Patience, forgiveness, this heart thing, the remote control, and that’s all I need.
In the past two weeks since returning home I have:
- Set up a home office.
- Fixed a collapsed wall shelf and constructed a floor shelf and placed a new rug in my daughter’s room.
- Gotten caught up on all my bills, paid my rent, and sent ex-wife a check for my daughter’s insurance.
- Patched my windshield, changed my oil, and replaced wiper blade and washer fluid.
- Dragged two bathtubs around the back yard to create a lettuce patch and a pond.
- Sprouted a tray of leafy-green seeds and transplanted a dozen aloe plants and elephant ears.
- Done my laundry (twice) and gotten my hair cut (just once).
- Installed a new operating system on my home computer and fixed 38 things online that needed fixing (including recovering my Apple ID, setting up a foto website, and challenging people not to be idiots).
- Dunked my cell phone in an irrigation ditch after following my bliss down a magical country road and ordered a new one to replace it.
- Submitted a Texas Public Information Act request for documents related to the NeoSync clinical trial and requested my medical files from my therapist and psychiatrist.
- Swept and mopped my house (one and a half times) and covered the lower windows in the front of the house with cellophane of various colors.
- Thought about updating this blog exactly 29 times (plus or minus a time or three).
- And, yeah, I have scrubbed the toilet. Several times.
In short, I have been a cleaning and constructing fool. I should be taking long naps and resting, but I’m pretty much unable to stop moving. I do bike to the library to write most days, but at home? Forget it.
I take half a sleeping pill to get to bed every night as sleeplessness remains a problem. Thinking I have the eggbeater to thank for this energy. It fuels the generative momentum. Which I convert into sustained enthusiasm for, you know, being alive and stuff.
Before I broke camp to move in with my folks and went off the brain pills I had a hard time doing anything, even making a bowl of cereal. Now? I’m surprised I haven’t started working out recipes to make my own cereal. It’s like that.
And while this constructive mania, as some of you have probably noted by now, represents solely an outflow of capital, I am anxious to get back to work. Over anxious, I think. I frequently have to pause and sit myself down. “Self,” I say…
A few nights ago the spirits sat me down as well.
At the fortune teller’s house. I tell her how much my daughter enjoyed visiting recently (?). She’s touched. She wants to tell our fortune in certain way (there’s someone by my side I don’t ever see directly), but I say, ‘No. Here.’ And I set up a plain chest w/ three items on it. Basically, it is a challenge to improvise, to prevent any trickery of prepared materials. My first question is about getting back to work and she says, “No. You are going to get close to nature first.”
After I leave I see a bird of prey in the sky, small, insanely flexible. Watching its acrobatics I jokingly hold out my arm for it to land and someone warns me that it would tear my arm up/off. I reassure them I would pull my arm away at the last minute. Then I put on the elbow-length glove and someone runs to get me a couple mice. It lands, eats, and we bond.
I should mention I’ve never been to a fortune teller. Well, not on this side of consciousness anyway.
And thus I am redirected away from work and back to my recovery. I know I cannot go back to work on the power of my ego’s desire, obedient to the voice inside me that desperately wants to show the world I’m not that sick. That I’m better, actually. That I’m just as good (or more so) as I ever was. That part of me that has something to prove. That way is more sickness. It is measuring myself by the opinions of others and once it starts it … never … stops. It must be dismantled.
And, yes, I’ve sickened myself with worry and sorrow and even slipped into depression for a day and a half after my partner and I fell into a terrible disagreement. I’ve been afraid, too.
One of the key strategies I find myself utilizing to stay healthy is constant attention to my heart. I can feel the constriction of that wellspring of life when I am gripped by grief or selfishness or fear. And I have learned how to encourage it to soften again. To expand. To love.
Each time I start to feel sick in my mind or emotions, I check in with my heart. Virtually every time the answer is opening, loving, accepting. That more demanding case, and they do come, takes more time. I watch and I listen, observe myself through the hours. I have to be patient with myself, my feelings. The deeper I sync into this space, am guided by it, I can feel a new me emerging. The me I’ve wanted to be for as long as I can remember. It’s so close.
If I have learned nothing else through this process, if there is no other thing I can put into practice in my remaining days, it is patience with myself. That and complete forgiveness. Oh, and that heart thing.
Patience and forgiveness, this heart thing, and that’s all I need. Except maybe my remote control. Patience, forgiveness, this heart thing, the remote control, and that’s all I need.
Oh, and the occasional Steve Martin reference. But that’s it.