Heart Happy (cathy_edgett) wrote,
Heart Happy

Thoughts on seeing -

I pick up the kitchen and the house, noticing where my eyes go, particular and open focus. Perhaps that is what chemo mind is - open focus, taking things in, in a whole new way, no energy or attempt to dissect. Now, I focus in, and out. I have a choice. I reflect now on the place where I was confused in this transition, as the chemo fog, which was really a cocoon, began to lift and unfold. I had been focusing one way, and then, there was a shift to another, and I didn't know what to write or think about. I felt confused. Who was I? Who am I? I was inbetween far-sighted and near-sighted. Yes, inbetween knowing and not-knowing, being and doing. Inbetween. Perhaps, I still am. In, between.

Today, I am with the waiting room, why finishing the puzzle was such a reward for me. I find the waiting room a hard place to be. There is not much joy there, despite the flowers and the attempts, but there was joy in my finishing the puzzle. I felt joy, a genuine smile. It was something to share. Everyone smiled. There was bustling. A camera must be located, and a picture taken. There was activity beyond caring for patients. A photo of the puzzle went into a book. The puzzle was completed on April 7th, 2006. A ceremony was made, a ritual celebrated.

Some people bring someone with them, so though only the patients are supposed to be in the inner waiting room, there are usually others, and they are the ones who feel foreign, who look down, and do not find an easy smile. I am generalizing here, but that is my impression. They feel they don't belong. The older couples sit close together, a unit. It is an odd place, and with all the attempts at cheeriness, and calm, there is an undercurrent of fear.

And perhaps that is why I, at first, found it odd to learn there was a party there to welcome the new machine, which is a little guy, hardly worth noticing. It is portable and maybe four feet tall. Anna tells me they didn't even uncover it for the party, and it was supposed to be the guest of honor, or, perhaps, an excuse for a party and wine. Who knows? 1350 South Eliseo in Greenbrae is about community. People strive to understand and bring hope to pain, and, sometimes we all learn we have to let go. The wine goes in, and comes out. How is it in, between?

My machine is mighty and massive. I wonder what it thinks of the new little guy. I think of the Velveteen Rabbit. Do the machines talk and play at night? Of course, my machine is all alone in its room. The computers peer through the windows but it is usually all alone. What does it think about at night? Perhaps it feels might in its goal of helping others, of fulfilling the creative wishes and desires of others, perhaps it is proud or maybe just altruistic in its movement and place to hold body after body and radiate with its huge eye. It even blinks.

I understand the left brain side of the modern cancer world. The horse therapy is to open the right side, the intuitive side of our brains, even as we trust our lives to technology and logic. Today, in the travel section of the New York times, there is an article on the seductiveness of Sedona, Arizona, on the believing in and seeing your own aura when you are there. The author succumbed to drums and flutes. I have been there. Steve and I celebrated our honeymoon in Oak Creek Canyon and Sedona Country. We went back with Jeff and Chris and took a jeep far into the canyonlands. There, we found an inner sanctuary in the rocks open at the top, and Jeff played his flute so beautifully and hauntingly that birds came to see. They flew overhead. They thought they had a mate, a soul-mate, and they did.

The book of Julia Child's memoirs is out. It sounds like a must-read! She met the world with Joy. Let us greet each day that way.

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