A seemingly lovely day

Despite sporadic gusts during our morning walk, this appeared to be the kind of seminal Autumn day in Vermont that whole fantasies are anchored around with it’s glassy blue sky, shifting blaze of maple and oak and just enough bite in the air to warrant the first appearance of my favorite knit hat. And things were going to plan as we walked our usual route, but farther, farther, in fact, than I’ve walked since getting sick four’ish months ago. I took the hills with confidence and ended with breathing exercises set to motion- ten nasal breaths while walking, exhale fully, walk 20 steps holding the breath, inhale and recover for ten breaths, repeat.

I saw my acupuncturist for my weekly appointment. My pulse suggested I was perhaps pushing my limits but it improved as I sat with the work and listened to her rattle off the other ways in which she saw me getting better. I mean, my Qi is descending- finally- from my lungs to my kidneys where they can then nourish the other places in my body that need all that they can get. We’ve been working on this for a long time, many months. That it’s happening now, while the same is taking place all across our land, each plant drawing energy down from her leaves and into her roots, makes perfect and sensational poetic sense.

We went to our favorite bakery in the nearby small city. I bought a book. We had a lovely picnic lunch with my mom, who is visiting for the week, bundled up as the sun did her best to keep us company. I took a nap while everyone else did some work on our farm. Upon waking, I took the dogs up to the field for a visit to check in. And, suddenly, out of nowhere, I’m hysterical. Angry. Throwing my marigold yellow klean kanteen clear across our field like a four year old who has no tools to name what is happening. I attempt to yell with a creaky throat and aching lungs which sputters forth like a half moan/ half heave. None of my outrage is specific. Not yet, anyway. I hang my head and walk back to the house, sobbing and sullen, the wake of my loved ones left far up field with little to go on beyond bearing witness to a tantrum during a seemingly lovely day.

Once inside, I shut myself in my office, the last lingering tears bringing this catharsis to a close, and I write. My breath returns to a steady rate and I focus on what’s happening in my body. My chest feels tighter, like my rib cage is collapsing or being pulled in opposing directions. My lungs ache, yes, but they’re also leaden now. My eyes itch and my finger tips feel tingly and numb. I can feel each thrum of my heart and it, too, feels wanton. All of me is wanton and this is the crux of it; that despite a seemingly lovely day, I am still grappling with dis-ease and sometimes the loveliest days or moments set that reality into stark contrast and fill every bit of my tired body with grief.

This happens while we watch television, too. When characters collide in passion, their bodies freely roaming one another, tense but yielding. Or when someone runs up the sidewalk to catch up with another or sprints up a flight of stairs, light of foot and completely able. I lose all interest in the story and return to my own body, prone on our couch, and long for such freedom to simply just move, no thought required, no hindrance of dis-ease.

Lest this sound like a pity party, I want to bring it back to grief and, instead, offer up some strong self compassion for what is clearly a reconciliation of body and spirit. Today, my spirit was all in on doing all of the things and wanted presence in every wondrous part of it. My body, however, was asking for time out, more rest, solitude. Yes, my Qi is descending and that is fucking amazing but it also needs to be nourished and banked away for tomorrow so that the descending may continue and my body can heal. That grief is how this tension is expressed is, for me, so ripe for exploration. I know plenty of folks who are quite comfortable with expressing anger, myself included, but not many, if even a one, who is at peace with inhabiting their grief.

The kinetic thrust of my klean kanteen to take flight was the physical expression of anger; watching it land and pokily roll down the hill was the spiritual surrender to grief. Sometimes we need these physical transitions to make sense of the overwhelm that is a mysterious and tenacious disease. We need the oomph of throwing something (never AT someone) or punching a pillow to get to the deepest sadness that our lives are changed. For now. All things shift, even Qi and her capacity to descend.