“It is very hard to be brave,” said Piglet, sniffing slightly, “when you’re only a Very Small Animal.”
Aloha Lovely Readers,
Recently I have felt a lot like Piglet. Things have been hard. Harder than hard. A setback. Yes another one. And just when recovery was almost in sight. Strained psoas muscles and a agonizing bout of bursitis in my hip cost me the very little bit of freedom and independence I had gained since returning from surgery in May.
This time it was serious, and scary, because it meant I couldn’t make my own meals. Even opening the heavy refrigerator door was difficult, and I was already almost dangerously thin. One evening home alone, I dropped the plate of food someone had prepared for me on my way from the kitchen to the table. That night I ate my dinner off the floor-a definite low point. It also meant I could no longer walk or stand without a cane (and even then it was only for minutes at a time),use my camera-you try doing this while leaning on a cane-, art journal, take even the shortest walk, or sit down long enough to work on the book, or to post more than the occasional inspirational quote.
I tried to keep my spirits up, but after while no matter how much meditation I practiced, interesting books and articles I read, or images I viewed, I began to wilt and to slowly die like a flower in a waterless vase. Sunsets came and went without my ever seeing them. Ideas came and went without being written down. Mail and bills piled up in the post box. One day blurred into the next, sometimes without my even making it outside onto the lanai for a sip of fresh air. One week blurred into the next, until months had passed and summer was over.
I feared for my life, and for my daughter’s health and well-being. I knew I couldn’t give up, but I didn’t want to go on. Not like that anyway. All the while, my senses cried out to engage with the ‘medicine’ my soul so desperately needed as an antidote to the ‘endless’ pain. This medicine, was and is, the beauty and poetry of the natural world. The reflection of the light on the water. The sweet, almost jasmine scent, of the Mock Orange blossoms.
The warming touch of the sun and the feeling of the cooling breeze on my skin. The music and sway of the trade winds through the palm fronds and dark green waxy leaves. The sight of the tropical blue sky, and the milk-white clouds, drifting. The sparkle of the stars in the soft inky night sky. The sight and sounds of the birds as they gather at the end of the day…especially this, I missed. (I don’t want to live in a world without birdsong, or a world without bookstores!) Such simple things really. Simple and priceless. And incredibly necessary to well-being.
I tell you all this not because I want you to pity me (empathy is welcome), but because I want to Thank You, dear ones. I want to express my gratitude and my appreciation to all of you for continuing to come, or for finding me for the first time. For ‘visiting’ and ‘liking’ and ‘following’. For continuing to engage your senses, and for giving me a little glimpse of the Beauty that You Are, and for letting me know that in spite of everything, I still had (and have) something worth giving.
Discovering and sharing in your stories and dreams is one of the unique gifts of blogging, one I delight in and feel privileged to receive. So I also want to express how sad and truly sorry I have felt at not having been able to respond to your comments and visit your sites regularly, like I used too. And to say, that soon I will be able to again- as baby step by baby step, I rebuild my body, my health, and my life!
I’ll keep you posted on my progress, I promise. In the meantime, I wish each one of you, every good and beautiful thing,as well as the ability to mindfully engage with and appreciate them.
one step at a time dear piglet, one step at a time. Your strength through all this, and yes even in the worse part this past summer – strength – has been inspirational to me while I’ve dealt with my own, much smaller changes in this remarkable life we lead. Thank you, and keep the faith. xx
Thank you, Gail, I am doing my best to stay connected to the part of me that knows recovery is the outcome, not the part that hopes so.