Yesterday was a somber day filled with tear bursts and memories. My inner wisdom kept whispering to me, that death is a part of life. This morning when I woke and realized that yesterday was not just a bad dream I remembered so many sweet things. Interspersed with sadness, filtered in joy and happiness, leaving in its wake, gratitude for what was, and what made and makes the world better. Love never dies and kindness is never wasted.
Having no ability to concentrate this morning I read little quips here and there and rested in the beauty of tried and true wisdom. The older I get, the more clever clichés become. I wish they weren’t so COMMON, but revered for their intensifying accuracy. But so is life… always deepening in meaning and in heart.
Careful what you wish for… there’s another good cliché for you. The morning of Memorial Day I decided to take a few minutes extra to practice my fire ceremony which allows me to expel negativity while inviting goodness in. One of my greatest challenges of late has been surpassing tolerance, and attaining understanding. Tolerance, to me, implies that you are just putting up with something. If you truly see the light in all beings, then you will accept, embrace and love someone, without any consideration of flaws or shortcomings. This is where I would rather be, but...
Slow people bug me. The lack of energy, enthusiasm and light, topped with the lack of consideration for the people whom they are affecting, all just bite my ass. So in my meditation I asked that my shortness of patience for slow people be taken from me. If this could be replaced with a non-judgmental acceptance, I could truly love them without seeing their blocks. I would understand the beauty in each one of their slow-roasted souls.
Slow people bug me. The lack of energy, enthusiasm and light, topped with the lack of consideration for the people whom they are affecting, all just bite my ass. So in my meditation I asked that my shortness of patience for slow people be taken from me. If this could be replaced with a non-judgmental acceptance, I could truly love them without seeing their blocks. I would understand the beauty in each one of their slow-roasted souls.
That afternoon when taking one giant step, I turned to grab the hand-rail and POP! I went down and couldn’t get up. Some people came and helped me stand, but there was no way that leg was gonna’ work. It’s been three weeks now and I’ve regained some use of my leg, and the surgeon will fix it, with a brand new ligament screwed through my bones. A few months of physical therapy after that and I will be ready to take short walks again. A few more months and I will most likely be back on the trails with my Pooch.
In these weeks I have seen how tiring life can be, physically. I have seen how cruel and inconsiderate the quick-paced of the species can be. I have seen how difficult it can be to navigate through the simplest of tasks. I have seen how impeded my own thinking has been due to pain, exhaustion, and frustration. And I have seen how slow and steady is what will finish this race.
In these weeks I have seen how tiring life can be, physically. I have seen how cruel and inconsiderate the quick-paced of the species can be. I have seen how difficult it can be to navigate through the simplest of tasks. I have seen how impeded my own thinking has been due to pain, exhaustion, and frustration. And I have seen how slow and steady is what will finish this race.
The doctor told me that I will have to choose whether to use a graft of my own tendon or a cadaver ligament. My initial reaction was complete disgust with the thought of a dead person’s parts inside of me. The only thing that fueled continued consideration of this option is the fact that it is a lot less painful and a faster recovery.
Yesterday afternoon before heading out I rested with my leg up, and turned on the television. HBO was broadcasting a special about people who donate their bodies to science. The sweet man that I was honored to know, who had just lost his life, kept popping into my head as the film showed one dead body after another, but these thoughts of him made death feel a little bit softer. I tuned in just in time to watch the segment on ligament harvesting and processing. EWWWWW. But then one of the med students spoke not of what he was learning, but of what a gift these people were giving, to help others. Suddenly the horror of a dead body turned into a realization of kindness and love, and I was moved from beyond my narrow fixation in fear. Now the thought of a cadaver ligament no longer meant anything other than love and light living on.
My new understanding helped me realize that someone who will never breathe, see, touch, taste or feel, cared enough, and will help me walk again.
My new understanding helped me realize that someone who will never breathe, see, touch, taste or feel, cared enough, and will help me walk again.
So I guess I got more than I knew that I was asking for. Life is good that way. Of course, when I work on my patience and understanding of stupid people I think I’m just going to quietly practice, and hope for the best.
; )
No comments:
Post a Comment