I had moved from my home in Southern Oregon to see if my worsening health might be due to allergies. After moving, I felt better and safer, but the problem that had bothered me came with me: it was not a result of allergy. Worse, I broke my right fibula and then ruptured my Achilles tendon, and was laid up. It seemed that whatever I did, my debility increased.

I then moved back home to the Puget Sound area. All seemed well. My meter registered radio waves at my house, but they were only moderately strong. They may have been from ham radios owned by local hobbyists. There were also ubiquitous moving sources of marine and military radar, and—presumably—unknown emissions, as from the growlers on maneuvers. My mood worsened. I blamed gloomy weather and COVID cabin fever. I began to feel rising anger and scolded myself for losing my spiritual equilibrium. Then the nightmares began. My world gradually darkened. I put out earthing sheets—and had a heart arrhythmia in relation to their use. I was declining rapidly, and would have to move—again! Into circumstances that would push my debility further down the spiral of decline. Fortunately, I met with kindness—and support. Unfortunately, I was frightened and facing difficult straits.

Two months on, a friend has taken me in and—following a four-week, COVID-negative viral syndrome—I am beginning to take walks and resume writing. My doctor has many ideas as to how to resolve the chronic problem with which I have struggled. I am beginning with a trial of digestive enzymes. I am also reading again.

How will I live? How can I find someone to debrief before my next—or my last—crash? Will my work have been for nothing? Or will I find doctors who have an interest in using what I have learned to help co-create a living future? Or will I give up on public service? Time will tell. For now, I will continue…