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A Flury of Hope

I go through phases, cycles of emotions that kind of follow the seasons.  There is sadness, anger, sarcasm, interest, acceptance, and what feels like hope.  I haven't really included in my writing the really fulfilling parts like adventure, romance, excitement, gratitude, or progress. I find that my writing has a preference for tragedy, fear, and jealousy, pretty much most insecurities draw me into the grinder of my critic.  My perspectives are changing, and I can see with the same eyes and have different, newer, hopeful perspectives.

Since about mid December, I have been trying to heal from a rotator cuff repair and bicep tendon tear.  I had "the surgery".  All reminders of how violent I have and can be on myself.  With this I have had to abstain from vigorous exercise (with my left arm), running, and climbing.  These were my go to stress relievers, pacifiers, and ego boosters.  Sitting still was torture for me.  It was also very emotional, an introspective time like some of my deepest.  I was forced to listen to the softest and most wounded voices in my head.

I heard all the similar messages.  I can't be loved.  I'm fine on my own. Get the fuck up quitter.  They can't understand me.  And other vicious and pointed motivators that point to all the ways life has treated me unfair.

"The surgery" has become more than six incisions around my left deltoid.  It is an abrupt alert system that has taught me to accept help, listen to pain, and to understand that not feeling pain doesn't necessarily mean healed.

With the help of drugs I was helped. I allowed myself to be nurtured, cared for, rescued, prayed for, and reminded to listen.  It wasn't pitiful, it was connecting.  I allowed myself to be hurt, weak, and helpless.  I had the solitude to miss people in the way they deserved to be missed.  I rested hours and hours at a time, watching episodes and episodes of mind numbing television, while my immune system and soul were being reconstructed vessel by vessel, essential by essential.  I stayed inactive but there was a lot going on that was inner-active.

I have a long way to go before I am healed.  5 weeks till I can run again. 3 months till I can lift with my recovering shoulder. And around six months before I'll try to climb again.  With higher importance, I am living pain free-er, in my shoulder, but especially in spirit.  I hope this years writing will describe my change in perspectives. A true demonstration of how stillness caused me to recognize how toxic my preferences have been.

Immigrating Without Borders

      I immigrated from Albuquerque’s city life to a quieter Santa Fe.  Santa Fe is 50 some odd miles north of Albuquerque along the Camino ...