Mar 21, 2020

Stillness and slower now, again.

The world is on pause, in polarity. A diagnosis as mysterious as cancer, just as hard to see or navigate- familiar uncertainty. We thrive on the peripheral, but we tumble back to center. The middle of the clock, here we are, arms moving right on around.

I focus on the mountain when I’m feeling restless. The image of an unmoving, unphased rock- slowly enduring all seasons and weather, a place to go for comfort. But, in thinking about meditation today, my mountain found it’s own story. If a mountain, than more of volcano- calm at surface, melted fury, hot and soft within. Bound to erupt. With gentle breeze, I calm the core.

I’ve distanced myself socially, even more so than they suggest. Dropping treats off for friends, I can’t bear to stop and greet with a sheet of glass between us or limbs empty from embrace. Running into a friend and neighbor by the river last eve, our eyes welled with meaning, filling in the 6ft space our arms could not. And I thought, how do we live with the scars that might follow? We can’t remain afraid of hugging or kissing one another, of feeding each other, of sharing, of dancing and singing face on cheek, not forever.

My friends with families have found the brightly reflective silver solace in slowness prevention detention. I can hear the space in their voices, and the comfort of steadied connection needed and craved with spouse and child.

Those in treatment, my cancer family, I think of them magnetically. Thoughts pulled apart, sucked together. Scans and delayed scans, surgeries and chemo. Life and it’s living. Pregnancy, and any day infants. White blood count, immunity. Money, copay. Compromised, confident. Calm, dis-eased. Those diagnosed, those delayed in diagnosis, those thru the cracks. Also, I think about the light that comes thru. I think about what it means, for any of us, to survive.

I cope on the slow, on the still celebrated life. I comfort in the kitchen, in the changing weather, in friendship, in nature, in the faintly backlit shadow of connections keeping us together. What else, you too? Over a month out of treatment. This is survivorship, it's life, still coping.