Poet Mark Nepo wrote: “The presence of the rest of life when I’m in pain is healing”.
I love his words. I am in many kinds of pain.
This day was about as perfect as a Spring day can be. Against the protestations of the one who loves me best, I insisted we keep the family Easter tradition and picnic in the forest. We stopped for sandwiches and iced tea and headed west, not even needing to decide on the spot. Pulled by the magnet of memories.
I found myself (as planned) lying on a blanket in the dappled sunlight, listening to the scraping call of nuthatch and then watching as they venture close, bug-hunting on pine bark. After a time, the voices of my family become soft murmurs as they go for a walk and I am left alone.
Slowly, as I open, I am almost overwhelmed by the “rest of life”. There’s the terra-firma against my back, reassuring in its solidity, its strength; and I feel held. White gauzy clouds move quickly across the brilliant blue of sky, reminding me that things pass. They do. I open more and ask to hear. The pines move in the gentle wind and I am cradled, a child in need of comfort, circled by these mothers who lull my spirit with their swaying.
I have been taking pills for days and it is in this place I find reprieve from pain.
I have been sleeping all week and it is in this place I find rest.
Hand on my heart, I say, “Things are hard right now.” They are.
And then, “I am not alone in my suffering.”. In my imagination I open my hands and my soul to those I know who are also suffering, and then to the many I don’t.
Finally, “What do I need?”. This, just this. The rest of life.
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