My two best friends came to town to stay with me after years of being away. From the time they walked in, we were in conversation that halted when we slept and continued when we awoke. One continuous train of thought that was the years we spent apart. It was lost on the phone, like in the telephone game when you whisper one thing into someone’s ear but at the end, inevetably another thing comes out. I had to see their face, I had to read their body language, the invisible parts of the sentence that gave that sentence its meaning.
On Sunday morning, as one of my friends was leaving, my body gave up. Maybe from too much excitement. I got sick like I haven’t been for years. My body burned with fever, like a forgotten pot left on simmer for two days straight. I sweated through clothes and sheets, but my body would not stop burning. I ached, it hurt to open my mouth. The doctor said it was strep throat, which I never had.
In Judaism, when someone else is sick, I am supposed to say, “Poor so and so,” and try to muster up genuine compassion for their disposition. I can’t say, well, they shouldn’t have been eating all that sugar, even if I was thinking it and knew it was the cause for their stomach ache. But. If I am sick, I have to look within myself for a reasons why you could be sick. Not in a form of a punishment but a message for my own redemption. For me a message was unclear. Maybe it was throat chakra which was related to speaking my truth in the world. If I couldn’t speak my truth, then in what way? And why now?
I layed in bed thinking, I had a lot of time to think. I have been in movement and as painful as laying in bed was, the thinking time was precious. So precious, that I almost thought it worth it. I died a small death. Being sick, I could not relate to the healthy, only to the in between. In the in between, I can look more clearly, from a different angle, at both life and death. It afforded me new seating in the arena of this life.
I thought about myself. About Lucy. About all those that are close to me. The ones in my life who support me. The ones who love me. The ones who are there for me. The ones who showed up. Jamie, my best friend, became my nurse. I couldn’t talk to her anymore, but she didn’t leave me. She brought me food and tea. Without words, I read her loving body language. The worry for me in her eyes. She massaged my achy feet while talking tenderly to me while I cried. My sister appeared the following day. Like an angel who took care of me and cheered me on all along. She has been there since I was born. Looking at me with her loving eyes. Making me laugh and watching me cry. She skipped her wedding Anniversary celebration in NY to care for me. To force me to drink more. She made me delicious chicken soup that even I tasted through my numbed down senses. And there were those who sent me texts of concern, who would have been there if I just asked. Elizabeth Blue showed up. She wanted to do Shamanic healing on me. Sure. She put me in a trance and I was gently whisked away into another dimension to the drum roll on her iPhone.
Through the pain, I felt gratitude and passion. Gratitude for all that I have. Passion to be back with the living again.
Olia Rights 