Settle

Tightness in my chest this morning. Someone or something is sitting on it. Is this a succubus? I don’t think so. It is a dark pressure, maybe sorrow, maybe something else. I am exploring it. I am mining for meaning.

I am tired of this corporeal form. We are born, we are incarnated, we are always trapped* inside our own bodies. We must embrace our bodies to survive but so few can do this. Honor our vessel. I know that sounds hokey but after spending so much time with Tessa and living with and fighting my own disabilities, it is time to acknowledge the fact that our bodies both limit and allow us to soar. Our bodies are only human, after all. They do the best they can under very trying circumstances which includes dealing with us treating them very poorly.

Why the dichotomy? I worked with a woman who was severely sexually abused. I asked her to talk with that little girl who hid so much, who was so brave, to give her the comfort she needed at the time. She endured, we endure but at what cost? If I am tired, lay down, thirsty, drink, full of energy, work just enough before exhaustion sets in.

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It is our brains that won’t let us rest, until like Tess, we are forced to. Then you discover a whole other you. Beset by pain, unable to rest, frustrated, angry. Or maybe acceptance kicks in. Maye you let go and open up a little to other ways of life. Reflective, not busy. Considered, not frantic. Just being.

Tess told me to “settle.” She said “Mom, you’re always fiddling. Stop.”

I’m a productive soul. To settle is hard. Settle implies acceptance of the way things are. Settle means rest, ease, being here.

But I’ve got to do this and I have to do that. Just one more thing, one more chore. Hey, you, it’s never done, it’s never finished. STOP. Let me be.

Busy work keeps me from settling. Settling is what I need to do and I am like the dog in UP chasing squirrels and being distracted. As long as I have squirrels in my life I can keep from the business of being. Busyness. Wash the dishes, scrub the floor, go shopping, cook dinner, dust, vacuum, clean toilets, clip toenails, deadhead flowers, feed the dog. These are the things that fill up my day. They need to be done, I grant you that. But to fill up your life with daily duties is dull. How do you like that alliteration?

The time spent settling is productive. What does it produce, you ask? Ideas, delight, mulling, shelling peas in my head, counting clouds, being creative. Expanding, not contracting. Even now, as I sit here writing this I am thinking, call John, is he okay, call Tessa, pay bills, blah, and blah.

Shut up, unsettled brain. Nothing needs to be done but doing what you’re doing now. Settling, wandering in my head. Any landmarks? Any signs from above? Inspiration? Respiration? Illumination.

Settle, from Old English, come to rest. I just had a flash of my Grandma Poodie. She always wanted me to settle right next to her. I can see her patting a seat next to her. Come sit beside me. She was quiet in herself. You might say contained. Of course, she was old so that might explain some of it. She also had nine children and that will slow you down some. She had a lovely glow about her.

I’m old now too and I do believe it’s time to settle. I am retired. I can help out but mostly I can be that solid rock in the center of a flashing, crazy stream, just sitting. Come to me, settle for awhile.

*We are not trapped inside our bodies. That is a misnomer. That thinking puts us at odds with ourselves. I know that many of the injuries I’ve done to my body is because I made it do things it shouldn’t/couldn’t do. We are trapped by our minds being bossy and officious. This mind/body split is absurd.

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New lessons

I spent all day in a surgery unit waiting for my daughter Tessa to be finished. And by finished I don’t mean terminal, I mean ready to go home. The hard part came at the end when I couldn’t go back to wait for her to wake up because she was in such excruciating pain. That is not an exaggeration. I am ashamed to say that I never realized until recently when I came down here how horrible her pain has been for the last two years.

The worst part about pain is that you can’t see it and anecdotes don’t cut it and pain levels don’t cut it. Truly, no one can feel your pain. Tessa has existed in this no man’s land where her doctor said–“Oh well, we’ve done all we can and now it’s up to the pain management people. Well, that was bullshit. Apparently her surgeon hadn’t done an xray or a CT and didn’t notice that she had bone spurs and a ligament and scar tissue squeezing and poking that nerve. She was in pain. She wasn’t some hysterical female, or drug seeking addict.

She came out of this recent surgery with no nerve pain. None. She has surgical pain. A lot of repair work had to be done, but no nerve pain. I know it’s early days, but I am so thankful that she found a new surgeon, a new team and will mend. I cannot imagine now, how this has and will effect her. For sure, she will have a new appreciation for the disabled. I have a new appreciation for her. This did not destroy her.

I cannot convey the depth of my gratitude to the Will’s family for their financial support in getting her to seek a second opinion. I am forever grateful to you folks. Your son and I will nurse her (and you will too later), but you made this happen. I am grateful.