Yes,
as you say,
summertime often fills the water with voices.
But around the bend,
I reply,
that is where my eardrums cease to tingle.
And in the silence,
I am Gaia,
creator and creation.
Without tingling ears,
plastics or steel,
we are all one, interconnected.
We gathered around a table where Mrs. Straub showed us what she’d brought in this time. She gave each of us a branch to hold and observe with our eyes and hands. While they didn’t taste as good as the pomegranate seeds she brought in, the softness of the pussy willow is embedded in my memory. Though I know they can grow in other parts of the United States, I don’t recall seeing them in Missouri where my family moved after Oregon’s Willamette Valley.
And so, as I run past them in my new home in Oregon’s Willamette Valley, a pang of joy wells up in my eyes. I was blessed by a first-grade teacher who understood the importance of hands-on science learning. When we weren’t able to get out of the classroom, she brought nature to us in the form of pomegranates and pussy willows.
This morning I paused on my run to peer at the pussy willows clustered in the wetlands. I made another scientific observation: rain beads up on pussy willows as it does on my rain jacket. Thank you, Mrs. Straub for helping me to appreciate our world.
The craggy trail demands my attention. I don’t want to fall. The spider webs cling and distract me. I stumble but avoid scraped knees as my arms wave frantically.
“Where’s the water?” I wonder as I encounter dry creek bed after parched creek bed. Onward I push, rationing water from my bottle.
I need water. Where are the refreshing waters? My mind begins to wander and I drop to my knees upon sharp rocks. My blood trickles, mixing with the earth.
Immersed in embarrassment, I look around me. No one but chattering chipmunks and tall trees to see my misfortune. Sitting on the earth, I dab the wound.
Salty sobs burst from my eyes and soul. That’s when I find the cleansing waters for which I yearn.
East of the endless retail, and
the keeping it weird of Portland,
lies a land forgotten.
Far from the fir & fruit trees,
the nation imagines,
is another Oregon.
Beneath the infinite sky,
the sage grows wild, and
wheat, wind, & warmheartedness sustain.
In the arid landscape,
the rare rain & tree are treasures,
as beloved as family and history.
The tiny grocery, the pub,
& soda fountain are the venue
for a shadow vibrancy unseen by passersby.
Beyond that neighborliness,
using only my feet and legs to carry,
I step along a rocky path once walked by rancher.
Deep in the canyon,
beneath the hot spring sun,
my ears are baptized with silence.
Beside the deep blue river,
and beneath the azure dome,
my thoughts come easily.
Purifying sage reaches my nostrils,
the Spirit descends,
and divine love & clarity permeate palpably.
The rocks beneath & sky above are me.
My toes hug the rocky soil,
and my spirit soars among fluffy clouds.
I am one. We are One.
Candid shots are my preference but the things that move on the trail do not always want their photos taken. So today, I tried to gently coax this beetle to pose for its portrait on all legs. Instead, it rolled on its back. Then it stood on its head. Repeatedly, it stood on its head. I suggested one last time, “You’re portrait will be engaging if you stand on your legs!” My friend stood on its head once again.
I interpreted this to mean it was striking a pose.
It was longer, it is shorter now. My colon, that is. Two years ago my right colon was removed. That experience of surgery, hospitalization, and months of recovery changed me. Significantly.
On the second anniversary of my semi-colon, my incision said “hello” with a sensation that got my attention. It’s not unusual for it to speak to me, especially when I’m working my abdominal muscles at the gym.
I confess I like the hellos. They remind me of love, of vulnerability & mortality, and my humanity. The hellos remind me that caring for myself is not an extra. It is an essential.
I confess I like the hellos. They remind me of the love of my wife of nearly 37-years who took time off work to cook me mashed potatoes and help me manage the infected wound area. (It required gross things). They remind me of my children who ignored me when I told them they didn’t need to come see me.
I confess I like the hellos. They remind me of my vulnerability. There was something humbling and spiritual about being dependent: by medical staff in the hospital and my beloved at home. I experienced living fully human. To suffer and depend on others is part of how we are created. We are one family.
I confess I like the hellos because surgery & recovery changed me. I no longer give lip service to self-care. I take care of myself even when it is not convenient. I know — I believe & embrace — that I am important to myself, to others, and to the one I call God. I start my day with the gym or I stop work early and lace up my running shoes. I hike in the Columbia River Gorge, the sage-marinated trails of eastern Oregon, or I hike the sacred Mt. Hood. I take rest days when my body and spirit needs them.
After two-years with a semi-colon, I am thankful for the “one permutation from cancer” growths that necessitated removal of my right colon. Though my life is still filled with personal challenges, personal mistakes, deep grief at times, I am blessed by the divine presence within creation and each of us that nudges and encourages every rock and human being to be the most loving that we are capable of becoming.
____
This is the twelfth of multiple posts about my experiences of surgery and recovery following a colonoscopy and removal of my right colon.
Related Posts
God Hides God’s Face From Me! May 20, 2014
Unnatural, May 21, 2014
Out of Chaos, May 27, 2014
No Big Deal, May 29, 2014
Mortality, June 3, 2014
Wiped Memories, June 6, 2014
Perseverance, June 10, 2014
Scars, June 19, 2014
Embracing Emotions, July 2, 2014
An Unexpected Onion, January 14, 2015
One Year Ago Today, March 28, 2015
The Long & Short of It, March 29, 2016
On the trail,
all alone,
I’m not.
On the trail,
a partner,
sometimes silent.
On the trail,
a sojourner,
always present.
On the trail,
a voice,
a companion.
***
My companion,
listens,
as I cry & yammer.
My companion,
encourages,
free thought.
My companion,
appreciates,
randomness.
My companion,
smiles,
and love and hope hug me.
My companion,
speaks,
in word, sign, & through vistas.
***
When I deny, avoid
and question,
the companion waits.
In my confusion,
along the other paths I find,
my companion marvels at slug & frond.
When I worry,
and the world wounds my soul,
my companion points to the lilies.
When I avoid,
choosing the present,
my companion warms me in the now.
When I push back,
shouting “I hate you!”
my companion sticks around.
When I yearn & crave decision.
my companion offers a word or sign,
wrapped in hope, love, patience, & a hug.
***
A decision,
an issue,
flutters inside.
A decision,
interacts with,
bud & puddle of mud.
A decision,
an issue, pros & cons,
take turns deep within.
A decision,
with each step,
floats to the surface.
A decision,
is apparent,
and I lack trust, & confidence.
A decision,
eludes & hides,
behind fear and angst.
A decision,
waits patiently,
until I choose to hear.
***
On the trail,
all alone,
I’m not.
My companion,
listens,
as I cry & yammer.
When I deny, avoid
and question,
the companion waits.
A decision,
an issue,
flutters inside.
***
When I’m ready for joy,
the word or sign,
wrapped in hope, love, patience, & a hug await.
