There is a world out there, beyond our world. Scientists have proved it.
And I have seen it.
I have spent a lot of my time, especially, since my eyes went wonky, looking at the ground. Looking down. I did it so that I wouldn’t trip over a curb, a rug, uneven pavement … and myself.
If I am walking, I still look down. It is a prudent thing to do.
But for the last few months, I have been looking up. I think it is because I have been outside, more.
It isn’t a cancer diagnosis that has led me to this, because I began doing it this summer.
In a way, I think it was learning that I couldn’t find peace by reading news or watching TV, or even talking to others, asking them their thoughts.
People, though I sometimes enjoy them, are not where I find peace.
Peace. It can be illusive. There are times when I have questioned, “Will I ever find peace?”
I don’t think I will ever, really, find peace with humans. Not as long as the talk. But that is fine because that isn’t the peace I am talking about.
I am thinking more in lines of finding peace with who I am, where I am in life, and death.
Oh, and living.
Here is a funny thought I had a couple of days ago. I am throwing it in here b3cause I remembered it.
While coming home from the appointment with the surgeon, and maneuvering my mind through the information I had received, quite positive accounts of survival rates, and where I fit into the spectrum of cancer, (very lucky), I realized, I really don’t wat to focus so much on cancer or treatment or the what ifs, and not pay attention, and get hit by a bus. Wouldn’t that be a bite in the butt?
Of course it could happen. It happens in live. I have read a few accounts of people who narrowly escaped being killed in the Las Vegas massacre, only to have been killed in a car crash, lose their house to fires, and there was another sad one that I don’t recall.
I have spent a lot of my life creating my own stew of angst about situations that were either out of my control, I took whatever was going on more seriously than I needed to, and conjuring up worse case scenarios, deluding myself into thinking that if I played the worst case scenario out in my mind, it would help me deal with it, if it happened.
Nothing like a sentence that is a paragraph.
This summer and the change of attitude and looking beyond, out into nature, I think, got me ready for this diagnosis. This curve in the road.
That really is what it is, isn’t it? A bit of an unplanned change in direction that is going to give me new opportunities to experience life?
I have found the peace and joy of being still. I can sit on y porch for hours, and walk around my yard and look at flowers and really look inside them and see the glory of it all.
Nick and I go for car rides. In Ohi, we would go for deer rides. Yessirreebob. We would ride in the country and look for dee and count them.
Deer hide from us, down here, so we simply gaze out onto the fields and notice all of the pine trees, huddled close together, leggy, things, packed in tight. We look at the sky and remark on it and the light, this Southern light, oh my, I get Gaga writing about it.
And in the morning, the early morning, when I take Winston outside, I pair my feet, and look up. I look at the stars and notice a clear or cloudy sky, and the moon. I love the moon. The last few nights the moon has lingered between an opening in the skeletal tree-line behind our house. This morning, it played a bit of peek-a-boo, as striations of clouds rolled by.
The clouds rolled by, just as my life has rolled by. Sometimes the sky, my life, has had clear patches, wisps, moments of clarity. There are times when the clear sky is accented by a few high clouds, giving the sky and my life, depth. The thunderclouds have come and gone, too. Hail, yes, there have been some times when life came down on me n such a thundering Burt, that I wanted to go under a blanket and hide.
We all have had those moments, haven’t we? Times when you didn’t know what to do, when the mouth has opened when it should have stayed shut, or the words you said, bit others like a black mamba? When all you can do is look down at life and say, gosh, this is hard.
I wish I could say that I won’t be in a thunderstorm, again, or that I am prepared because I have a raincoat, galoshes, and a good hat. But I wouldn’t be so foolish.
Life is going to throw more bean-balls. But I will not look down or bury my head. I may fall to my knees, but I won’t look down. For my peace is found in looking up, looking out, and being grateful that I have experienced peace and grace and the goodness of God.