Many Gates

It is now five weeks since my fall. I guess from this point forward I'll see my life in terms of "BF" (before the fall) and "AF" (after the fall, despite the religious connotations!) I think within minutes, I knew that I had, in effect, fallen through a gate, but what I am now realizing is that it has already been a succession of spiritual gates, almost as if I were on a Roman road going under archway after archway.


The first was, of course, the fall itself. You are shaken to bits, shocked, realigned, and rendered helpless. One minute you are planning to attend midnight mass, the next you are in the emergency room. Everything has changed. Maybe I'll call it the Gate of Change.


The second I'll call the Gate of the Angels. From that night, when all the doctors and nurses were in Santa hats, to now, everyone around me or on my path seems to have had it as their goal to help me. Perhaps this has been the case earlier in my life more than I realized (so many friends have been my angels!) but this has been a consistent thing and I see it, or more to the point, feel it. It's like the tide of my life seems to have turned around, and is going in the direction of buoying me up. My goodness.


Third has been the Gate of Empathy. I have been so fortunate vis a vis my health. So those first two weeks were so hard. I had bunged up both knees a bit was well as my wrist, and truly was rendered nearly unable to do anything, at least "normally." I was in pain, a bit angry, confused, humiliated. For the first time in my life, I can relate, to my friends who have had cancer or other diseases, my mom who I took care of as she was dying of emphysema, even the men and women on the street with walkers or canes. I am one of them, not looking on.


For the last week or two as you know from my last post, I've gone through the Gate of Vulnerability. I guess all I will add is this sense of wonder, imagining the thousands upon thousands of miles I've walked, run, bicycled, driven, taken buses, trains, planes, subways, ferries, rowed, sailed, and otherwise traversed with few incidents. Now, my courage seems to extend to getting the three blocks to the shops and back. I trust that I will regain a great deal of this day-to-day courage, but it's still early days.


I guess, as corny as it is, I'll refer to the latest gate as the Gate of Love. Have any of my readers watched "Great Canal Journeys," with actors Timothy West and Prunella Scales? They are, of course, the revered British actors who have been married over fifty years and share a love of narrow boating on canals. Scales is suffering from dementia, and the episode I saw this week was so extraordinarily touching. He is probably more aware than she that their time doing this together may be almost over. Their interactions are so poignant, loving, and in the moment. And what amazed me is that I related to them! I never married, have had no such consistent love or rewarding career. I think a few months ago I might have felt pain watching these sweet episodes, but instead, my heart seems to "get it." It made me so happy. Wow, five weeks, five spiritual gates. What will next week bring?!

Vulnerability

This last week or so, I guess the shock of my fall and injury finally hit me. I've done a lot of crying, and just wanted to hole up under some covers to allow myself to heal. A lot of this is, I am sure, the body's natural reaction to shock or injury. But I realized a few times that there was almost literally an entire lifetime of grief emerging.


I've come to understand that part of the fallout from having a dad who is incapable of love, is that you simply never learn what it is like to be the center of someone's world. The message, while probably unspoken, from that first moment, was, "You are on your own, little baby." Yes, I had a roof over my childhood head and food on the table, even perks like a private school and a family summer home. But I finally understand that these were not done to care for us, they were done so that he would appear to be conforming to a WASP norm. My mom, bless her, must also have learned that caring for a narcissist meant that emotionally, he was all there was. I don't think I have ever felt on a heart level what it was like to be cherished, protected, a focus of love and attention. I have just attacked life with the understanding that I would always be alone and scrambling to survive.


Oddly enough, I've rarely felt vulnerable. Even after I left the corporate world with all its guarantees and benefits, I just plowed ahead the best I could. I wasn't necessarily making a beautiful picture out of my oil painting set, but I took each step forward into (sometimes) hell and (sometimes) heaven with, I see now, outrageous courage. I had an inner compass, and I tried my best to follow it, and still am. And I've been free in a way that many people aren't.


Part of my weepiness is realizing just how vulnerable I have been all along, and just didn't know or feel it. Thirty years ago on leaving "time," I probably could and should have either conformed with another similar situation, or crawled into a cave and never come out. When I think of all the steps I have safely taken all these years, I almost literally swoon now. Isn't it strange that my dad's inheritance was a level of courage that perhaps a more loving childhood might never have formed? The biggest journey ahead of me will be restoring some of that day-to-day courage. It's going to be baby steps, baby steps.

Who am I?

It is so interesting that, on the heels of ten days or so of truly being aligned with myself in this place that I love, I would literally fall through a portal into a new reality. We are so defined by what we do, aren't we? And almost everything that I do, or have done in the past, has involved my right hand/arm. Not being able to write properly, type properly (this'll be short!), draw, carry, is like being a different person; even the staples of womankind through the centuries and my guesthood -- doing dishes, sweeping, mopping or vacuuming floors, errands -- all are out of bounds for the moment. I've been humbled knowing that there are so many people who may live entire lifetimes or parts of their lives unable to do these things. How overwhelmed I am by the good fortune of 62 years of mainly unimpeded activity, travel, work, carrying, driving, self-expression! But even I have had some moments of despair...when I can't even write in my journal, who am I? If for even a somewhat limited time I cannot do the things that have defined me, who am I?


I had to stop and remind myself, what can I do right now? I can just barely get dressed and do basic self-care. I can walk. I can think. I can sing. I can smile. I can see. I can love. I am grateful.


Of those things, who am I? Well, hopefully on my best days, these are also who I am. I hope most of the time that I am love. I am song. I am vision and wisdom and as much happiness as I can find within. Those things will presumably always be "me" no matter what I can or cannot "do."

All I'll Say

All I'll say is that I learned more about love this Christmas than I expected.


En route to Gloucester Cathedral Christmas Eve midnight mass, I fell and ended up having a cast put on my arm rather than singing carols in that glorious space. Medical personnel with Santa caps focused on getting me well cared for, and I felt some feeling of being the babe in the manger myself, if it's OK to say that! And in the ensuing week, I've learned to be more willing than I ever have to receive love, kindness, caring. So many have always been kind, please don't misunderstand me. But it has always been my instinct to jump up, do dishes, clean, and of course be able to at least do my own basic caring. To receive help with even those things is so new. I am profoundly grateful for the beautiful, wise angels and teachers at my side and on this path.


Yesterday I finally got to the cathedral, which has had a lot of scaffolding removed since my last visit. The sun was out, cold but bright. The building's exterior and interior were a bright honey color that I didn't remember. I cried almost nonstop for an hour, seeing the stunning Ivor Gurney, Finzi, Howells, Brewer and Wesley stained glass windows in a lady chapel so warmly beautiful I was transported. A quiet noon said service in the adjacent chapel was accompanied by the background babble of visitors, not the choir, and that was brilliant. The sun poured in the modern blue stained glass window and love was there too. I don't know what it is, but English cathedrals generally, and this one particularly, vibrate at my wavelength. I marvelled at how right it may have been to see the space in the sun, this way.


Life seems so poignant and precious to me right now. I'm trying hard not to look back or forwards. It's rather literally impossible for me to make of this trip what I expected to, so I'm in the moment "big time" and radically letting go. All I'll say is that with events conspiring like this, who needs a new year's resolution?