Grounds for Sculpture

Grounds for Sculpture

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

One of Us

When you are attempting to make progress, any kind of progress, and no progress is being made, but in fact, change is spiraling downward, the slightest upturn becomes a TRIUMPH!
It’s like a baby’s first step.
It is cause for celebration.
Healing can feel like a full-time job.  No question about it.  
For some, it takes a village.  
I understand this now.  
But that is not my karma.
I watch my puppy looking up at me and I know he wants things back the way they once were.  But he is happy nestling up next to me and waiting out this long long pause right by my side.  He’s had a lot of adjusting to do.  Yes, he’s developed some new quirks and anxieties, but he’s also handled each new change with great resilience.  Admittedly, he’s also handled some of the changes with a sadness that will tear your heart out.
Oy vey.  Deep sigh.
I’m experiencing a very long setback after my third hip surgery and I’m doing my very best to “hold the pose.”
At first, I decided it wasn’t a setback, but a RESET.  A new theory I came up with and one I decided I was going to stick with.
Amazing to discover how deeply ingrained it has become to be living in a “NOW” society and how subsequently, things cannot change quickly enough.  But ask someone to sit with you in a NOW which is unchanging, unknown, “can’t figure out why it is this way-pain,” and few of us are able to “hold the pose.”  I know I’m becoming less and less “in love” with how long this “RESET” is taking.
But how arrogant is it for me to decide how long this reset is meant to take?  Resets take as long as they take.  We’re not talking about brewing a pot of coffee here.  We are talking about healing several systems in the body which have gone haywire.  
The hip bone’s connected to the thigh bone.  And the Orthopod is connected to the Cardiologist.  And so on and so on.  My mind flashes to the Joan Osbourne lyric, “What if god was one of us?  Just a stranger on the bus.  Trying to make his way home.”  
“God, Jill.  Sometimes, I wonder how your mind works.”  a friend often tells me.
Well, I’ll tell you.
The guru is everywhere.  The guru.  God.  Everywhere.  I’m convinced he is the gas attendant about two miles up the road, but that may have to be for another blog.  One time I found “him” in a homeless man and as starving as I was, I handed him the entire lunch I had just purchased for myself.  Not because he was homeless.  But because I knew he was the guru.  And he taught me everything I needed to learn that day.  
I wish I could recall the experience more clearly, but I remember living into that experience very fully and sharing it with someone I refer to as my “big married sister.”  We’re not related, but she’s very dear to me, and that’s her nickname.  When I can no longer remember certain details of my life, I am grateful that I live into my experiences as deeply as I do.  And even more grateful that I have a “BMS” and other loved ones to share them with.
Sometimes meeting your guru is not about searching but about listening and paying mindful attention.  That’s why I feel I have no right to judge how long this RESET is taking because my body knows more than my brain; it knows what it needs.  It IS my guru right now.  And it is my job to surrender.  
But Dear Guru, can we RESET with a little less pain?  I don’t even need any Chanukah gelt.  Just a little less pain.
But you see, I know that even asking this, is fighting against the truth of what is happening.  It’s hard not to though.  It really is.  
Dear Guru.  Thank you for teaching me what this pain feels like.  I bow to you.  I bow to it.  I understand we are on an expedition here.  And it will take the time it takes.  Thank you for teaching me about patience.  Perseverance.  Tolerance.  Compassion.  Persistence.  Resilience.  Unwavering Love.  Gratitude.  Devotion.  Receptivity.  
May these lessons never be lost on me.  May I always “REMEMBER.”  Reverently.  Humbly.  And with a strong inner compass.  And may I find ways to jolt myself into remembering anytime I begin to forget.  
May I always have the eyes to recognize and the ears to listen for ways to find you in any crowd.  Knowing.  Always knowing that you are one of us.
In gratitude for all of these blessings.
Jill Bacharach

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