6.7.17 You hold that fine fine knowledge firmly

     When I was in my 20's, my best friend's girlfriend was a drummer, and lost the use of her hands. More and more, I began to notice that phenomena, where the artist began to lose their sight, the musician their hearing, the farmer their strength, the teacher their voice. 
     On we go through life, and if one ability or another does not have significant challenges early on, then the changes ramp up as we age.
     If you look upon your life with this vantage point, it all begins to unfold like an ancient secret opening up to the cosmos.
     Of course, we don't just lose what matters most. We lose all kinds of other things, big and small. And then we rue, we rage, we are thunderstruck, we grieve. 
     Days arrive, and we newly grieve, newly surprised, until we settle in. 
     As someone I respect said recently ' It took me a few years to take the gun out of my mouth.' It takes awhile to get it enough, that we are not hit by the big surprise every time we wake.
     But if we want, the reality settles in. 
     If we want, it is no longer a surprise. 
     And if we want, and we have a little bit of simple quiet unconditional empathy from others, we eventually settle in.
     I used to have a client in my practice who loved to read. To learn.They always had a book in hand. When they retired, they'd audit for free classes at their old college, on all sorts of amazing subjects, and then during sessions, they would describe what they were learning.
     They read history and sci fi and novels and literature and science.          They read through the severe back pain til I figured it out. 
     They read through a sudden death of a sibling early on, and through a sudden falling in love and marriage. 
     They read through residencies, and earthquakes, and their back getting better, and a sudden heart stopping divorce. 
     Then they got glaucoma. They were at risk for cataracts. They had procedures and we did supportive measures. Eventually they learned that they would be losing their sight.
     This happens. To us all. It seems like such a crap shoot, and at times seems downright diabolical. 
     I often think about this in my days. I bet you do too. How we are able, how we are not , and what possibilities there are. 
     How to foster adaptation. How to take the time with the rage, the fear, the disappointment and the grief. How to get used to the new normal, and how to exchange quiet unconditional empathy with others, so we don't remain bereft or struck or so very alone.
     It can be confusing for all of us, too. Sometimes we say to ourselves 'Yeah, but you don't have a big difficult cancer right now .         Or you can see ok and hear ok and walk ok and drive. ' But that tough love crap doesn't always help. 
     What does help is settling down and saying yes to everything. 
     Yes, I can do things with my hands. Or maybe, yes I can walk along a road. Yes I can drive, or yeah I can read. Some of us can use our voices, some can hear, some can see and some don't have debilitating pain. 
     Yes I am losing my sight. Yes I have debilitating dizziness or pain or tinnitus or digestion. Sometimes sitting and not fighting and dying yes to what is happening helps it move from a big daily aching surprise loss to something we know is happening. 
     Some of us need to be very-very-very careful with what we say or do or experience, or an organ will deteriorate or seize up. We are often surrounded by others who don't understand it don't believe it can be true.

     How do you describe that reality to someone else?
     Some of us can do all of the above but can some days truly do only three things without getting worse. So pick, do dishes or walk dog or put in a wash? How do you describe to others the disorder and isolation resulting from that draw?
     An old friend who is 25 years older than me told me a few things. She said that as people age, all this stuff accelerates. Do whatever you need to accept that.
     She said most people she knows become so shocked and overwhelmed and daily surprised by the volume of difficulties, they become unable to talk about anything else. They become their litany of difficulty. They talk of nothing else. They stop noticing others and connecting and seeking meaning and beauty and surrender to their symptoms. She said to try not to do that. 
     She said that if you are lucky enough to remain here long enough, you will lose all your oldest best friends and acquaintances , who remember what happened and remind you of things and keep you sane and not all alone. Try to develop resources so that you can better manage that as it happens.
     She said you need to keep up your power so that, as your faculties weaken, your spirit remains strong, so everyone doesn't begin stepping all over you and crushing your spirit.
     And she said you need to practice abiding by that which feeds you, which fills you with strength and joy and a knowledge of what you have accomplished, and who you have been, when you are looking smaller and frailer.

     You need to be the one who holds that fine fine knowledge firm.