Arriving Friday, my waking hours until our Saturday afternoon meeting were spent in contemplation, hoping to find a thread which, if tugged, would bring clarity to my mind’s chaos. I pulled lots of threads but none untangled the knot of confusion and dis-ease. Saturday morning, I walked and walked. At one point, not enjoying the aptly named Water trail, I asked myself, “How is this trail like my life?”
An elevated pair of boards is not my route but the “path” next to it is all high grasses and other plants. And standing water. I need to watch my feet and can’t appreciate what’s around me. When I forget, I nearly miss the board. As I round a bend I look ahead, hoping to see the boardwalk giving way to a green path yet each turning reveals more of the same. Given the limited choice, I prefer walking on the 2x8s rather than the 2x6es but the 2x8 sections are short and rare. Some of the boards seem soft, sagging under my weight. One audibly cracked as I stepped on it.
My life is not as I had planned. These past two years have been difficult and I’ve had to choose ways of living that I never would have done in other circumstances. I’ve needed to be cautious of distraction and to focus on all that would, or might, contribute to healing these tick-borne illnesses. When I’ve gotten caught up with other things, I soon noticed it in my body and mind. Healing will happen in its own time. While I can slow the process through poor choices, I cannot speed it up to suit me.
Phone calls and texts with my mother or my kids are gifts. So too the visits with a friend, the occasional outings, and the home improvement projects. I’d do well to see each one as the treasure that it is, not expecting too much of any one of them, but welcoming each for the delight it brings.
Eventually, the Water trail ended and I returned to the campsite, drank some water, and listened to the birds – lots of different birds.
It was hot as I walked to our meeting place. When I entered, the studio (she’s also resident artist) felt like the inside of a refrigerator. She said something about needing to have someone fix the air conditioner and led me to her house where ours would be the first such conversation since the room was converted to an office. I admired the green roof. “It’s different each year,” she explained, depending on rain and seeds and other conditions. After greeting her greyhound, we entered a cool but not frigid round room with a tree post at its center and natural wood supports at intervals along the ceiling and wall, everything arranged intentionally to create a space for spiritual conversation.
My hours of reflection probably helped since Gabrielle seemed to recognizewhat was troubling me. She spoke of natural intelligence, saying that my instinct in early July – “What would it be like if I gave myself priority this month?” – was part-answer to what I needed and suggested that I add each morning, “What does Jayneann need today?” It might be a task, a connection I’d like to make, the taste of a certain food, anything really. And then I’m supposed to make it happen. The object is to rediscover my preferences – what I liked before life’s shoulds intruded – and to expand upon them. She laughed at learning that I’m autistic. “All the autistic people I know either blog or paint.” (Yes, I’d told her about the blog.) When I said I’d gotten back into substitute teaching and still loved it, she asked how I might expand on that. Could I blog about teaching?
There’s more (although I’ve forgotten more than I’d like) but I’ll stop for now. I’ll tell you about my piano assignment another time.
Thought for this week…
When you look at your life, don’t push away the bad stuff.
Ask yourself what it has to teach you.
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This sculpture “Lotus” was just up the hill from my tent. I thought it was flames. |
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