Rhythm

"Pierced by a keen sense of my own mortality, I was much more interested in discerning the small miracles embedded in each moment than I was in catching the 9:03 Midtown Direct to Penn Station. And there was a part of me that was disappointed when the time came to once again catch that city-bound train." From Losing a Comforting Ritual: Treatment
By DANA JENNINGS.......in regards to the "letdown" at the end of treatment.




It seems like a rhythm is beginning to develop in the process of treating and dealing/living with breast cancer. I think I am deciding to take a much more active part in the rhythm of my life. I have always been self observant; I was a broody teen with sexuality/identity/trust and abandonment issues. I recorded every thought, memory and musing with an obsessiveness. I used to imagine that I would use the art of language to serve. I was consciously aware of an ability to supply a source of insight to others. Perhaps the insight is a result of all of the paying attention. The self observation. The gift of expression. I think it's common for people like me to abandon an important artistic practice once they leave adolescence or early adulthood. But that need to create, to express never ceases. It's that need that can be awakened with practice or abandoned, bringing us at times struggle, at times peace. Hopefully a balance is met. I think that's what I mean about the rhythm. This cancer has reminded me that I need to pay attention.

I'm observing quite a bit right now, after playing the active passenger in the autopilot that can become your life in a tragic situation. I am a little goat, head down, horns charging at the bull. You can't be touchy feely all the time. You can't be in a constant state of meditation. At least not in my level of spirituality, which I am working on, but its also part of that rhythm. Sometimes you are a goat and the cancer is the bull. Sometimes you are the muse and sometimes you are the gatherer of inspiration. You can bend and sway with it, become more accepting of the different ways of existing. You began to recognize it when you pay attention. In my spiritual path I recognize this as Awareness.

This situation has granted me the precious gift of time with myself. I am allowed to cultivate, if nothing else, thoughts and inspiration about how to bide the rest if my time in this body. I want it to count. In what ways though? What is it that I'm here to do? My instinct is that it is to preserve the practice of observation and expression. Somehow that notion will guide me to better serve, love and honor. What that means after treatment is certainly not clear. Right now it means to do this. Share what I can honestly part with, infusing every word or action with an intention of honesty and light. Move in my body, connect with and keep loving it, nurturing it through its restricted state. Listen to music. It also means that I make lists. To do after cancer lists.


I began this entry yesterday. I was emotional. I do cry almost every day, if only for a fleeting moment. Perhaps a 30 second downpour during my 10 minute drive to work, a few minutes in the shower, an hour sprawling and bawling on my bed. I often find myself sitting in my driveway after I pull into it, bawling it out before I can go into my house. So, I cried and then I started to move. My body aches from the medication, the stiffness and numbness can be disabling. But there was music playing and I began to choreograph the ballet in my head. It was the cancer ballet. The movements were rigid and inched slowly toward a stretch. In my imagination we were dancers in a room, on a stage dancing out the rhythm of this disease. It is raw and beautiful. In my bed it was me, swaddled in my PJs, surrounded by my dogs, trembling with each stress of a movement, but finding ease and breath eventually delivered to my abandoned limbs. I recognized the music then as a source of inspiration. A way to connect with inspiration. Gratitude for the gift. I was compelled to pay attention.

Today has been nice. I had to go for my weekly blood work. It's usually the first time after a chemo treatment that I leave the house alone, or at all. It was cloudy but the sun came out when I got home. I sat with the garden. I talked to my Granny on the phone. She told me a joke. I appreciate that she always has a joke for me. I feel my spirits lifting. I'm moving into a new step. It's the rhythm. I want so desperately to keep paying attention.