I never had much tolerance for moaners, people who throw their symptoms around like pearls and who seemingly spend most of their time concentrating on how miserable and unfair life is.
I still don't and I try hard to not do this in real life.
In real life.
In real life, I never lose my cool. I share jokes with the experts about the silly bruises on my body from the injections, the way my hair blocks the shower these days. I pretend that I am pragmatic, that I understand the science behind it all, the way the drugs interfere and reshuffle what my body has messed up. I pretend that I know about the importance of sleep and rest and keeping calm. I play the games of relaxation and meditation and mindfulness and sometimes I even start to believe in their powers. I walk - carefully and slowly - through the garden making an effort to observe and delight and Be Here Now. I try hard to let go and allow my body and my mind to fuse into a meaningful blissful presence regardless of whatever. To admire the dynamics of my atoms swirling according to some deeper cosmic order/chaos. (I know. Bear with me.)
But blogging? That's for letting it all hang out.
That's where I am the miserable cowering animal.
Where I am mad and furious - energy permitting - at the unfairness of it all.
Where I admit that I pace the garden like a caged animal ready to rip and tear.
Where I roar that I am done with chronic illness, done with patience, with acceptance and all that crap.
After a while even that becomes tedious. And sometimes, somewhere between and below all of that, the moaning and the whimpering and the distancing and the expert talk, I get a tiny glimpse of something pure and whole and complete and I try to touch it but then it's gone.
Moan away! And keep glimpsing those elusive and transitory wonders.ReplyDelete
My god. We all need a place we feel safe enough in to tell our heart stories.ReplyDelete
Here. This is yours.
Tell the stories. Shout them here. We come to read your words and send you the best virtual hugs around!ReplyDelete
Yes. That elusive something pure and whole and complete that goes hand in hand with what seems to be its opposite. These photographs are exquisite, Sabine. It is safe here. There is something here that can't be touched.ReplyDelete
Yes, yes, and yes!ReplyDelete