I can see you now. The young woman walking with crutches, skinny and slow, pale face concentrating on the next step. The handsome man in his white jeans, bright Tshirt and fancy earring, he moves with a slow limp, one leg completely stiff. That women over there with her swollen face and ankles, obviously short of breath and on some medication, carefully negotiating her trolly with the shopping, desperate to get home. And I am thinking how sorry I feel that they may never be able to go on one of my long walks through the hills and the gorgeous forest down south from here. May never cycle along this wonderful river on a sunny May evening with the soft wind in your face and the boats slowly tutting along beside you. And then it hits me:
Neither may you. Well, certainly not now, not for the last eight months, you haven't and there is nothing but the faintest hope to think you may ever again be able to.
Mantra, mantra quick:
The new drug takes 4-8 weeks to work, I am on week two.
The body is a system always striving for health.
I can hear again.
My eyes are fine.
Impermanence, everything changes.