Hey Man

My robe is so so soft.

This washcloth is the most incredible in the universe. It perfectly loosens dried adhesive from my purple-splotched skin.

Woah, those are enormous bruises. What happened to me? It looks violent.

The smell of my shampoo in the steam of the shower is intoxicating.

I can smell an orange from across the room. My mouth can taste it without eating it.

There is such beauty in the pomegranate’s tiny garnet pearls that glisten in the afternoon light. Each precious seed is a complete experience as it is strategically mined from an ancient fruit. It bursts a strangely flavored juice, followed by a satisfying crunch.

I feel replenished with love and gratitude.

Not Hallmark love. Not gratitude from a phone app.

Did I consume edibles without realizing it? I sure feel like it.

My twins’ laughter from the next room has replaced the constant howl of meaninglessness.

Then my heart swims away as Ave Maria, sung by Andre Bocelli, fills my soul. Dad and I used to weep when we heard him sing. Excellent choice, Pops.

I take great delight in unpremeditated emotions and sensations flowing through me. I have no barriers. I do not plan. I do not analyze. I do not depend upon a book or an app to guide me on authenticity. To confuse me, not help me. Feelings should not be correct or a chore on a to-do list.

I just am.

It is so simple.

Ram Das is cool.

Be Here Now

So much has been stripped away.

I can breathe.

I can focus.

I can feel.

I highly recommend an exploded appendix with spontaneously broken ribs and partially collapsed lungs. My blood pressure was so low it did not read; multiple cuffs, both arms, forearm, and upper arm. Have you ever seen anything like it? They asked. I was spiraling rapidly down, an adrenal crisis. I went someplace much bigger than the exam room. Everything was happening on a fuzzy tv station. I did not want to pay attention. I wanted to check out this other vast place.

Then I heard the word emergency surgery.

That got my attention.

I can not have surgery.

The Rheumatologist said I was too frail to have my hip fixed.

The Skeletal Physiologist said I was too frail. Frail. Pisses me off.

The Orthopedic Surgeon said I would die on her table. No surgery allowed.

They told me I had to have it.

I explained everything to the Anesthesiologist. Her professional demeanor slipped. I told her I was frail. Her warm brown eyes connected with mine and filled with tears as she promised to keep me safe.

Your Anesthesiologist should not be crying before your surgery.

Your nurses should not be tearing up and holding your hand when for 4 days, the floor drops out repeatedly. The room filled with commotion as I struggled to circulate my blood. They stopped telling me what my BP was when it hit 67/42. The pain was next level. Where did that come from?

I was not frail. I was so overgrown I could not see my shape. Fear, anxiety, depression, overthinking, hesitating, and being overwhelmed with clutter kept me from finding my solid trunk, my structure. I could not find my branches; I was so cluttered and concerned about what may happen. In my comedic effort to understand everything that has happened, why things are happening, what the consequences are, what I need to do, and what it will mean. I was exhausted and overwhelmed to the point there was complete chaos in my brain. In my total confusion, I lost the ability just to be. I could not merely experience life. It was overthought, over-analyzed, distracted, confused, and disoriented by a pace I could no longer manage.

Koyaanisqatsi.

My tree. Branches and chaos started crashing off. They were too heavy. I hit a point of mandatory change.

I could not reattach branches that had fallen off. They do not glue back on. There are new fresh buds. Clean, fresh uninterrupted buds of experience unfolding.

My ears perk up at the sound of my kids and cats playing. Joy.

The air awakens the nerves in my face as it breezes across it.

I don’t want to be strong.

I don’t want to be weak.

I am alive.

I just want to be.