It's New Year's Eve, and I'm celebrating with my usual flair. I have lit the candles that will take me into the new year, and everything I could be in charge of as far as cleaning (which isn't much, actually) is done. The house hasn't been scrubbed and polished to the nth-degree as I usually do on New Year's Eve, but I did sweep today (bad luck to do it tomorrow), and I washed all the pans and bowls I used during today's manic baking spree. They're quietly drying in the new little stainless steel drainer in my sink.
Usually at this time of the year, I'm full of introspection, full of thoughts of the past and worries about the future, but not this year. I'm watching Criminal Minds in my comfy pajamas, and there is an absolute minimum of navel gazing.
And that, of course, is because I made oatmeal raisin cookies today.
This seems like a total non-sequitur, I know, but bear with me. I'm going somewhere with this. I promise.
I remember when I had my myomectomy while I was still in Indiana. There was a period after that when all things in my life sort of fell into focus. I stopped caring about a bunch of things (and one notable person) who I'd allowed to cause me absolute woe. I started doing things I had always wanted to do instead of smiling wistfully and saying, "Someday." To use a phrase that is endlessly new-agey and trite, I found myself. Rather, I found a new version of myself. I really liked that person. (Of course, one of the things that happened during that time was going to a meeting of the kendo club, and so the evil T came into my life and things sort of took a hard left for the worse....)
I feel that clarity of purpose again now. I've been sick for... God. I don't even know. Between the migraines and the Topamax and this other, I've been sick for years and years. I'd say that in just the past calendar year, I've had less than two weeks a month where I felt like doing anything other than surviving. Now, though, even with the limitations currently on me with recovery, I am finding that other person I lost again.
There were so many things I'd lost along with that other me. Many of them wouldn't mean a thing to anyone but me, but I guess that's what life is made of, the things we endow with importance for ourselves. From the time I was in high school, I used to make a batch of sourdough bread every week. I started it with the idea of giving a loaf (or so) to my grandparents. That ritual got even more important to me when my Granny got sick. She couldn't eat a lot of things, but she could eat my sourdough. I had starter that I kept religiously fed for years. It died when I went to Japan, clearly, but when I came back, I tried repeatedly to get my routine back again. As my health declined, so did my resolution. I just mixed up batch two of the bread today. Every step of the process made me feel good.
It wasn't just the bread. The cast iron skillets that are the legacy of both my grandmothers came to me shiny and well-conditioned. Yesterday, I decided to make cornbread from my Granny's recipe for the first time in what I guess is probably three years, and when I took it out, even though I'd taken pains to store it properly, it was in need of care.
That was one of the moments (and I've had several lately) when how much I'd let go and how much of myself I'd lost really hit home. My life before the surgery had become about the quickest possible solution, the easy path to finish the necessary before I fell down. Now it doesn't have to be. Oh, there's nothing particularly complicated about the foods I'm making. My grandmother's cornbread is fabulous, but cornbread isn't a recipe requiring Cordon Bleu training. The aforementioned oatmeal cookies I put together today weren't complex, either. The thing is, I CAN make them now. I don't have to run for the couch and collapse. Pain and weakness aren't pinning me down. I have the energy and the will again to do something that I enjoy because it connects me to my past and allows me to share with my family. Somehow, oddly, ironically, by losing something, I have managed to become more whole.
It's not just the cooking. My house has been full of projects that I was "going to get around to" but never have. I have been systematically fixing, changing, and moving. I've been making things I pinned on Pinterest for someday happen now. It's not perfect, but I'm making progress. I have two great piles left to tackle, but as I look around my living room now, this house reflects me again. (And maybe those two great piles are representative of me, too, heh....) It feels like home.
So I'm back to the salad days. Maybe it's the baking days for me. Whichever. I can't say that there aren't moments of difficulty and sadness, and I'm not such a sunshine-dazzled fool that I believe everything is always going to be fabulous, but right now, I have to say, things are pretty good. That's a nice place to be as I get ready to leave 2013 and head into 2014.
And now, I'm going to have a cookie. Happy New Year to you wherever you are.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
A Hopeful Song
(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882), 1867)
I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
I thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
Had rolled along the unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
And in despair I bowed my head:
"There is no peace on earth," I said,
"For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men."
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth he sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men."
Till, ringing singing, on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime,
Of peace on earth, good will to men!
----
I've heard this song and played this song a million times. It is only this year that it finally sank in. Isn't it funny how you can suddenly encounter something for what feels like the first time even after having it underfoot for a lifetime?
The third and fourth verses are the ones that moved me. Despair is all around. Darkness encroaches. Every day our news is full of violence and hate, greed and self-interest. The song doesn't end there, though. Even the bells know the antidote, "God is not dead nor doth he sleep." No matter how bad things get, there is cause for joy and hope in that. Someday, "the wrong shall fail, the right prevail" and we will have that peace and goodwill we so desperately need.
Merry Christmas to you one and all.
A Christmas Carol
“I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the Past, the Present, and the Future. The Spirits of all Three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach!”
― Ebenezer Scrooge, A Christmas Carol
I haven't felt very Christmassy this year. Music is the best of Christmas for me, but this year, the songs make me cry. Family gatherings are also usually a great joy. This year, nothing but anxiety fills me. It's okay. I'm moving through something, and it is going to take time.
Even though there's all this stuff going on, though, some parts of Christmas shine through. I'm watching the Patrick Stewart version of Dickens's A Christmas Carol. I watch one version or another almost every year. Of all the Christmas movies and feel-good stories out there, this one is the ultimate for me. This version is one of my favorites because it is so well done.
I always feel so for Scrooge. He is a person who built walls between himself and others because...because it seemed right at the time. Because it seemed the way to get what he thought was the most important thing in life. Because he was hurt and knew no other way to deal with the pain. Somewhere along the way, those walls started to grow on their own, and by the time we meet Scrooge, he's blocked off from every human feeling. A gentle nudge won't do. Walls only come down with the brute force of a sledgehammer. And when those walls do start to come down, he begins to understand what is and is not worth the price of life. What does and does not enrich and redeem the time that is given.
The Ghost of Christmas Present is an example of this. He hides the ragged and pitiful beings he calls the children of men, ignorance and want, beneath his rich gown. Dickens is not subtle. He wants us to remember that Christmas has to be about more than the frills and the bows, the gifts and the decorations. Advertising bombards us on every side telling us that if we buy the right piece of jewelry or get the latest gaming system then our lives will be somehow complete, that we just need a special thing to fill the hole in our hearts. When we live like that, when all we strive for is the top layer of Christmas and shut out the lessons that it teaches, when we forget the love, the almighty love that ought to be the best and most glorious part of Christmas, then we wind up like Scrooge, headed for that horrible end and yawning, unmourned grave.
I love to watch him change. I love to think that no matter how poor and blind we may be, there is always a chance that our eyes can open and we can be redeemed. When someone turns away, there is always another option, another path. There is such tremendous hope in A Christmas Carol. It's such a tiny work, but it has lasted because of that hope, that ability to bring an ice-axe into our hearts and break up the frozen chunks the world creates. And if my eyes are filled with tears again as I watch it, they're not tears of despair. They are tears of remembering and gratefulness. They are my own version of Scrooge's Christmas miracle.
― Ebenezer Scrooge, A Christmas Carol
I haven't felt very Christmassy this year. Music is the best of Christmas for me, but this year, the songs make me cry. Family gatherings are also usually a great joy. This year, nothing but anxiety fills me. It's okay. I'm moving through something, and it is going to take time.
Even though there's all this stuff going on, though, some parts of Christmas shine through. I'm watching the Patrick Stewart version of Dickens's A Christmas Carol. I watch one version or another almost every year. Of all the Christmas movies and feel-good stories out there, this one is the ultimate for me. This version is one of my favorites because it is so well done.
I always feel so for Scrooge. He is a person who built walls between himself and others because...because it seemed right at the time. Because it seemed the way to get what he thought was the most important thing in life. Because he was hurt and knew no other way to deal with the pain. Somewhere along the way, those walls started to grow on their own, and by the time we meet Scrooge, he's blocked off from every human feeling. A gentle nudge won't do. Walls only come down with the brute force of a sledgehammer. And when those walls do start to come down, he begins to understand what is and is not worth the price of life. What does and does not enrich and redeem the time that is given.
The Ghost of Christmas Present is an example of this. He hides the ragged and pitiful beings he calls the children of men, ignorance and want, beneath his rich gown. Dickens is not subtle. He wants us to remember that Christmas has to be about more than the frills and the bows, the gifts and the decorations. Advertising bombards us on every side telling us that if we buy the right piece of jewelry or get the latest gaming system then our lives will be somehow complete, that we just need a special thing to fill the hole in our hearts. When we live like that, when all we strive for is the top layer of Christmas and shut out the lessons that it teaches, when we forget the love, the almighty love that ought to be the best and most glorious part of Christmas, then we wind up like Scrooge, headed for that horrible end and yawning, unmourned grave.
I love to watch him change. I love to think that no matter how poor and blind we may be, there is always a chance that our eyes can open and we can be redeemed. When someone turns away, there is always another option, another path. There is such tremendous hope in A Christmas Carol. It's such a tiny work, but it has lasted because of that hope, that ability to bring an ice-axe into our hearts and break up the frozen chunks the world creates. And if my eyes are filled with tears again as I watch it, they're not tears of despair. They are tears of remembering and gratefulness. They are my own version of Scrooge's Christmas miracle.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
The Tale
I've thought many times about coming back here and saying something, but to be honest, nothing I have been able to come up with has seemed to be sufficient.
I guess I need to go back and tell the tale.
I showed up at the hospital, and things moved very quickly at first. I was shown to the little pre-surgery room, put on the dreaded paper gown, was moved to the holding area where my IV was put in and all the many people who were going to be involved in my surgery came in and talked with me, checked on me, and asked me my name and date of birth so many times that I really wish I had gone with my first instinct and put it on a dry erase board that I could have just held up. There was a delay because my doctor was assisting with another surgery, and then it was my turn. As with everything that relates to me or my family, once the procedure began, the situation got more complicated than my doctor anticipated. There were more problems than they'd previously been able to detect due to the three other abdominal surgeries I've had in the past. A general surgeon had to be called in to deal with part of it. It took three hours to take me apart and then put me back together again.
Blessedly, I remember none of that. The last thing I recall was the surgery team coming to collect me and asking if I was ready, to which I replied by telling the nurse anesthetist that I didn't want to know anything about any of it past that point, not the roll down the hall, not the color of the operating room (which I know for a fact was blue because they are ALWAYS BLUE and cold), nothing. He grinned, injected something into my IV, and told me that would no problem at all. The world spun hard to the right, my gurney moved, and the next thing I recall was a brusque nurse in recovery continually telling me that I had to breathe, BREATHE, to which I finally managed to mumble that it HURT to breathe and I wanted her to leave me alone. I think she laughed.
I remember nothing of the rest of Monday.
The big events of Tuesday included a clean gown, staggering horrible trips to the bathroom, a couple of family visitors, and a migraine as big as the universe. Apparently, the morphine in the pain pump triggered some kind of rebound headache. And, since I had the morphine in my system, I couldn't have any of the medicines I would usually take for a migraine. I decided to stop using the pain pump so they would unhook it and also so the backlash from it would hopefully stop. I wanted to scream, but it would have hurt too much. Early Wednesday morning, they finally came in with a solution, a combination of drugs that wouldn't react with the morphine.
They were from hell. I'd never had one of the two, and the new one spiked my blood pressure and heart rate so high my room was a festival of flashing lights and shrieking monitors. My body locked up and shuddered, my teeth chattered, and I couldn't breathe. For a short time, it was so bad that I honestly thought I was going to die right there with my mother holding my hand. Again, I was continually told to BREATHE, which seemed to be the motto of my whole experience, and when I didn't do it deeply enough to keep them happy with the O2 level in my blood, they put me back on that horrible little oxygen tube-nose thing. I was told later that the first attack like that lasted about twenty minutes before that effect passed. There were two or three episodes like that before everything calmed down and all the beeping and flashing quit. So Tuesday passed into Wednesday.
After that, things got better. I got to take a shower and put on real people clothing that didn't bare my backside. I put on my bright blue TARDIS robe, leaned on Mom and the rails around the hospital ward walls, and staggered unsteadily up and down, up and down the brightly lit hallways. I ate some solid food. I watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade and the Egg Bowl from my bed after the doctor making the rounds decided I needed one more day in the hospital. The following day, I carefully pressed the little red PillowPet dragon my mother had decided to call Surge (short for Surgery, apparently) over my aching belly, and the nurse rolled me downstairs and out into the cold, bright world.
Since then, I've been getting better daily. I have been able to drive a little, and Sunday I went out to eat with my family. Tonight, I went to a Christmas party for the choir, and I tottered down the hall to the organ in the sanctuary to play for a little while because I look forward to playing Christmas music all year long. I am a little sore and a lot tired, but each new thing I manage to do is a victory. Based on everything I've read, I'm moving through this slow process like I'm supposed to.
Things are different now, though.
There are the physical differences. I've lost about twenty pounds, and weight continues to slip off me. I don't hurt inside all the time. Even though I don't have tons of energy, I still feel better than I did before the surgery. I have had a couple of headaches, but they've been negligible.
Then there are the other differences. It seems dramatic to say it, but the version of me who rolled into that operating room died there. This version of me who rolled out is someone else. I'd been living in silent and growing fear of this surgery for over ten years. I hadn't realized how much it had accumulated or how heavy a burden it was until it lifted. Certain dreams I have had, certain hopes for what my future holds are also gone now. Other things are going to have to take the place of those dreams, and I'm not exactly sure what those will be. On the other hand, certain restrictions my condition has caused for me are also gone now, and despite the uncertainty, I can't help but feel oddly liberated because of that.
So now I'm on the other side of this milestone I've been running from for so very, very long. I'm tottering around and regaining my strength. I'm re-evaluating, re-organizing, removing, even redecorating. I'm making plans....slowly. It's enough. I have to believe that the worst is past, and now it's time to move on to whatever is next.
I guess I need to go back and tell the tale.
I showed up at the hospital, and things moved very quickly at first. I was shown to the little pre-surgery room, put on the dreaded paper gown, was moved to the holding area where my IV was put in and all the many people who were going to be involved in my surgery came in and talked with me, checked on me, and asked me my name and date of birth so many times that I really wish I had gone with my first instinct and put it on a dry erase board that I could have just held up. There was a delay because my doctor was assisting with another surgery, and then it was my turn. As with everything that relates to me or my family, once the procedure began, the situation got more complicated than my doctor anticipated. There were more problems than they'd previously been able to detect due to the three other abdominal surgeries I've had in the past. A general surgeon had to be called in to deal with part of it. It took three hours to take me apart and then put me back together again.
Blessedly, I remember none of that. The last thing I recall was the surgery team coming to collect me and asking if I was ready, to which I replied by telling the nurse anesthetist that I didn't want to know anything about any of it past that point, not the roll down the hall, not the color of the operating room (which I know for a fact was blue because they are ALWAYS BLUE and cold), nothing. He grinned, injected something into my IV, and told me that would no problem at all. The world spun hard to the right, my gurney moved, and the next thing I recall was a brusque nurse in recovery continually telling me that I had to breathe, BREATHE, to which I finally managed to mumble that it HURT to breathe and I wanted her to leave me alone. I think she laughed.
I remember nothing of the rest of Monday.
The big events of Tuesday included a clean gown, staggering horrible trips to the bathroom, a couple of family visitors, and a migraine as big as the universe. Apparently, the morphine in the pain pump triggered some kind of rebound headache. And, since I had the morphine in my system, I couldn't have any of the medicines I would usually take for a migraine. I decided to stop using the pain pump so they would unhook it and also so the backlash from it would hopefully stop. I wanted to scream, but it would have hurt too much. Early Wednesday morning, they finally came in with a solution, a combination of drugs that wouldn't react with the morphine.
They were from hell. I'd never had one of the two, and the new one spiked my blood pressure and heart rate so high my room was a festival of flashing lights and shrieking monitors. My body locked up and shuddered, my teeth chattered, and I couldn't breathe. For a short time, it was so bad that I honestly thought I was going to die right there with my mother holding my hand. Again, I was continually told to BREATHE, which seemed to be the motto of my whole experience, and when I didn't do it deeply enough to keep them happy with the O2 level in my blood, they put me back on that horrible little oxygen tube-nose thing. I was told later that the first attack like that lasted about twenty minutes before that effect passed. There were two or three episodes like that before everything calmed down and all the beeping and flashing quit. So Tuesday passed into Wednesday.
After that, things got better. I got to take a shower and put on real people clothing that didn't bare my backside. I put on my bright blue TARDIS robe, leaned on Mom and the rails around the hospital ward walls, and staggered unsteadily up and down, up and down the brightly lit hallways. I ate some solid food. I watched the Macy's Thanksgiving Parade and the Egg Bowl from my bed after the doctor making the rounds decided I needed one more day in the hospital. The following day, I carefully pressed the little red PillowPet dragon my mother had decided to call Surge (short for Surgery, apparently) over my aching belly, and the nurse rolled me downstairs and out into the cold, bright world.
Since then, I've been getting better daily. I have been able to drive a little, and Sunday I went out to eat with my family. Tonight, I went to a Christmas party for the choir, and I tottered down the hall to the organ in the sanctuary to play for a little while because I look forward to playing Christmas music all year long. I am a little sore and a lot tired, but each new thing I manage to do is a victory. Based on everything I've read, I'm moving through this slow process like I'm supposed to.
Things are different now, though.
There are the physical differences. I've lost about twenty pounds, and weight continues to slip off me. I don't hurt inside all the time. Even though I don't have tons of energy, I still feel better than I did before the surgery. I have had a couple of headaches, but they've been negligible.
Then there are the other differences. It seems dramatic to say it, but the version of me who rolled into that operating room died there. This version of me who rolled out is someone else. I'd been living in silent and growing fear of this surgery for over ten years. I hadn't realized how much it had accumulated or how heavy a burden it was until it lifted. Certain dreams I have had, certain hopes for what my future holds are also gone now. Other things are going to have to take the place of those dreams, and I'm not exactly sure what those will be. On the other hand, certain restrictions my condition has caused for me are also gone now, and despite the uncertainty, I can't help but feel oddly liberated because of that.
So now I'm on the other side of this milestone I've been running from for so very, very long. I'm tottering around and regaining my strength. I'm re-evaluating, re-organizing, removing, even redecorating. I'm making plans....slowly. It's enough. I have to believe that the worst is past, and now it's time to move on to whatever is next.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Tomorrow
Tomorrow is the day. I've cleaned as much as I would if company were coming. I still have a few things to do. I don't know if it will be enough to let me sleep.
I'm so nervous. At least it's supposed to be early tomorrow so I don't have that gruesome wait in the hospital.
I'm just going to watch a little more Doctor Who and try my best to sleep. Hard to believe how much my life is about to change.....
Monday, November 18, 2013
Countdown
7 days.
Mom came to school today and shadowed me. She got to see how our school day works and all the moving pieces of my specific classes. It's one of the last things I have to do before the big day.
I keep going back and forth between a sort of gnawing sadness and a need for relief. I've been exhausted. I've been hurting. Yesterday, I had a hard time drawing a deep breath. Physically, I need this to be over. Emotionally.... Well. You can't have everything, right?
On a different note, I just ordered a bright blue TARDIS bathrobe from ThinkGeek. It's a "happy" from my parents. I added a pair of matching house shoes myself, so I guess I will be shuffling down the halls in style. I probably won't care, but at least I'll look geektastic.
Sigh.
7 days.
Mom came to school today and shadowed me. She got to see how our school day works and all the moving pieces of my specific classes. It's one of the last things I have to do before the big day.
I keep going back and forth between a sort of gnawing sadness and a need for relief. I've been exhausted. I've been hurting. Yesterday, I had a hard time drawing a deep breath. Physically, I need this to be over. Emotionally.... Well. You can't have everything, right?
On a different note, I just ordered a bright blue TARDIS bathrobe from ThinkGeek. It's a "happy" from my parents. I added a pair of matching house shoes myself, so I guess I will be shuffling down the halls in style. I probably won't care, but at least I'll look geektastic.
Sigh.
7 days.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Up and Down
I have my surgery date. Let's just say the week of Thanksgiving won't be much fun for me.
I am going up and down with this. Mostly, I just stay as busy as possible. That's easy to do with as much as there is to get done before the surgery. There are school things. House things. Shopping things. Pet things. Every time I sit down and look at one of my "to do" lists, it seems I'm adding as much as I'm crossing out. I'm hoping that I'll hit a tipping point with it soon.
But what if I do? Then I'll have time to...think....
Since the doctor ruled out cancer, some of the worst of my nightmares have abated, but I am still an emotional mess if I don't run myself ragged and fall down at the end of it. Stupid commercials make me cry. Facebook statuses make me cry. Yesterday, a freaking doughnut made me cry.
If you don't know me, you might not understand the depths of my hatred for this lack of control. I always keep it locked down. Always. Lately, I just can't.
I keep thinking about life post-surgery. There's dread for the whole process of having to learn how to walk upright - AGAIN. There's that nauseous anticipation of the day of with the needles and the waking up after in pain and sick from the anesthesia. There's all that time out of class.
And then there are the things I can't write about, can't talk about, don't even want to think about, all the things that...won't be.
(turning away from that path right now)
Tonight, though, it's still ahead of me. I had some awesomely spicy turkey chili, and my Dad brought me a doughnut (which did not make me cry this time). My dear old cat Yoda is curled up behind me in her little purple sweater, and I'm curled up under the afghan my grandmother made so long ago. I'm almost warm for the first time today since I woke up, and in just a short time, I'll go let unconsciousness sweep over me.
Tomorrow, I will get up running, fortify myself with coffee, shield myself with busyness, and do what has to be done.
What else is there?
I am going up and down with this. Mostly, I just stay as busy as possible. That's easy to do with as much as there is to get done before the surgery. There are school things. House things. Shopping things. Pet things. Every time I sit down and look at one of my "to do" lists, it seems I'm adding as much as I'm crossing out. I'm hoping that I'll hit a tipping point with it soon.
But what if I do? Then I'll have time to...think....
Since the doctor ruled out cancer, some of the worst of my nightmares have abated, but I am still an emotional mess if I don't run myself ragged and fall down at the end of it. Stupid commercials make me cry. Facebook statuses make me cry. Yesterday, a freaking doughnut made me cry.
If you don't know me, you might not understand the depths of my hatred for this lack of control. I always keep it locked down. Always. Lately, I just can't.
I keep thinking about life post-surgery. There's dread for the whole process of having to learn how to walk upright - AGAIN. There's that nauseous anticipation of the day of with the needles and the waking up after in pain and sick from the anesthesia. There's all that time out of class.
And then there are the things I can't write about, can't talk about, don't even want to think about, all the things that...won't be.
(turning away from that path right now)
Tonight, though, it's still ahead of me. I had some awesomely spicy turkey chili, and my Dad brought me a doughnut (which did not make me cry this time). My dear old cat Yoda is curled up behind me in her little purple sweater, and I'm curled up under the afghan my grandmother made so long ago. I'm almost warm for the first time today since I woke up, and in just a short time, I'll go let unconsciousness sweep over me.
Tomorrow, I will get up running, fortify myself with coffee, shield myself with busyness, and do what has to be done.
What else is there?
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Thoughts Right Before Sleep
If I'm honest, this could just be the bone-shattering fatigue or the total sugar crash or too much or not enough caffeine or the sad, scary day or a random flutter of a dozen other things. That qualifier in place, it must be said that I miss you.
I don't know how this happened.
Well.... That's probably a lie.
I was actually waiting for it to happen, but I was hoping to be proven wrong just once.
I'm too tired to do much navel-gazing. I'll strip it down to the bones. You're gone, and I wish you weren't.
The End.
Again.
Monday, November 04, 2013
Waiting
I took my Xanax and rolled up into the scary machine Thursday. It wasn't as bad as last time. Since they were doing the MRI on my abdomen, they used the "short bore" machine, and as tall as I am, my head was mostly out the other end of the machine. I could see light, anyway, and between that and the super-pill, I was okay even when they put the IV in for the dye contrast.
Now I'm waiting. If I don't hear from them tomorrow, I'll call. I need to know a date. The C word, we just won't mention.
Anyway, while I'm waiting, I have all this ridiculous energy, and I've been cleaning like a fiend. This weekend alone, I washed all my slipcovers, bought new sheets, washed them and put them on, folded about three weeks' worth of laundry and put it away, bought new towels and reorganized my bathroom cabinets, took down my Halloween decorations and put up the few things I use for Thanksgiving, bought major groceries, and vacuumed up about three large white dogs from my carpets. At least things are getting done.
Today, I was out for an appointment with another doctor, a theme I could live without, and tomorrow I'll be back in my classroom. I am sure enough work waits for me there to keep me occupied with no effort at all.
Now I'm waiting. If I don't hear from them tomorrow, I'll call. I need to know a date. The C word, we just won't mention.
Anyway, while I'm waiting, I have all this ridiculous energy, and I've been cleaning like a fiend. This weekend alone, I washed all my slipcovers, bought new sheets, washed them and put them on, folded about three weeks' worth of laundry and put it away, bought new towels and reorganized my bathroom cabinets, took down my Halloween decorations and put up the few things I use for Thanksgiving, bought major groceries, and vacuumed up about three large white dogs from my carpets. At least things are getting done.
Today, I was out for an appointment with another doctor, a theme I could live without, and tomorrow I'll be back in my classroom. I am sure enough work waits for me there to keep me occupied with no effort at all.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
Philosophising Early in the Morning
Ideas will come in the shower it seems. Maybe it's all that stimulation of the scalp when one is washing the hair....
In any case, I was thinking about what's coming and about the last few weeks or so of my life. There's been the obvious crap, but there have also been some unexpected revelations and refocusing. Call it a readjustment of perspective, perhaps.
Since all this has begun, I've realized that some things are not as important as I was making them out to be. The world will keep spinning whether these things are okay or not. They're externals. I won't go so far as to say they're trivial, but they aren't the heart of who I am or what I have to have to go on. It's been a great relief to realize this, to be able to open my hand and let them go.
The same thing can be said of people. Maybe this is one thing that times of hardship are supposed to do, make us re-evaluate the great tide of individuals with whom we tend to surround ourselves and really look, really look, at our relationships with them. I think I am guilty of self-deception sometimes as to what that relationship really is. Maybe we all are.
All I can say with certainty is this: I am grateful beyond all I can express for my friends and family who have "stepped up" to help hold me up. It might have been a phone call or an instant message. It might have been a goofy story, a pin on Pinterest, or something geeky on FB that made me laugh. It might have been one sentence, truly meant, telling me they're praying. It might just have been distracting me from this gristmill of scariness grinding away in my head all the time. Whatever it was, those people are helping me carry this thing, whether it turns out to be the worst-case scenario or just the lesser horror I already know is coming.
As for the rest...
Well...
Maybe it's time to clear the game board of them. It's not that they're not wonderful in their own way, but life sometimes needs to be stripped back to the essentials. I think somehow I cluttered mine up with things that were shiny on the outside but completely hollow within. Maybe they started out real and living, and it's time and the way we all change that has robbed the relationship of its connection. Reality checks like this are hard to swallow; I can't deny it. Better to wake up finally, though, and acknowledge something is broken and used up, to get rid of it for something meaningful before I put my hand out expecting support and fall right through the saw-dust illusion of it instead.
In any case, I was thinking about what's coming and about the last few weeks or so of my life. There's been the obvious crap, but there have also been some unexpected revelations and refocusing. Call it a readjustment of perspective, perhaps.
Since all this has begun, I've realized that some things are not as important as I was making them out to be. The world will keep spinning whether these things are okay or not. They're externals. I won't go so far as to say they're trivial, but they aren't the heart of who I am or what I have to have to go on. It's been a great relief to realize this, to be able to open my hand and let them go.
The same thing can be said of people. Maybe this is one thing that times of hardship are supposed to do, make us re-evaluate the great tide of individuals with whom we tend to surround ourselves and really look, really look, at our relationships with them. I think I am guilty of self-deception sometimes as to what that relationship really is. Maybe we all are.
All I can say with certainty is this: I am grateful beyond all I can express for my friends and family who have "stepped up" to help hold me up. It might have been a phone call or an instant message. It might have been a goofy story, a pin on Pinterest, or something geeky on FB that made me laugh. It might have been one sentence, truly meant, telling me they're praying. It might just have been distracting me from this gristmill of scariness grinding away in my head all the time. Whatever it was, those people are helping me carry this thing, whether it turns out to be the worst-case scenario or just the lesser horror I already know is coming.
As for the rest...
Well...
Maybe it's time to clear the game board of them. It's not that they're not wonderful in their own way, but life sometimes needs to be stripped back to the essentials. I think somehow I cluttered mine up with things that were shiny on the outside but completely hollow within. Maybe they started out real and living, and it's time and the way we all change that has robbed the relationship of its connection. Reality checks like this are hard to swallow; I can't deny it. Better to wake up finally, though, and acknowledge something is broken and used up, to get rid of it for something meaningful before I put my hand out expecting support and fall right through the saw-dust illusion of it instead.
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Random Bits
Today, BBC America had lots of Doctor Who with Ten in it on. I sort of got sucked into that, and once again, I was astonished by just how good David Tennant was in that role. Sure, there were moments that were WAAAAAY over-the-top. The remote-controlled spinning Christmas trees of death come immediately to mind. Even those were lots of fun, though. The show swung back and forth between humor and absolute heartbreak. I can't watch those last episodes, really starting with The Waters of Mars. They are so terribly sad....
I've spent the weekend holed up, reading mostly, watching tv, sleeping. I finished a reread of Wicked, and I remember now why I never bothered to read the rest of those books. I think it is one of the most depressing books I have ever read. The Broadway show is such a perky, cheerful, and heart-lifting thing. I cannot see how they ever drew it out of the original, to be honest. I kept telling myself I was going to stop reading it, but I hate to abandon a book. There's a certain feeling of accomplishment that comes from finishing something, especially something that becomes an endurance race.
I'm trying to get mentally ready for the week to come. Friday was...a tough day. I had to give more than I had in me. There were several times when I just wanted to go down the hall to our little breakroom and lock the door behind me.
Obviously, I didn't, but the thought was there. I don't much like that.
So, I'll keep distracting myself with random bits. Right now, it's Sherlock reruns. Soon, it will be bedtime. Then tomorrow will be on me full-force. Maybe all the random bits will be enough to help me through it.
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Shaky
I guess I'll take a minute to update the 1.5 individuals who read this on my life. My surgery hasn't been scheduled yet. To determine whether or not it will be done by my doctor or the GYN oncologist (there needs to be an acronym just for this, I think), I will have an MRI next Thursday. After that, the final question should be answered.
And I need that. I desperately need all the little slivers of hell to fall into an orderly procession. Why it is better if I know when things are happening is a mystery. Actually, it probably has to do with the illusion of control. Being able to put it into my iPhone calendar makes me feel like I'm doing something as opposed to something happening to me, I guess.
Stupid, isn't it?
I'm not doing well with this. I'm shaky. I drive in to work, hear a song on the radio, and I'm in tears. I hate that. I hate not being able to maintain. It feels like failure. Every day that I'm able to get in my classroom and get teaching done, I feel like I've accomplished something major.
I suppose I should just be grateful that I the rest of this year has been what it has been... Venice. Istanbul. Good things and places that I can retreat to in my mind while my body goes through whatever winds up being next. I don't know what else to do. There's no running away anymore.
And I need that. I desperately need all the little slivers of hell to fall into an orderly procession. Why it is better if I know when things are happening is a mystery. Actually, it probably has to do with the illusion of control. Being able to put it into my iPhone calendar makes me feel like I'm doing something as opposed to something happening to me, I guess.
Stupid, isn't it?
I'm not doing well with this. I'm shaky. I drive in to work, hear a song on the radio, and I'm in tears. I hate that. I hate not being able to maintain. It feels like failure. Every day that I'm able to get in my classroom and get teaching done, I feel like I've accomplished something major.
I suppose I should just be grateful that I the rest of this year has been what it has been... Venice. Istanbul. Good things and places that I can retreat to in my mind while my body goes through whatever winds up being next. I don't know what else to do. There's no running away anymore.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
And Then There Were None
It's been a long day, and I'm not going to belabour this. I'm not up to it.
I will have a hysterectomy, probably sometime around Thanksgiving. They're still not sure about endometrial cancer; other tests will have to be done.
The other shoe, the one that's been hanging in the air since I first walked into the student health center at IU so long ago, has finally dropped.
And I just can't talk about it anymore.
I will have a hysterectomy, probably sometime around Thanksgiving. They're still not sure about endometrial cancer; other tests will have to be done.
The other shoe, the one that's been hanging in the air since I first walked into the student health center at IU so long ago, has finally dropped.
And I just can't talk about it anymore.
Monday, October 14, 2013
And Then There Was One
Tomorrow's the day.
There is such a tremendous relief in being able to say that. If nothing else good can be said about it, at least tomorrow the waiting ends.
I don't know if I'll know anything more than I know right now, but at least I'll be moving forward again.
All this stress is making me react badly to everything. For example, right now, I:
- have a migraine trying to attack me
- want to get in my car and drive to Jackson for Target
- have found myself shopping for a pair of vegan-friendly Doc Martens
- simultaneously crave salt-and-vinegar chips, Greek food, Thai curry, and another lime popsicle
- teared up at a commercial that wasn't sad
Maybe some part of my poor, stupid, confused, lost mind will come back when this is done.
Monday, October 07, 2013
The Day That Was Instead
Today was supposed to be the day I had both procedures. If you have been paying attention, you know that got screwed up. Instead of hospital gowns and invasive procedures, I had a different day.
I slept fairly late and took the dogs outside for their morning walk still wearing my pajamas. The air was incredible. Fall is here, at least for a few days, and it was chilly enough that I was wishing for a jacket or my flannel pj bottoms.
I came in, started some laundry, took a long hot shower, opened up all the windows, turned on the attic fan, and sat down with some of the Krispy Kremes my wonderful Mom got me the other day. I spent the day lazing around, tinkering with bits of things online and watching TV. There were lime popsicles and Shin Ramyun for lunch.
It was wonderful.
The dogs are thrilled. Roux has been stuck to me all day, and Chewie and Yelldo have been out and around playing in the cool air and sunshine. I was able to put clothes out on the line. It's hard to believe that only yesterday there was rain.
I am currently avoiding sleep because I don't want to fight the dreams. TopGear is working admirably for this. Tomorrow will be full of meetings and work. I'm glad to have had this brief moment. Maybe it can take me through to the day that will be.
I slept fairly late and took the dogs outside for their morning walk still wearing my pajamas. The air was incredible. Fall is here, at least for a few days, and it was chilly enough that I was wishing for a jacket or my flannel pj bottoms.
I came in, started some laundry, took a long hot shower, opened up all the windows, turned on the attic fan, and sat down with some of the Krispy Kremes my wonderful Mom got me the other day. I spent the day lazing around, tinkering with bits of things online and watching TV. There were lime popsicles and Shin Ramyun for lunch.
It was wonderful.
The dogs are thrilled. Roux has been stuck to me all day, and Chewie and Yelldo have been out and around playing in the cool air and sunshine. I was able to put clothes out on the line. It's hard to believe that only yesterday there was rain.
I am currently avoiding sleep because I don't want to fight the dreams. TopGear is working admirably for this. Tomorrow will be full of meetings and work. I'm glad to have had this brief moment. Maybe it can take me through to the day that will be.
Friday, October 04, 2013
Lime Popsicles
I've been holding it together with the idea that Monday would be the end of it. Wouldn't it be nice if just for once these things went as planned?
I got a call this morning saying that one of the two things happening Monday has to be rescheduled. I'll have to take a day. I'll have to reset that horrible little countdown.
I'm going to go eat another lime popsicle. Right now, the lime popsicles are all that's keeping me going.
11 days......
Wednesday, October 02, 2013
5 Days
Five days left, and I can't stop thinking about it.
I dream about it. My brain may not be much up to creative endeavour lately, but oh great God, is it ever still up for the nightly horror movie show. I need peace and flight and places with dark woods and that blue-eyed boy who shows up every so often but instead, I get hospital corridors, people who are long gone, ashes, dust, and no-win situations.
Five days left, and all I want to be able to do is sing along with Lana Del Ray, want to say that "nothing scares me anymore" and mean it. But I can't. Because it does. It scares the ever-living crap out of me. Instead, I'm so much more stuck in a place where the best lyric of hers for me is "don't make me sad/ don't make me cry/ sometimes life is not enough and the road gets rough / I don't know why...."
I swear I'm trying. I don't want to be weak or silly or hypochondriacal. (Is that a word? I think that's a word....) Instead I'm striving for beatific stillness, but to be honest some part of me, some little non-productive part of me, is pulling a Heinlein. You know what I mean. When in panic or in doubt....
I have had both of these procedures before. Neither of them is something a person just goes into joyfully. One of them hurts like a son-of-a-.... You fill in with a word you like. It's some of the worst pain I've had from something medical without a person actually cutting me open and me having to heal from that. That includes having my knee rebuilt. I think it was better not knowing what was coming last time. Now, I keep thinking about how much it's going to hurt, how there's not really anything I can do about that pain, and sometimes I can't turn that stupid voice off. It makes me want to roll into a ball underneath my bed and not come out. It makes me wish I really could go live in a shoebox under my beautiful pianist's grand the way I always joked that I would and let the music wash over me until everything is okay.
On top of all of this, I have to go about my day-to-day life like a normal person. I have to teach and deal with the needs and behaviors of my students and the demands of my job and pretend that I'm fine. I have to tell people that I'm just tired. What I want to do is scream and run, scream and run, because there is some strange comfort in movement as long as it doesn't stop. Instead, I am trying to focus on turning fear into kindness, into concern for other people. Maybe if I can do that, I can do some good instead of just running in endless circles like Mom and Dad's kitten chasing her long fluffy tail.
It's been on the tip of my tongue, the tip of my fingers so many times to tell a couple of people special to me, but I can't do it. It all, after all, may be nothing. Even though it looms before me like the Reaper raising a bony beckoning hand, it may all be nothing. I couldn't stand it if I worried them for nothing. I couldn't stand it if they saw me be so weak and afraid if it turns out there are only shadows, no monsters at all.
I have to pretend everything is fine, that I'm like someone who didn't find herself walking off a cliff like Wile E. Coyote. You know what I admire most about him right now? The fact that he's always able to keep going, even when he's on nothing but thin air, as long as he doesn't look down. Maybe that's the secret. Maybe if you keep moving and don't look down everything is always going to be okay.
And I know I'm babbling in print. I know what it looks like, sounds like, fingers moving across keys too quickly, images as frantic and random as the inside of my head is right now. It's a little release of the tension that gave me a crucifying disorienting migraine three days ago. If it bothers you, you can merry well quit reading, after all. You can walk away from it. Again, maybe that perpetual motion will keep you safe from it as well. In the meantime, I'm just going to go to bed and try not to have nightmares. Five more days. Five. More. Days.
I dream about it. My brain may not be much up to creative endeavour lately, but oh great God, is it ever still up for the nightly horror movie show. I need peace and flight and places with dark woods and that blue-eyed boy who shows up every so often but instead, I get hospital corridors, people who are long gone, ashes, dust, and no-win situations.
Five days left, and all I want to be able to do is sing along with Lana Del Ray, want to say that "nothing scares me anymore" and mean it. But I can't. Because it does. It scares the ever-living crap out of me. Instead, I'm so much more stuck in a place where the best lyric of hers for me is "don't make me sad/ don't make me cry/ sometimes life is not enough and the road gets rough / I don't know why...."
I swear I'm trying. I don't want to be weak or silly or hypochondriacal. (Is that a word? I think that's a word....) Instead I'm striving for beatific stillness, but to be honest some part of me, some little non-productive part of me, is pulling a Heinlein. You know what I mean. When in panic or in doubt....
I have had both of these procedures before. Neither of them is something a person just goes into joyfully. One of them hurts like a son-of-a-.... You fill in with a word you like. It's some of the worst pain I've had from something medical without a person actually cutting me open and me having to heal from that. That includes having my knee rebuilt. I think it was better not knowing what was coming last time. Now, I keep thinking about how much it's going to hurt, how there's not really anything I can do about that pain, and sometimes I can't turn that stupid voice off. It makes me want to roll into a ball underneath my bed and not come out. It makes me wish I really could go live in a shoebox under my beautiful pianist's grand the way I always joked that I would and let the music wash over me until everything is okay.
On top of all of this, I have to go about my day-to-day life like a normal person. I have to teach and deal with the needs and behaviors of my students and the demands of my job and pretend that I'm fine. I have to tell people that I'm just tired. What I want to do is scream and run, scream and run, because there is some strange comfort in movement as long as it doesn't stop. Instead, I am trying to focus on turning fear into kindness, into concern for other people. Maybe if I can do that, I can do some good instead of just running in endless circles like Mom and Dad's kitten chasing her long fluffy tail.
It's been on the tip of my tongue, the tip of my fingers so many times to tell a couple of people special to me, but I can't do it. It all, after all, may be nothing. Even though it looms before me like the Reaper raising a bony beckoning hand, it may all be nothing. I couldn't stand it if I worried them for nothing. I couldn't stand it if they saw me be so weak and afraid if it turns out there are only shadows, no monsters at all.
I have to pretend everything is fine, that I'm like someone who didn't find herself walking off a cliff like Wile E. Coyote. You know what I admire most about him right now? The fact that he's always able to keep going, even when he's on nothing but thin air, as long as he doesn't look down. Maybe that's the secret. Maybe if you keep moving and don't look down everything is always going to be okay.
And I know I'm babbling in print. I know what it looks like, sounds like, fingers moving across keys too quickly, images as frantic and random as the inside of my head is right now. It's a little release of the tension that gave me a crucifying disorienting migraine three days ago. If it bothers you, you can merry well quit reading, after all. You can walk away from it. Again, maybe that perpetual motion will keep you safe from it as well. In the meantime, I'm just going to go to bed and try not to have nightmares. Five more days. Five. More. Days.
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Yeah, So Maybe It's Not Going As Well As I'd Planned
Today as I was standing bus duty, my principal came up to me and told me that I looked unhappy. He was checking in, concerned about me. I was startled. I wasn't particularly aware of feeling bad, but I guess maybe I'm not hiding things as well as I thought I was.
I know my patience isn't at its highest point. I've made an effort to avoid things that might stretch it past its snapping point. In short, I'm doing the best I can.
I think it may not be quite enough. I had a dream last night that I just didn't go somewhere I was supposed to. I started out to go there, but suddenly I noticed a huge rip in the leg of my pants, so I turned around and came home. From there, the dream flashed to a junktique where I was shopping for something about Abraham Lincoln.
Maybe it's not stress. Maybe like Scrooge I had something that disagreed with me for dinner....
11 more days.....
I know my patience isn't at its highest point. I've made an effort to avoid things that might stretch it past its snapping point. In short, I'm doing the best I can.
I think it may not be quite enough. I had a dream last night that I just didn't go somewhere I was supposed to. I started out to go there, but suddenly I noticed a huge rip in the leg of my pants, so I turned around and came home. From there, the dream flashed to a junktique where I was shopping for something about Abraham Lincoln.
Maybe it's not stress. Maybe like Scrooge I had something that disagreed with me for dinner....
11 more days.....
Sunday, September 22, 2013
Wordless
I'm trying to get back into the habit of writing here. I stopped awhile back, and I'm not sure exactly why. All the places and types of things I used to like to write just shut down. It's like the flow of words I have always relied on just dried up.
I suspect I know why. Before the semi-cataclysmic events of last Wednesday, I had reached a place of such worry and such stress that I basically shut down every system that wasn't essential. Does a person do that? Is that possible? It feels possible. Nothing was resolved Wednesday. In fact, a great many things might get very much worse now. However, two of the biggest issues in my life came to a moment of crisis, and at least now I'm not running from them. Sometimes I think I was using up all my energy and effort with the running. Maybe there's a mercy in the dropping of some of the old juggling balls after all....
There's also the fact that during the most fruitful period of this blog, I was writing with the idea that someone out there was reading it, someone specific. I won't go into all that, but it's not the same now, and I've found it hard to come back here when I know that one-sided conversation is at an end. That's just stupid of me. It never should have been about a single person other than myself. Knowing that it was stupid has also prevented me from coming back. Will I fall into those same old patterns?
I miss the writing, though. At certain times in Turkey, I saw something, and a fragment of a poem or an essay would start to form, and then it's like a hand swept away a cloud of incense, leaving me with the frustrating feeling of having glimpsed the finished work while being totally unable to capture it. I found something in a random notebook I had tried to write about the Hagia Sofia, and I was astonished by how really terrible an effort it was.
I took out my book of poems the other day, the ones I have typed up and mostly in a final form, and it seemed as though another person had written them. Maybe there's truth to that. We do grow and change constantly, or at least we're supposed to. It's not supposed to be a bad thing. I just can't stand the thought that this new person, this current incarnation of me, is wordless.
I suspect I know why. Before the semi-cataclysmic events of last Wednesday, I had reached a place of such worry and such stress that I basically shut down every system that wasn't essential. Does a person do that? Is that possible? It feels possible. Nothing was resolved Wednesday. In fact, a great many things might get very much worse now. However, two of the biggest issues in my life came to a moment of crisis, and at least now I'm not running from them. Sometimes I think I was using up all my energy and effort with the running. Maybe there's a mercy in the dropping of some of the old juggling balls after all....
There's also the fact that during the most fruitful period of this blog, I was writing with the idea that someone out there was reading it, someone specific. I won't go into all that, but it's not the same now, and I've found it hard to come back here when I know that one-sided conversation is at an end. That's just stupid of me. It never should have been about a single person other than myself. Knowing that it was stupid has also prevented me from coming back. Will I fall into those same old patterns?
I miss the writing, though. At certain times in Turkey, I saw something, and a fragment of a poem or an essay would start to form, and then it's like a hand swept away a cloud of incense, leaving me with the frustrating feeling of having glimpsed the finished work while being totally unable to capture it. I found something in a random notebook I had tried to write about the Hagia Sofia, and I was astonished by how really terrible an effort it was.
I took out my book of poems the other day, the ones I have typed up and mostly in a final form, and it seemed as though another person had written them. Maybe there's truth to that. We do grow and change constantly, or at least we're supposed to. It's not supposed to be a bad thing. I just can't stand the thought that this new person, this current incarnation of me, is wordless.
Saturday, September 21, 2013
Sufis
For some reason, just tonight, that evening in Istanbul when we saw the Sufi performance is stuck in my head. It's almost like I'm there in that domelike converted bath chamber seeing and hearing it again.
I remember seeing all of them, being interested in the diversity of ages and expressions on the men as they stepped into the circle for the performance. One looked so young and somehow nervous. One was stately and older. One had the face of an angel.
I remember the way their dance began, the way their arms slowly unfurled to their dancing positions as though it were something as natural as a plant's leaves slowly growing under the sun. I remember the way they seemed to switch off the act of leading until everyone had started the pattern. It was soothing and compelling. It made me wonder what it would be like to be one of them, to spin and spin and accept and let go at the same time....
Once I knew the symbolism of what they were doing, something I found out later, it was even more powerful, and it continues to be even now that they are spinning only in my mind. I'm stealing this from Wikipedia because it's faster than my telling it all myself. Semazen is another word for sufi:
In the symbolism of the Sema ritual, the semazen's camel's hair hat (sikke) represents the tombstone of the ego; his wide, white skirt (tennure) represents the ego's shroud. By removing his black cloak (hırka), he is spiritually reborn to the truth. At the beginning of the Sema, by holding his arms crosswise, the semazen appears to represent the number one, thus testifying to God's unity. While whirling, his arms are open: his right arm is directed to the sky, ready to receive God's beneficence; his left hand, upon which his eyes are fastened, is turned toward the earth. The semazen conveys God's spiritual gift to those who are witnessing the Sema. Revolving from right to left around the heart, the semazen embraces all humanity with love. The human being has been created with love in order to love. Mevlâna Jalâluddîn Rumi says, "All loves are a bridge to Divine love. Yet, those who have not had a taste of it do not know!"
The Sufis have been turned into big-time tourist capital by Turkey. Almost any product you can imagine can be found with their image on it. Every country has something like that, some symbol from their past they've turned into a cultural shorthand for commercial endeavours. I sort of think it's a shame that this really deeply personal thing has been used for that.
On the other hand, maybe it's all good. Maybe the symbolism and the beauty of it can reach out through all the tshirts and spinning glass dolls somehow. Maybe when people use the Iznik trivet with the brightly painted dancers on its surface, some of the original intention is passed along. I am not wise enough to know. All I can say with any certainty is that, along with the Hagia Sophia's golden dome, the slow wheel of Sufis rests permanently in my mind.
I remember seeing all of them, being interested in the diversity of ages and expressions on the men as they stepped into the circle for the performance. One looked so young and somehow nervous. One was stately and older. One had the face of an angel.
I remember the way their dance began, the way their arms slowly unfurled to their dancing positions as though it were something as natural as a plant's leaves slowly growing under the sun. I remember the way they seemed to switch off the act of leading until everyone had started the pattern. It was soothing and compelling. It made me wonder what it would be like to be one of them, to spin and spin and accept and let go at the same time....
Once I knew the symbolism of what they were doing, something I found out later, it was even more powerful, and it continues to be even now that they are spinning only in my mind. I'm stealing this from Wikipedia because it's faster than my telling it all myself. Semazen is another word for sufi:
In the symbolism of the Sema ritual, the semazen's camel's hair hat (sikke) represents the tombstone of the ego; his wide, white skirt (tennure) represents the ego's shroud. By removing his black cloak (hırka), he is spiritually reborn to the truth. At the beginning of the Sema, by holding his arms crosswise, the semazen appears to represent the number one, thus testifying to God's unity. While whirling, his arms are open: his right arm is directed to the sky, ready to receive God's beneficence; his left hand, upon which his eyes are fastened, is turned toward the earth. The semazen conveys God's spiritual gift to those who are witnessing the Sema. Revolving from right to left around the heart, the semazen embraces all humanity with love. The human being has been created with love in order to love. Mevlâna Jalâluddîn Rumi says, "All loves are a bridge to Divine love. Yet, those who have not had a taste of it do not know!"
The Sufis have been turned into big-time tourist capital by Turkey. Almost any product you can imagine can be found with their image on it. Every country has something like that, some symbol from their past they've turned into a cultural shorthand for commercial endeavours. I sort of think it's a shame that this really deeply personal thing has been used for that.
On the other hand, maybe it's all good. Maybe the symbolism and the beauty of it can reach out through all the tshirts and spinning glass dolls somehow. Maybe when people use the Iznik trivet with the brightly painted dancers on its surface, some of the original intention is passed along. I am not wise enough to know. All I can say with any certainty is that, along with the Hagia Sophia's golden dome, the slow wheel of Sufis rests permanently in my mind.
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