Here I sit, awaiting words that always come when I address you. My right elbow rests on a yoga block to support my limp right hand. The back, curved, no matter what pillows I employ, squeezes my diaphragm and makes me pant. The head sinks with no support from the neck.
I describe myself to you and imagine a response. I imagine you feel a little bit of my experience. I imagine it matters. Sometimes you write and tell me it does. That sustains me.
This blog has not gone viral. I am not popular, have ceased announcing posts, have ceased social media, have mostly ceased sending hopeful links to friends and family. There's just so much out there; I can't keep up, so why should I add my voice?
My voice. I give it a try. Just a whisper. I push more air through, direct my vocal chords to draw closer to each other. For a second, a sound. More water would help but I would have to get up, and I don't feel like it. I wonder what picture to include today. I look at the video I took during the sudden dramatic squall a couple days ago. My brother is in it, narrating his own video. Do I ask his permission? Today at 10am it's already 61 degrees. Shall I comment on what that all means?
Some of you are former clients/patients; some of you are Zen students. I worry how it is for you to really see into the mess I have become. I consult my Zen teacher and he says, body exposed in the golden wind, and, nothing hidden--references to koans that upend our preferences for glamour and cover. We speak of loss and what is left. Only love. The next day he sends a link to a beautiful essay by my first Zen teacher, Merle Kodo Boyd, who just died. She wrote about the freedom (enlightenment) that comes when the bottom drops out of the bucket.
I don't really know who you are. I don't know who I am either. I just know I look forward to Wednesdays, to the surprise that comes from this creative process. As I write I hop off occasionally to play with video of my changing world. I'll share it. I'll share my changing self. May the disintegration be of use. Spring is near.
February 23, 2022