Martin Buber said, "All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware."
What a lovely thought to carry through this day.
Monkeys and rats love mazes and toys, so, this morning, I am excited about meeting the radiation machine.
I might wonder at my sanity. Once again, the idea is to destroy everything. Good guys come back, and cancer cells cannot. They just die. There is no resurrection for the mutated. Of course, we are sure the cancer guys are gone, but, just in case, let’s burn from the outside in, a few more cells. Quite a few, it seems. The breast tissue goes all the way up to the collarbone. How can I be excited about this? Well, I thought today I would buy new camisoles, as I can’t wear a bra, and beautiful tops that skim the edge of my collarbone. That will be sexy, I’m sure, especially along with my newly reddened skin. Because I am so fair, she says I will have a hard time, but I can rub my breast with Lanolin. She asks if I am allergic to wool. I wonder if I am going to smell like a sheep on top of everything else.
So, why am I excited? I see how I welcome the new, a change, and, of course, the sooner begun, the sooner done, and today, I may see the fish tank I have heard about, which is in the inner sanctum of the radiation waiting room. They have two waiting rooms, one in the center of the building, and another more intimate. I enter there, today. I’ve seen people going in and out, but now, I, too, won’t wait, like a potted plant, in a giant atrium.
Yesterday waiting for my appointment I read 85 pages in High Fidelity, a rather odd book perhaps for waiting for a medical appointment, rather sad, but it has a happy ending, and that’s what counts. The guy grows up after many disappointments with women, and, this book is billed as a chance to learn how hard the male mind works, and how hard it is to be male. I had some clue as to male worries on sexual performance, but this book gives a huge dose of the angst. It is perhaps much easier to be female, except when it comes to breast cancer, which seems to be hitting the female population with a harder hammer than I would prefer.
Anyway, in my excitement, I am, of course, practicing being in the moment, this moment, seat on chair, back erect, but not too erect. After all, there is a curve to the spine. Feet are resting on the floor, still asking when the tingling is going to stop. I have no answers, and maybe in this moment, not even a question. I am excited in my day.
What comes to mind is that fear is excitement without the breath. I think I have that right. Yes. Well, I have been practicing holding my breath for 15-20 seconds so my heart is in the right place when the rays from the technological marvel of a machine cross through. No wonder I am excited. I have the most incredible breath. It comes in quite nicely, like a big cabin cruiser, and then, it rests there at the dock, while people sip margaritas and tequila sunrises, and then, it softly swooshes out, as people go to dinner in white slacks and topsiders.
And sometimes, it comes in like the sea, nestles in an anemone, and swoops back out, happy to leave the inner behind and extend tentacles like braids in the waves.