Also, I feel how hard I am gripping, keeping my back straight, my spine strong. I keep seeing the image of myself crawling out onto land, into some new way of being perhaps, but maybe I can just relax into the sea a little bit longer. Maybe I can rest in liquid curves.
I also felt in the session how very clearly it is true that from death comes life. I could feel the young girl I was, and she is resting there, still, in these bones, just waiting to burst forth, like the flowers in spring. She is here with me; all forms are here with me. I am death and life, young and old. I thought of how mushrooms and worms work to recycle what dies. Jane and I are actively alive in our mushroom network. Worms are active in the soil. I am simply turning over, composting. The chemo may have scraped off my top layer of topsoil a few times, but I have plenty more.
So, I am peaceful, content, restful. I am letting go of striving in this moment. There is nothing to do.
There was a frog in Muir Beach, singing today. The frog symbolizes cleansing. I bathe in thoughts of replenishing, purifying, and filling. I fill. I cleanse.
I read from Louise Erdrich's new book, "The Painted Drum." "Thank you for my existence," is what stays with me. Those words are my comfort right now as the sun drops down behind the hill, bringing night to me, and light to another world.
Vicki returned these words to me from the David Whyte poem, The Faces of Braga. I offer them again.
If only we knew
as the carver knew, how the flaws
in the wood led his searching chisel to the very core,
we would smile, too
and not need faces immobilized
by fear and the weight of things undone.
When we fight with our failing
we ignore the entrance to the shrine itself
and wrestle with the guardian, fierce figure on the side of good.