the sun rose
with no sympathy for a small-time insomniac
the heart sang
drowning out mind’s misery-mongering
an unavoidable Presence ‘watched’
aloof and impartial
and yet inextricably absorbed
within every thought and feeling and deed
(there was caring and cleaning and caring and cooking and caring
and shopping and caring and listening and caring and playing and caring
for the adorable ancients whose turn it is to be my toddlers)
the sun set
the heart sang
its little song of gratitude
This brain, that was shut down with anesthetic restores itself, miraculously, to crystal clear functioning. This body, that was a beating corpse on a surgical slab has slept soundly and arises refreshed, resurrected. This knee, that was entered through four small portals, explored with a magical eye on the end of a probe, excavated to remove four large ‘foreign objects’ and flushed out to remove the smaller bits, rests happily on a plumped-up cushion. The swelling and soreness subside with each new day. Healing is happening.
How incredible it is that healing just happens. Sure, it’s often facilitated by the intervention of surgeons, care-givers, and others with uncanny gifts (Life’s lovely helpers.) But who can truthfully claim that they ‘do it?’
Whatever the inconceivable ‘IT’ is that lives this body-mind and knows exactly how to restore its systems to their proper functioning – whatever IT is, it gets my deepest bows of speechless gratitude. I’d be on my knees – but that will have to wait.
Today I’m off to hospital for the knee surgery that was postponed in December last year. Given the events that set the scenario in motion – a motorcycle accident in Athens, Greece, 1972, and given the subsequent wear and tear in over 30 years of leg-work, it’s easy to see that it’s all happening as it must. Gratitude for my Orthopedic surgeon and his team, and for access to a humane hospital facility.
Like most folk I longed for emotional equanimity
But longing – like its twin, avoiding – isn’t something wee-me does
it’s what wee-me is.
When dear wee-me was exposed for what-it-is
its games were seen as mental skylarking, and
the ideal of equanimity ceased to be relevant.
This unknowable knowingness – let’s call it ‘I’
is untroubled by the ups and downs of life,
by the dangers and pleasures of emotional expression.
Resting as ‘I’, emotions are free to be.
And in that freedom they rise,
swirl and fade
like the mists on this mountain.
That’s my version of peace.
the rain continues its benediction:
perfume of parched earth receiving lifeblood
chorale of baptized birds fluffing in gratitude
palms in pranam
soft gentling pattering music that somehow blends
with the singing silver silence
flowing through mindspace,
smoothing and soothing
my breath flows
and I reach for the brush…
rainbreath – breathscribe series
light-reflective acrylic on textured canvas