Your very flesh shall be a great poem.
These seven or so weeks of 2015, unexpectedly, have been some of the most challenging of my life.
The monotony of doctors’ words. Too many days in bed. Friends, or people who I thought were friends, slipping away. All of it like kerosene on this fire.
I mend and break, then mend and break again.
And I mend.
As the rest of the country freezes, I look outside and see spring’s prelude; with temperatures unusually high, my daisies and tulips are emerging from their sleep ~ a reminder that while my mind, body and world will sometimes descend into a cold darkness, life truly is a faithful cycle of pause and renewal. Nature must regularly slow and endure the necessity of repose, and we do the same. With the gift of new chances and joy awaiting us on the other side.
In my few moments of light, when my mind and body are clearer, I create. I am painting. I am working on my novel again. I am doing calligraphy. My camera is no longer buried in my spare room. I look down at my hands and see paint and ink where perfect red polish used to be in my healthy days. And I love it, for how my priorities have changed and how free and new it makes me feel. And this is how I know, while few in number, the moments of light fiercely outweigh the dark ones.
And yes, while my heart has recently felt the wound of disappointment and lost friendship, I want to express my never-ending gratitude and love for my gorgeous mom and amazing husband, who continue to hold me up in miraculous ways. And to my amazing friend D, whose inspiration and belief in my talent and potential have never wavered in the face of my worst days. All three of you, and others I cherish as well, faithfully remind me of the love, bliss, peace and blessings that remain a constant. It isn’t always easy for me to see it.
“Thank you” feels so painfully inadequate.
Thank God for you.
Have a blessed weekend, everyone.
Yesterday I realized that it has been well over a month since I have blogged or written a single, meaningful word anywhere.
As the summer was winding down and my heart felt full with the anticipation of season’s change, I wanted so badly to rededicate myself to this place and to my creative side in general. I wanted the comfort of routine, and to feel like I was doing something important. At the very least I will post once a week, I told myself, not really knowing what was in store for me.
When I was in San Francisco for those few days two months ago, I spent one full day buried under the covers of my hotel bed, too sick to leave my room, my brain capable of processing only two things: how I just wanted to go home, and all of the things I was missing out on. Anyone who has been to San Francisco knows its magic. While I may have been buried under sheets and blankets, I could still hear the sounds of the city from the other side of the window~people, movement, excitement, life. And there I was on a Friday at noon, in too much pain to even lift my head from my pillow.
My illness has persisted with a vengeance since my time away. The days have been long, painful and lonely. There are moments when I can’t feel parts of me. There are times when it feels like liquid fire is shooting through every inch, deep down through every bone, vein and nerve, and in an instant that fire turns agonizingly ice cold. My tired mind doesn’t have any other way to explain it.
There have been times when I have sat down to express myself here, and the words just wouldn’t come. Or they would come, and I felt they were too raw and dark and honest, which isn’t what I wanted. Then I would worry and stress about never coming back here and having something meaningful to say. I resent my identity as a sick person. I want to defy these laws I have been forced to live by and bend illness to my will, so when I want to make plans, when I want to be smart, when I want to feel pretty, and when I want to be witty, vivacious and interesting, I can be.
To feel less lost, I have dedicated my energies to creating the best possible days for myself. Days filled with hot baths, sunshine, meditation, cozy jammies, doggie cuddles and lots and lots of sleep. I haven’t managed much more than that. The pain is still too great. But in spite of it, I still feel ridiculously grateful for a few precious things.
For my family.
For my home.
For new friends both near and far.
And for this gorgeous unbreakable safety net of love that is all mine.
Better days are surely coming soon. I also thank those of you who have shown concern for my baby girl Grace. Good news. She has a digestive condition that can be treated with medication. We are very thankful indeed that our baby is going to be just fine.
Wishing everyone a beautiful week, and a beautiful fall.