Okay – weird place for the past few weeks, disease on the brain and all. Part of me feels like I’m in a place where I am being asked if I want this disease or not. A window of time, opportunity, cosmic connection and karma that will open and it will close, and I will scarcely be aware of it doing so. But I’m pretty aware that it feels open right now.
I’m in a place with a physical disease that they just don’t frankly know shit about. No one does, and so I am on my own to figure out just what they DO know, what I know, and the health paradigm that contains my decisions. Well, the shift has hit the fan, ever so gently, and I’m heading off into the un-medicated realm. Conventional paradigm says take drugs…but it’s a case by case basis with me at this point in my life. Think of it: Simplicty? Or Complication? All the shots are just a complication. I cannot become dependent upon anything that I cannot afford, plain and simple. Paradigm question: “Won’t the state pay for that?” Paradigm answer: “Of course it will!” New paradigm: “Can I afford to become dependent on something I cannot produce, afford, or procure without the aid of some nameless corporation somewhere, and shall I place my very life and health in it’s hands?” New paradigm answer: “Um….noooo?”
And so I head off into the world, vision all a-shit, dizzy and tingly. Look according the old paradigm like shit. Make-up, you know, has a very small, loving, place in mine…and it’s not for every day. Would rather not be in public except to get the things we need for our simplistic life, which isn’t much. But heading to the bank, I know I have to make an appearance to close out an account and sever ties with yet another financial institution. The old paradigm thrusts guilt, and shame, and less-than feelings for having to close and account that once filtered 6-digits worth of fiat currency a year. I know full well what happened – day by day, in fact. I have no reason for shame. But when a business closes, our paradigm screams “FAIL!” And so, I automatically set about the act the part of a failure. I offer up the reasons as excuses…as twists of fate and poor fortune…of pity and sadness…seeking to engender a sort of absolution for my poor outcome! Yes…automatically. See if that’s not true for you, too. We act the part. Because in my new paradigm, I sat and contemplated the truth of the matter within my own soul, and I’m having a good time, really.
Phil’s surgery and the store, and my relationships coming in to the picture and…and…and… I went through SO much the years that the store was in operation! WOW! I look back on that whole chapter like the Olympics! How hard it was, but how exhilarating, really. Really tough to go through on a day to day basis…but now that we have moved on to other chapters, these are FINE memories of a life I just fucking LIVED! I dove in, jumped dangerously, got hurt a few times, cried a lot, laughed a lot, worked a lot…it was great, actually. Can I say that already? Or do I have to wait til I’m 70 or something? No…in all truth, it’s all good NOW.
So, back to the bank…I realize that I have a choice here. I can go in there with the old paradigm resting on my weary, shuffling shoulders. I could tell the friendly teller that I’ve come to know that I’ve been diagnosed with an incurable disease. I could remind her that I am the caretaker of Phil, my little quadriplegic son. I could look sorry, and hungry, and make lamentations about our financial affairs, and how hard it is to be without money. Oh my god…how I could go on!
And in going on and on, I could easily elicit the response that would make my old paradigm ego happy: Pity. Lots of it. Could probably engage the other tellers, too. Boo-hoo for me…look at all the hard shit I have to deal with. I could be what they are thankful for around their TV set tonight…”Gee, honey, there was this really tragic woman at the bank today…I felt so sorry for her!”
Just contemplating THAT scenario makes me sick. I don’t want to be the object of anybody’s “poor-pitiful-person” conversations!! Oh my god…how inaccurately that represents what I really feel inside – what I am really being shown in this PLACE that I am in! No, no, no! Today was like, the happiest day ever! Not for any reason except that I was able to wake up, breathe, become part of the life I live, move, dress, shower, eat, cook, tend to whatever came up…it was all good! Even the bitching in the kitchen gave me reasons to reflect on why my kids attack each other at times, and what I can do to diffuse these personality conflicts…what I can teach in my own actions and reactions.
And then I thought of me again. How, then, shall I walk into that bank and close this account? Shall I come with pity and disease in hand? Or shall I walk in like the Queen who has decided she will no longer play this currency at this institution? The benevolent Queen, who is responsible for an entire LIFE to move in the direction that will ensure it’s survival and the survival of her progeny?
If I come in the diseased peasant – then the diseased peasant is what I shall be. I wiil be seen as such, remembered as such, leave sad little ripples in the water as such. Because in the old paradigm, I suppose, that’s just what I am.
But I’ve been offered – thrust into, actually – a New Paradigm. Here, I am not the diseased peasant. I am a Queen – a Princess – a Ruler – a Leader. I am a mother, and a sister, and a daughter. I rule over an entire household! I am a manifestation of GOD as I understand it…genius…emanating from a vibration of pure love. Wow. I am amazing. I am profound. I am part of this Universe, and as such, important, and powerful, and blessed.
My walk into the bank was a decided rejection of the disease. No…the energy that would encompass me about if I presented anything other than my personal truth in there would have sucked life out of me. Like a big green, fluffy, cloud. All comfy and shit…but horrible for you! An anesthesia of sorts, to cope with all the pitfalls of a disease process. Ugh. No thanks.
No…I shuffled into that bank with the most comfortable steps possible for the queen, on my king’s arm. Three doors were opened for me, which made me smile! I sat in the chair and helped myself to a complimentary chocolate with a comment of gratitude for the perk. An explanation from the reigning ME consisted of straight to the point issues, an exchange of signatures and pleasant comments from me about the truth of the idea of simplifying life, and how amazing it is. Without intending to, I made no room for topics of strife or pity. I left no fodder for “that-poor-woman-at-the-bank” talk. And I left this institution with a smile for my casual acquaintance, and a pleasant farewell. I got into the car - door opened for me by my king – happy in my new paradigm.
As we drive home to meet Phil, I feel confronted gently with the choice again. I have two life paths in front of me, and I can choose which one I live on in a moment by moment basis. Part of me IS tired. I have wrestled with my life to such a degree that I am partially exhausted. I’m aging. My body is in a state of decay, as a mammal. My energies feel quite used up at times. The thoughts of dying and going home are not at all unpleasant to me. I am not afraid of that. But I don’t feel I’ve finished my homework here, and am therefore in no way ready to make my exit. But how much more is here? Again…I feel a subtle choice. How much do you want there to be?
Do I want a much, much slower life? A pace that accommodates a crippling, aging body? Where running is no longer something you even attempt? Seeking of cooperation with others for the things I can no longer do? Surely this is what we all have to look forward to as we age and die, but already? Shit, I’m only 48. Or do I want to look forward to my life of self-sufficiency, with which I am NOT unfamiliar? It’s a LOT of work…a LOT! It’s tedious…it’s intensive. Simplicity and complication are only interchangeable to a degree. I am aware of the laborious nature of staying alive. Do I want this? To accept and embrace this diagnosis as I have Duchenne is to have a built in reason NOT to do it. I’m too tired…too sick…to infirm. Case made, case closed. In a few years, we wind her all up and head out the door! Not a bad life…not a bad life at all.
But is that what I want? Or do I want to be strong again? Recover? No more pity card to play. No disability check from Uncle Sam. No drug benefits. No Sorry Sally shit. No more “inspiring” others with my tales of woe. Just a seeking in the second half of my life to become less and less important, and pass along secrets to the new paradigm that is coming whether we like it, believe it, prepare for it or not. I will have said my peace, and hopefully watch while my kids and the generation that I have helped into consumerism makes it’s way out of the worm-hole created by it and begins to see that I’m not talking nonsense when I tell them that they must get back to the earth from whence they came, and take care to prepare a place for any people of the future, so they can have a future. (“If there are people here in 200 years, they will not have the life that we are living today.”) Urge them not only to NOT make the same mistakes or continue in our folly, but to show them a legitimate way to do so, within the confines of their own lives, and be a demonstration of how to spread that knowledge. To live in a world of LOVE, and not money, where value is as value does. To teach them to tend a seed with the same fervency with which they currently seek a fast-food joint during a half-hour lunch break.
One of these choices will prevail in my life. Both have an appeal. I’m tired. But I’m restless, too. I have worked hard and played hard most of my adult life. I’m not a type A, by any stretch, but I’m a worker. Maybe it’s time to just be a grandma.
But maybe it’s time to start over. Maybe, it’s time to move again. Maybe in the details of each day, here in this new paradigm, I am getting stronger and stronger…moving toward a longer life than perhaps is appealing when you are wiped out on steroids. But maybe the reward there, according to mission control, is well worth the effort. Maybe the story will be more interesting at the end of it if I pursue the quiet life of simplicity and self-sufficiency with more gusto than less. Maybe.
Either way this is going to go…and I am not sure at all, but I think there is a chance that the choice might just be mine to make.
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