It Again

As of Friday, this past, I hit the uphill climb

until my neck injections,

eleven days away.

It's tough.

The pain.
The cognitive dysfunction.
The fatigue.
Battling the shame and guilt and loss that comes

with the "it."

It's hard.

And even if I hadn't hit that hill, I still couldn't

coordinate a gathering,

like for Father's Day or a birthday or such.

I can't even commit to going to one, much less hosting one.

So...

that's just the way it is.
I feel like an absent mom and wife and friend

and maker of home.

An absent giver.

And, I am absent.
Those parts of me cannot function, like they once did.
It is another loss.

Wonder?
If I'd compile my thoughts, would any of them be deep enough

to stimulate food for thought?

But if I make them public, I'll probably be so self conscious

that I'll lose sleep.

Yet, if I would post them, maybe someone

could relate?

Maybe not.
Or would I just sound like a whiner?

Remember when you used to journal on paper, with a pen, in books,

in your first chronic illness life?

And you would wonder,

Why? Why am I doing this? What does it matter that I write all

these thoughts in these books?

And then your life changed.
Remember?

That could happen again, you know.

Earthen Vessels

I survived Yesterday.

If I hadn't, there would be no Today.

Thus far, in my life,

I've survived every Yesterday.

But one day, when I die,

there will be no Today.

Like every living creature on the planet,

one day, I will die.

My to-do list includes making arrangements

for that future time of "no Today."

I'd like my body donated to science,

if they'll take it and if it's not too complicated a task.

I'd like my gold crowns extracted from my teeth,

before my body is committed to scalpels or flames.

Maybe the gold will be worth something,

or can be put in an urn.

I don't know if science cremates body parts

once those parts have run their teaching course.

If not, maybe I'll have some hair-locks instead of ashes

stored with the gold crowns in the urn.

If my body is turned to ash via cremation,

I'd like some of it spread at Grayson Highlands,

and maybe some at Roan,

and maybe some stored in an urn

which I'd select while I still have my faculties,

and maybe have the urn stored in the grotto

at the Episcopal Church of the Frescoes in Glendale Springs,

which is on the way to Grayson Highlands,

and maybe Hubby would do that too,

our ash could share the same urn,

and we'd have our names engraved in a small, rectangular, golden plaque,

and have the plaque attached on the outer wall of the grotto

along with the other plaques

engraved with others' names whose ashes also abide

in handpicked vessels in the grotto.

~vessels in the grotto, 1/21/17~

~vessels in the grotto, 1/21/17~

Easy. Easy.

What do you feel right now, Carol? 

A sense of shame?
Lack of confidence?
Like a slacker?
Pressure to do another person's "right" thing?
To heed another's instruction for what will "heal" you?

Stop.

Ask your own body...
What are you able to do today?
What will bring you grounding?
What will allow you to ride the river?

But are those soul questions?
Instead of body questions?
I'd say both.

I ask Body because it houses Soul.
The two are really one.
Soul is Self.
Self includes Body.

It's okay to not accomplish what I feel culture demands.
It's okay to only breathe today, if that's all I can do.
But I feel like more than just breathing today.
Yet I haven't popped my morning pills.
And it's almost noon.

I had to nap this morning.
It was needful.

"Easy. Easy."
That's what I say to my blind-dog friend.
When he is about to run into a wall.
He slows down and most often doesn't hit the wall.

I don't want to hit the wall either.
"Easy. Easy."

My blind-d0c friend, who sees with his heart.