4.15.15 Learning to swim,not sink

     When someone you love has a serious diagnosis of cancer, there are so many seasons that   predominate certain responses, so much like weather, to adapt to. To listen to. To honor. It is both harder, in given moments, than you could have imagined, and more manageable, as a whole, than you would have anticipated. 
     You slowly begin to learn to swim, and not sink, because, like the rest of life, swimming is far more preferable an experience. 

You begin to learn how to moderate your choices, to honor your overall functioning, so you can manage as well as possible with what you know is quite an ongoing path. You ditch anticipation in favor of settling deeply into the present moment, whenever possible.

     You learn that planning, strategizing and researching is best done in early morning, as far away from evening and sleep as is possible. You learn to only do as much as your entire self can manage, and no more, or you begin struggling not to sink a bit.
     You learn to open the afternoon up for moments that take you out at the knees. You imagine yourself sitting by a stream, dignity like an aged mountain. You see small things, thoughts and irritations , and enormous powerful feelings and fears and loss , that barrel down the stream, and through you. 
     And you learn you can manage this. That it is a good way to live this. These enormous painful things move through you, and sometimes there is no need to identify them, just honor them and let them come on by, because you learn that they do move through, and pass on down the stream. Taken out by the knees, you recover yourself, smile at the love you feel for life. For process. For your own untold wisdom.

     And then afternoon comes, and you remind yourself that whatever needs to come up, before the time off ,can come up now. 
     You learn that if you take care of your needs as well as you can, then you can have these arrangements with yourself. It's amazing, really.
     And then, it's time to not think. Not strategize. Not create contingencies for physical or financial or emotional hazards. But simply to be, simply as possible. Prepare nourishing foods. Take nourishing calming herbs and supplements if possible. Sit out and watch what the earth and the night sky come up with.
     Be in one moment after another. After awhile, you begin to do this with more and more ease. You discover that the present moment is something you can always manage, whereas thinking and wondering and worrying is not.

     Never is there a way of knowing the future. There are signs and indications. A serious diagnosis is like this. There are so many ways of optimizing possibility, and no way of holding hands with speculation. It simply does not work, and harms us deeply. 
     So we take step after step, like a toddler, learning as we go. And the learning curve, with intermittent spills, is really something beautiful.