In Sickness and In Health

I’m getting better. My health is returning. I know it. I feel it in my bones. In my sinews. In my toes. It’s been a long haul, but sometimes it takes something bigger than you, something armed with an aluminum bat, to get you to stay put long enough to reflect on the reflectables. No more driving obsession with plots and schemes. No more endless noodling at the computer. No indefinite fantasies of future actions.

This cold or whatever it is, has brought about a complete halt to my machinations. My attention is demanded by fundamentals – sneezing, coughing, breathing. Bed, and the surrounding surfaces, have become my new habitat. I begin consulting the ceiling. I start to notice feelings. I spend so much time in bed that I rediscover my past. Being brought low and closer to the fundamentals, I find I have gathered some of my oldest friends around me – provocative books, both spiritual and weird (but true), my guitar (all but neglected recently), a pen, some paper.

Ideas occur. Forgotten birthdates arise. My restless leg is quiet. Thoughts and no-thoughts occupy the spaces between fits of coughing. My focus expands from my well-defined personal space to a wider and clearer view. It’s as if the lenses are flashing before me - This one? Or, this one? – and, as the hours go by, I find I’m reading the tiny letters on the bottom of a chart that I couldn’t even see before. They are spelling out, m-o-r-t-a-l-i-t-y.

Mortality! Suddenly, my petty concerns are shown for what they are. Thinning hair, declining bank account, passing years are put into perspective. I realize my worries are someone else’s dreams. I begin to see that we are all here together. I feel the connection we share. I understand that there is no separation. Awareness radiates from without and within. The neighborhood disappears and the Universe, both dark and light, surrounds me.

I swear this is not the medication talking. All it takes is a bit of peace and quiet to awaken that consciousness that everyone is talking about. Once recognized as such, noise can’t stop it, busyness can’t replace it, that old idea of self may try to reassert itself as a big deal, but it can read the writing on the wall, even if it doesn’t like what it says.

Being sick is good for my health. Those crafty little viruses and bacteria have popped me in the nose, so to speak, and laid me out. Waaaa! I realize that this isn’t the big one, but it gets my attention, all the same, and attention seems to be what it’s all about. Seeing beyond my idea of self. Not taking important actions, like breathing, for granted. Sensing something much bigger than little old me. Understanding that there’s more to all this than me, you, and a billion other mes. More to it than protecting my needy self.

Now that I am almost back on my feet, I find that I feel better and not just because I’m no longer as sick, but because I’m, well, how can I put it? I’m not the same. I’m changing, evolving, growing. Awakening. And, not just to my wife’s purpose.

The life that goes on, is going on, that will go on without us, is big. It’s beautiful. I’m a part of it. I’m a part of you. You’re a part of me. We’re a part of it. It’s a part of us. It’s all one big deal. I’m not going to forget this when the coughing stops. I swear, this is not the medication talking.