Laying in wait. Waiting for my body to catch up with my spirit. It’s frustrating to feel helpless to your body’s need to rest and heal. Your brain ticks down the hours and days and feels like it’s time to be able to do whatever it feels the urge to do. A voice inside pushes and nudges and whispers and I cave and crawl out.
A little at a time is fine, it’s good to press just a little. Movement has always been my friend, keeping my mind occupied and pain pushed back into a box in the corner. I promise myself I will just do one thing and then lay low.
But it has only been three days since the injections, and I have never been good at stopping. I have never been balanced or metered in my approach to quick/little/easy tasks, frequently stoping only because I collapse in fatigue, or more likely because I have been caught in the act by my family and marched back to bed.
It’s rainy and grey outside of my window. Inside in this soft bed I am struggling to keep my eyes open, surrounded by warm, adoring pups curled close to my body. Their rhythmic and relaxed breathing, their complete and easy surrender to a day of slumber make me smile and I feel my own self surrender too.
I have to be talked into wearing clothes home. Between the cold comfort of the ice pack against the injection sites at the base of my spine, the loosely fitting, hind view offering, billowy sexiness of my johnny, and the box cut mesh one size fits a walrus state offered panties, I am loath to move and feel that sweeping nausea that accompanies anesthesia rise up to greet me.
I am assured that green is a good color on frogs, trees, and grasshoppers, less so on me.
I am also encouraged to leave since apparently I get “chatty” under the influence and it’s just possible I’ve said things that are making it difficult for the staff to make eye contact with me. Things along the lines of ancient curses on the asses of those present while I screamed from the lightening bolt strikes of nerves meeting needles. The authorities may also have been alerted to a possible “situation with an unruly patient”.
I tried asking around to see who was causing all the trouble so I could see for myself and maybe get a good blog out of it but an orderly leaned close, cleared his throat and quietly explained that I was the patient in question and that he was the one who lost the staff pool and had to wrestle me into clothes and wheel me out one way or the other.
So here I am. I’ve been shot four times (injections to be honest), and dressed by a stranger who has asked me to leave his name out of anything I write because apparently he has “standards”.
I’ll be deposited into my own soft bed and packed in ice for a few days, sleeping and hugging a bucket. But by the weekend you can be damn sure I’ll be ready to be set loose on the world. It’s been a spine tingling experience. For everyone within ear shot.
Sometimes it’s more challenging than others to mindfully move towards constructive thoughts, to focus forward and keep taking steps in that direction. My mind and my body and my emotions at war with each other.
Most of my day flowed like so much water, little effort needed to navigate the tasks and the hours. Abruptly the course of my river changed direction and I have struggled to reseat myself on this new current, to find grace in my body and spirit with so much tumbling against stones.
Today I feel bruised and breathless but I am determined to ground myself once more. I am listening to the sound of my heart beating, and counting the moments between, just breathing. Just breathing.
I spent today wandering the woods and breathing deeply. This time of year always enervates my senses and fills my heart with delight. Leaves glowing brilliant, boldly letting go and falling through the air, reminding me to do the same.
“Some of us think holding on makes us strong; but sometimes it is letting go.”~ Hermann Hesse
Never in my life have I had such a year of steeping in the greys, the raw education of a feckless world given faces to in the children I kneel with and run to and hold and hear howl against the indignity of having no say in how they have come to be with me.
The first months were filled with shared tears and rage and desperate wanting. Wanting to absorb, to understand, to fix, to heal, to wreak vengeance for each one. The color ran high in my face, a constant sweep of crimson across my neck and chest when I wanted to spill every blackened thought and desire and flood the world with my fury.
But that place it isn’t a sustainable place to stay. There is no air to breathe there. There is no place to rest there. It is only meant to be a pathway.I had a conscious choice to make. I asked myself what gifts beyond passion could I draw on as a companion through this place?
I found that my greatest strength lay in a gentle heart. This heart that wants more than anything else to absorb and to heal knowing exactly what hell is, I’ve been there. I’ve been to some of its rooms and bled my way through them again and again. This heart chose a path to a gentling, to neutral moments where it could expand and contract and expand again.
I could have stayed inside of the fire and burned along with the ones I held, or I could walk into the fire, kneel, hold, feel my whole self blister in these moments and then walk with each child through this one fire, past the cooling of the ashes, show them where to find those places inside to look for water, for nourishment, for places to rest the mind. Places to breathe between the storms.
We picture colorful rainbows after storms. The truth is closer to grey. Grey is a neutral place where other colors mix and splash and subside. I love colors, vibrant and bold and enervating. My clothes are riots of bright pallets. My home is painted in passionate hues and intense pigments, but though I cloak myself in rainbows, inside I am greyness and stillness and peace.
Here. A moment suspended. A moment to close my eyes and slowly inhale salty air until I feel my very soul swell along with my lungs, feel it expand and spill out into the space around me.
Here. A moment to exhale and let it slide away from me, slip down my shoulders letting its weight fall from me, taking everything that is pulled tight inside my chest with it.
Here. A moment suspended from my routine. A day just to breathe, to immerse myself in only the space that I take up, the air around my body, the sand I am standing on, the water surrounding.