Saturday, April 27, 2013

the lesson of my 44th year.

the night and i were company for one another again
and as the house struggled to settle,
so did i.
the medication i am back on
can be hard on this body of mine
and while yesterday was so peaceful in my heart
it was not so in my body
and i struggled in the wee hours
 to prepare myself for the day ahead.
i had plans for today
 they needed to be relinquished and laid to rest.
the fingers that were itching to start a new art journal
were and are unwilling to do anything more than wide, simple grasping
"it's a plastic cup day"
 i said to owen, knowing that i would be dropping
 more than i would be catching today. 
there would be big baggy sweaters that didn't require button work,
and shoes that slip on and off as to avoid pulling.
the body flares that have nothing to do with colitis,
but at the same time,
have everything to do with colitis
are in charge today.
 typing on my phone today
 results in entire conversations being underlined in red
that i need to go in and fix because my hands are swollen and uncooperative.
a small gathering of intimate friends has been put on hold
because this body isn't accepting much
 of any kind of food and i am not up to watching cake eating on my behalf for another year.
but there sprang up an impromptu family lunch of burgers for them and
kombuchu for me.
no pressure.
 just comfortable love.
the best kind.
instead of having a gathering,
i am tucking these bare feet under me
and settling in to watch Narnia
 and search for secret messages.
today was wonderful in its own way
because i have learned in the 44th year of my life
that letting go of what i have planned and allowning what needs to happen
is an entirely safe and acceptable thing to do.
because new experiences, encounters rise up
and my day becomes exactly as it need be.
my life has become a dance of releasing.
of letting go and letting be.
of trusting that tomorrow will take care of itself
and always, the gifts come.


  1. Oh, my dear... I don't know whether this will sound intrusive, but...thanks for sharing with us what you're going through. I am so grateful for the simple, hard details; it makes me feel closer to you to know how you're doing. And some day, whenever my turn comes up, I will remember the dauntless, gentle courage with which you bore it all, and the wisdom it brought you, and I will be comforted.

  2. it's 44 for me too! two days after you. It was very quiet but somehow that was okay! x