KK was fiddling around with the controls on the steering wheel. While we were veering off toward the edges of the cliff, Johanna was fighting to get KK to stop. Then I woke up.This dream feels a little bit like my life right now except for the fact that ME/CFS is driving the car. There is no steering wheel and I'm the only passenger. My sisters are watching from distant look out towers using text messages and phone calls to do whatever they can do to get the car under control. It seems that in 1991, with the sudden onset of ME/CFS, God was giving me a clear message to slow down. I was unable to hear that message. In many ways, I did slow down. I was always looking for a place to lie down and I discovered the 10 minute naps that became a staple in my life. But underlying everything, there was a sense of urgency to get more done and to do all the things that came into my mind that needed to get done. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a bit of a mad musician. I have lots of big ideas. As a young man, I once visited a monastery. I remember the feeling of fear that I felt with the silence there and the slowness there. It was a beautiful setting, but it just seemed so scary and depressing to me. I was afraid to sit quietly with myself. I was afraid to go slow and afraid to be small. Today, this is my only choice… but not really. I have an urge to be more honest in telling the stories of my life. The trouble is that I'm scared. I'm scared that you'll judge me. You see, for much of my life, I lived two lives -- the life that I showed everyone and the hidden life that I kept all to myself. The stories from the hidden life play such an important role in who I am today. I think it's important for me to tell them. And heck... what have I got to lose. I'm 57, mostly bed bound and living the cleanest, most honest life I've ever lived. My writing coach encourages me to write the stories for myself and then later determine whether or not to put them into the world. I think she's right.It's January 26th today and it's my dad's birthday. He's no longer living but I think about him alot. I talk to him all the time. Sometimes he holds me while I cry. Well anyway. I hope you're well. I hope this letter wasn’t too much of a downer for you. Just so you know, Hallie and I exchange voice memos every night that begin, “What I love about my life is…” It’s one of the highlights of my day. But I'd love to hear more about YOU. Feel free to drop me a letter anytime. I hope you'll give me all the juicy details. I’m hungry to connect. Or just leave a comment right here. Thank you so much for being here. Thank you for reading. Thank you for listening. And as always, don't forget. Enjoy living in that body of yours. It’s not gonna be around forever. Love, Hal Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. It’s with a mix of sadness, surrender, humility and gratitude that I hand the narration of the Living in a Body Podcast over to my friend Cameron Mack. I think he does a very fine job. Sometimes he sounds a little bit like me. I’m not well enough to do it myself. I hope to be back someday. Please pray for me and press PLAY above. ❤️ Hal The Year in Review - Part OneHappy New Year, everybody. In case there's been any doubt lately, Monday evening's crash confirms that I have entered the category of severe ME-CFS. With a distressing level of weakness, I'm still able to walk to the bathroom and across the hall to my second bed, but I'm fully housebound and mostly bed bound. One time a day in the evening, I take a trip downstairs to the kitchen, but it feels a bit treacherous. I'm spending most of the hours of every day in bed feeling quite fragile and quite ill. In desperate hopes of avoiding any further crashes, I lie here trying to calm this shattered nervous system of mine. I'm writing this post 5 minutes at a time with extended rests in between. Eating has become very difficult and I speak only in a whisper. When I have visitors, we communicate by passing my Remarkable e-pad back and forth. I regularly fear that I'm coming to the end of my life, but one day at a time, I keep surviving. There's much more to say about living in this week's version of my body, but I'll leave it for another time. This afternoon, As I was lying here feeling sick and staring at the "Healing is Possible" painting on my wall, it occurred to me what an amazing year I had in 2023. How could I have ever complained? Compared to my current state, last year feels like a bed of roses. From hanging on the beach at the family reunion to visiting family and friends on an east coast adventure, 2023 was a special year full of good living. Of course, if I could do it all over again, I'd spend 12 months sitting quietly on the porch breathing in the Love of God and calming my nervous system. But alas, 2023 is in the history books. In order to remind myself of some of the highlights of the year, I opened up the photos app on my phone and I scrolled back to Jan 1. I'd like to share some of those highlights with you now . The Engagement The year began on December 31 when my daughter's boyfriend, Andy Donnolly called me out of the blue on New Years Eve day to let me know that at midnight, he was intending to ask Hallie to marry him. He was calling to ask for my blessing. I was stunned and delighted. I gave Andy my full blessing and felt the glow of this once in a lifetime moment. I'll never forget it. Hallie and Andy will be married at an outdoor ceremony in the Cuyahoga Valley on June 15. I'm praying that I'll be well enough to attend the wedding in order to walk my beautiful daughter down the aisle.A Yoga ClassMy very first yoga class was a Tuesday night Asana class with Margot Milcetich in the basement of the UU church of Kent. I used to enjoy taking that class and then heading downtown for a beer and a burrito at Taco Tanto's.Years later, one of the most memorable yoga classes was an Ashtanga class I took in Columbus, Ohio while I was down there for a school job. After class, the instructor came over to me and said, "You have a beautiful practice." I walked out of that class feeling on top of the world.In February, I was looking for somewhere to go on Sunday mornings and I found a new yoga studio in Kent that was offering a Sunday morning class called "Chillax." I showed up and it felt good to break out the mat and stretch out on the floor in the familiar peaceful environment of a yoga class. After a few classes, I soon found out that even attending the Chillax class was too strenuos for me, so I stopped going. But for a minute there, I was re-living the good old days when I was seeking out yoga studios all over Ohio. Tik Tok2023 was another year of Melba, my three wheel electric scooter. As you may know, she's the fastest thing on the bike trail and has provided me with so much outdoor enjoyment since my health took this nasty turn. This Spring, I was riding Melba into town on West Main Street and a driver pulled up beside me and called out, "Hey! Aren't you that guy from TikTok?!" Yep. I'm that guy. After a good handful of viral moments, in 2023, I reached 2.6 million followers and I got to experience several public sitings at random places around town.I spent the first part of the year honing my system for creating multi-screen multi-track compositions using Ableton Live, Final Cut Pro and my iPhone. My daily creative video ventures were a highlight of my "partly housebound" life of early 2023.In May, I moved from the "Creator Fund" to the "Creativity Program Beta" on TikTok. This new program paid creators better per view for videos that were over a minute long. After years of creating 15-30 second videos, on the day I joined the Creativity Program, I revamped my whole approach. It was a risk but it paid off big time. In the first month of creating minute long videos, I gained 80 million views and TikTok paid me a whole bunch of money. In October, I let go of TikTok in another desperate attempt to calm my oversensitive nervous system. I miss the creativity. I miss the income. I miss the wild excitement of viral videos. But these days, I live vicariously through Hallie who's blowing up on TikTok as we speak. The RoadtripAt the end of March, Hallie was producing a cabaret show at 54 Below in Manhattan and I couldn't bear to miss it. With just enough wellness to make the trip seem feasible, I hired Cameron Mack as my driver and assistant. We turned the back of my Toyota Prius into a bed, loaded the luggage and the wheelchair onto a rack on the back and we planned for a stress-free roadtrip to New York City. When we found our spots in the fully loaded car, Cameron pushed the start button to discover that the battery was dead. Our spirits were briefly deflated, but within about 10 minutes, my mom arrived to save the day. Cameron and I pulled out, stopped for gas and headed east. We stayed in a cool sub-level airbnb just a few blocks away from Hallie's place. On the first morning, Hallie and I planned to meet on the sidewalk halfway between the two addresses. Under brisk blue March skies, I enjoyed wheeling through Herbert Von King park in my blue excalibur electric wheelchair. As I wheeled down Marcy Ave, there she was, Hallie Walker in the flesh -- all four foot 11 inches of her New York City power and glory. We had no particular plans for the morning, so I, the guy with moderately severe ME/CFS, suggested that we climb to the rooftop of her six story Bedford-Stuyvesant apartment building. You know me. That's just the kind of guy I am. There's no way I was gonna let this illness get in the way of experiencing a stunning view of Manhattan with my sunshine, Hallie. Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.As we began the slow climb up the stairs, Hallie expressed some concern, "Are you sure you're ok, Daddy." I appreciated her concern and her understanding of this illness. "Yes. I'm ok, Hallie." I've been living with ME/CFS for 32 years. I understand pacing. I know what I can handle. I mean, in 2019, I became a competitive table tennis player. For many years, I directed multiple ensembles at the UU Church of Kent. I grew a vegetable garden at my home and planted an asparagus garden at my mom's. When the groundhogs started digging under the fence, I dug a trench all the way around the garden and buried some wire mesh to keep them out. For many years, I drove hours to spend full days teaching at elementary schools. Even though I was always looking for a place to lie down, I was the most energetic guy with ME/CFS that you will ever meet. Sure, I would sometimes crash, but I always bounced back. We made it to the rooftop with no great consequences. We went to see a Broadway show. Cameron and I played RAV drums on the rocks overlooking the Long Island sound. We visited one of my best friends, my college roommate Jerry who lives in the woods in Connecticut. We spent a couple days with my friend Peggy who has been living with severe ME/CFS for the last 30 years. And we visited my childhood friend, Georg outside of Rochester New York. Somewhere in Connecticut, I had a pretty bad crash which made the last part of the trip quite difficult. But we made it home safely. I eventually bounced back. I always bounce back. Go CongressOne of the great enjoyments of my life has been playing the ancient Chinese game of Go. Played on a 19 x 19 grid board with black and white stones, go is a beautifully complex game of strategy and shape, life and death, balance and power and intense competition. I learned the game as a child on a cardboard version of the game and I've been playing it ever since. Amazingly, the American Go Association held its annual Go Congress at Kent State University last summer and I was there. Game after game, I got to sit silently with 300 other Go players as we each pursued to surround more territory than our opponent. It truly a wonderful experience until day 5 when I woke up with a bad cold. This cold produced the first of a long series of crashes that brought me to my current state of health. I'm sorry to say that I've had to give up playing my beloved game of Go for now. The fierce competitive nature of this game of war has proven too intense for my delicate nervous system.Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading. Thank you for listening. I hope you’ll say hello in the comments. What was the highlight of your 2023? I’d love to get to know you better. Have a great Saturday. Enjoy living in that body of yours. Ok? See you next time. ❤️ Hal Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe

Hi. Welcome to “Living in a Body.” Special welcome to all the new subscribers! I hope you’ll introduce yourself in the comments. I’d love to get to know you better. Press PLAY above to hear the podcast version of this episode. (4 min)The Scent of Freshly Fallen SnowWe had a beautiful snowfall in Northeast Ohio this week. Yesterday, there were still five or six inches of pure white fluff covering everything in sight. In this strange age of global warming, it seemed almost surprising to get so much snow this early in the season. It feels kinda like the good old days of winter in Ohio. I've been reminded that there's nothing quite like the scent of freshly fallen snow in December. I love it. Several times a day, I wheel myself to the back door to smell the winter air. I open the sliding glass door and I poke my head out just enough to take a deep breath in through my nose. I'd forgotten how good snow smells, especially when it's freshly fallen. It's so clean and crisp and full of memories. I've been pausing there in the cold for a few minutes as I practice appreciating my life. And I smile. It makes me happy that this has become such an important part of my day. It feels like I'm finally getting my priorities straight. Whenever you get the chance, I encourage you to breathe in some freshly fallen snow. Just open up the door and let the winter air waft through your senses. I've learned that the fresher the fall, the more potent the scent. It starts to fade after a couple days. If you've got no snow, find something else to smell. Maybe it'll be the subtle scent of sunshine in December or the distant neighbor's bonfire or the traffic filled vibrant life of a city street. Whatever it is, I hope you'll poke your head outside just long enough to breathe it all in. Remember to pause and feel it in your body… and then smile. And I hope you’ll come back and tell me all about it. I'm dying to know. A friend reminded me this morning that it’s the small things that are actually the big things. I got to play a game of “Splendor” with my nephew this afternoon. My sister, Caroline’s in town from Colorado and I got to feel her hand on my back while I cried in my bed this week. For the first time in three years, I’ve got a real Christmas tree in my house. Big thanks to Cameron Mack for helping to make that happen. Next week, I get to welcome my daughter's fiancé into my home for the very first time. Whether these are big things or little things, I’m doing my best to breathe it all in and feel the fullness of my life through some very difficult times. I like to imagine that my dad’s watching over all of this and crying grown man tears with me right now. My wish for you during this sacred season of dark and light is that you find a few moments of peace as you pause to breathe in the fresh scent of December. I’m sending you the warmest of wishes as we close up another year. Thank you so much for being here. Thank you for your kind attention. And don't forget. Enjoy living in that body of yours. It’s not gonna be around forever. I’ll try to do the same. See you next time. ❤️ Hal Living in a Body is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Living in a Body at halwalker.substack.com/subscribe