Blood From A Stone
Everything Will Never Be The Same Again
Dear Ones,
Hi truth embracers. Trauma veterans. Everything will never be the same again. I shout this up to a red twinkling star. This energy of closure is a good thing. It whispered down to me. Embrace change. Do not fear it. Even the seasons of our experience will change.
Does your body conspire to get your attention too? Mine is such an attention seeker! I understand why she does what she does now though. I do not dare blame her.
Stop waiting for the air to clear, readers. Are you still drawing blood from a stone? Tidy up your minds! Rise up from doubt. Let's incubate new seeds, dear cultivators.
*Nessa Tip*: Sometimes my brain has too many tabs open. Does yours? I focus on one tab at a time. Don’t get bogged down by unimportant, distracting to-do’s. Stay in touch with life choices that help you thrive and feel alive.
DEAR EYES FORGIVE ME
Hospital hallways smell like bandaids. Bandaids, bodily fluids, and clinging despair. Do you know the smell of human anguish? I do. I round. Stinging eyes.
I am so sorry dear obsidian eyes. I never meant you to record such horror. Sweet windows to my achy soul. I never meant you to be lifelong witnesses of this type of suffering.
I handle it with as much grace as possible. Behind enemy lines. My eyes breathe fire. Amid sanctioned injustice. Thank you for your endurance, eyes. For seeing me through human despair, infections, clinging, loss, sickness, denial, greed, deceit, violence, death, and cancer galore. For navigating the ways. For knowing how to see. To see between the lines. All from within the belly of the beast. It is okay if you want to take rest now. There, there, my tired eyes.
*Nessa Tip* Go easy on yourself. Do you know the art of living? They say one part of it is to live in present moments. I repeat this like a broken record to you. To me. To all. I witness humans at deathbeds. How can I expect them to understand the art of dying? How can I expect that they understand the art of dying when they never understood the art of living? My expectations shift.
WHO ARE WE FIGHTING?
Persistence of human fighting brings up dire questions. Why the conflict, mortals? I don’t even like dodgeball. Boxing is my least favorite. Can anyone see my white flag? Get me out of this warzone health system. My usual defenses fail me.
By the way, who are we docs actually fighting within the boxing ring? Have you not wondered this? I thought patients were the north star. So said the bobbleheads.
It turns out that our nemesis is the U.S. healthcare system. The system is the sickness. The sick sick care system.
We stand in the line of fire. No armor. No army. Ouch! What a right hook you got there, system! I spit out a bloody tooth or three. Forgive my naivete. I slip and slide around hospital hallways in my bodily fluids.
So we made some mistakes. It is okay. Don’t you see? Mistakes are blueprints for rebuild.
Let us hope future humans will read this in disbelief.
REORIENTATION
I prefer presence over presents. That idea cheers me. Friends gift me in food, seeds, and plants. I find it all irresistible. Let’s reorient our relationship to needless belongings. Stop averting your eyes. We can’t cross the rainbow bridge with them, silly.
My foolish collection of garbage exasperates me now. I too was swindled by mass marketing tactics. Darn algorithm. I am not immune to it. My antibodies fail me yet again. Thanks a lot, antibodies. I picture my family stuffing my body and my collection of needless things back into the beloved earth. Landfilled to the brim.
RISE OF TRIUMPH AND TRAGEDY
Dear tide, thanks for constantly turning. Seriously, thank you. Toss me on the ocean of change. I have a beacon now. Imagine being stuck in one place forever. Hamstering. What purgatory!
Sometimes I sound braver than I feel. It is okay to be suitably disturbed by truth. Bowing down to impermanence helps me.
These days, there are many stories of triumph. There is also a notable rise in stories of tragedy. More catastrophes than “usual.” Is that your sense too? I am afraid that it is not just you, my friends.
Human sickness and death appear earlier and earlier now. This of course goes against our hopes and desires. We must adapt to this new truth. Grow from it. As it is. Sandpaper truth.
A QUEEN BEE NAMED ZIBA
I saw a bee on the last day of her life. She won’t return to the queen I thought. I then thought of her beehive homestead. The stellar communication and collaboration there. The community.
Once I tried my hand at beekeeping. I made a plan. I even named the queen Ziba which means beauty in Farsi. It did not work as planned. Such is life.
The beekeeper trapped Ziba during the transfer. We ladies all protested the snare idea. What happened next came as no surprise. When Ziba was set free in new home, she promptly took her sisters and bailed. I cheered her on. The male drones buzzed around with no address. The beekeeper man shrugged.
I SEE YOU
Unlike bees, we humans cannot communicate because we cannot collaborate. We cannot collaborate because we cannot communicate. Some pickle we are in, sapiens.
The Zulu greeting Sawubona or "I see you" is a powerful expression. It carries deep meaning. It signifies profound respect and recognition of the other person's humanity, dignity, wholeness, and worth. It acknowledges the person's existence. Sawubona, dear readers. I see the whole of you.
More than a trillion cicadas will be ready to co-emerge from the earth this spring. They tunnel to aerate the earth. Soil sifters! The next brood co-emergence like this won’t happen for 221 years. They symbolize rebirth and transformation (not to be mistaken with locusts).
When I am Among the Trees
Mary Oliver
When I am among the trees,
especially the willows and the honey locust,
equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,
they give off such hints of gladness.
I would almost say that they save me, and daily.
I am so distant from the hope of myself,
in which I have goodness, and discernment,
and never hurry through the world
but walk slowly, and bow often.
Around me the trees stir in their leaves
and call out, “Stay awhile.”
The light flows from their branches.
And they call again, “It's simple,” they say,
“and you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.”May All Beings Find Peace.
Nessa
Post inspired by book club book of the week: The Power of One by Bryce Courtenay
Another great post. I was especially moved by the section asking your eyes for forgiveness. Well said. Walk down one ward with all your senses alive and the flood of emotions, ups and downs, hope and despair are truly felt. Maybe that’s why we stay walled off?? Good to know another traveler of the real world. I hesitate using the word,”real”. I am not sure of what is real and what is not. A constant unsettled state of existence. Love your thoughts and the guidance and the awakening they provide.
Is that the temple to Anahita pictured? I think I’ve read about it