What is this new normal?
A body unknown to me. As I get used to one set of discomforts, another is presented. I resist letting softness settle into my escaping muscles. There is a lethargy unsure of how to rest on my 35 year old energetic being. Small cups of colored liquids and pills-we face off twice a day. I let them win the staring contest, trusting their presence within my sacred body. I learn not to fight with the desires to sleep, rest or nap.
I just do.
I cry for the others in the chemo suite. I look the youngest. Others without hair. Some look strong, some so weak. I cry for their pain-their journey so unknown to me, some of them years on the path. Do they believe there is light at the end? Do they still hold hope? I cry that they do and hold their hope for them. I cry that I’m stronger and younger than them. And I cry because what if I’m not.
And as I walk, I cry of gratitude for this clear path to walk on that passes thru the field, the meadow, beneath the canopy of woods, next to the ponds. I cry because my legs work so well. The heron takes flight, the dog pounces a vole, the Cedar Wax “ce ce’s” above.
I cry because I can feel, smell, touch, see and hear all these magical mysteries of creation.
I am alive. I am vibrant. I radiate the fire that keeps burning. And the earth is my mirror.