211027 afraid

Oct. 27

Now and then the wind picks up the leaves for a little dance. They swirl like the snow devils to come.

(Wallace Stevens) *

It was when I said, "I will not be afraid any more." that the pain got worse! For two days I was much worse again. That's why the poem came to mind. "It was when I said" kept knocking.

I didn't know that I was afraid. I am not sure if I can say what I was afraid of, and I suspect that I am afraid again. The way the nerve pain returned for those days without any abatement, the way pains come and go randomly in random places: it is all so unpredictable. There is so much I want to be doing and should be doing; I don't know when I will be able to or even perhaps if. There, that's a scary one. It is also clear to me now that we can't go home again to 48, not the way things are, and this is not our permanent home, yet if ever. Yes, that's a scare. I don't remember feeling so uncertain of my future that I was afraid. I have taken many safety nets for granted, but I don't know if we have one any more. 

K and I do have each other. This is a blessing I cherish and appreciate. The future is actually always uncertain. One has to live with that, either worried or accepting. Or both, by turns. I am learning; I practice, how to make the most of today, to enjoy what we are given: a place to live, trees, food and shelter. We get to watch Rain become a mother and get to know Tal, as man and father. 

So, what can I do about being afraid? Or, what can I do about that brave statement I made last week, if that WAS what set me back in my recovery? No, it is much more likely that I overdid it earlier in the week when I was cooking and messing about with this and that. That what fear I have is deep down and unspoken enough to be wordless seems evident. So perhaps what I have to do is keep on living, (one cannot do anything else!), in my best self mode, and know that when the time comes all will be resolved, not all at once, and never permanently. Like being in deep water, you just have to keep swimming.

I have been too ill, too absorbed in the pain, to do some of the healing therapies that I have at my disposal. Even the regular administration of my pain meds I have relegated to K, because I am not up to it. This morning I have gone out while the sun shone to absorb its healing rays. (Mumma Yaga's "solar healing") Clouds cross the sun from time to time, lines, on their way somewhere. I will remember as often as I do think of it (a tautology if ever I heard one!), to breathe, to relax, to release my pain and stress with each breath. I will do some (at least) of my physiotherapy exercises. For the rest I will be doing daily tasks where possible and making sure I fit in a few short walks. When I am outside I am aware of breath; the air is clean (for which I am thankful), the trees, the valley and the hills are beautiful and ever-changing (also: thankful).

But really, being afraid, do I have to do this now? With so much else going on? Haha, some of it is about the "so much else" that is going on! Sigh. 

The pain abated after those two days, and then got back on a path to improvement, each day a little step closer to wellness.

Thank you for visiting. Keep well. Smiling is good.

Mumma Yaga

The small green life that goes on under summer's noise goes on a few weeks more, more noticeable now that the trees are bare and the summer's undergrowth is gone.

I think these may be my favorite plant. They grow everywhere here and all over the Bruce Peninsula where I first came to love them. British Soldier Lichen, or possibly a relative since I seldom see them as bountifully red-topped as those in pictures.

* Wallace Stevens, On the Road Home, published in The Palm at the End of the Mind collection, 1972, copyright, 1967.