I am peaceful

I feel so peaceful this evening that it surprises me.
I have noticed that if I "do" the work then "it" works on me.
If I do yoga, yoga works on me.
If I meditate, meditation works on me. It really does.
It takes a long time to really get that. It is a lived experience. A visceral thing.
So, I feel peaceful and it's nothing I've done today. It's all the past practices. The past yoga. The past meditations. Life happens while you're doing stuff.

While I was teaching a yoga class this evening, my mom was preparing herself for bed. My brother was there earlier at supper time and brought everything she needs for the night into the bedroom and closed the blinds, turned on the bedside light. My mom has her own evening rituals, one of them which is calling me to say she is sitting on the edge of the bed and telling me which pills she has taken and how she is and who has called this evening. Tonight's message said ahhhh, I made it into bed. My pills are taken. Everything is good. I hope to sleep well. I am peaceful. It has been a good day. Thank you for everything. And if I'm alive in the morning I will see you tomorrow.

Temporary growth

This morning was much the same as yesterday. Minus the sun salutations.
Coming back from my morning trip to mom's I notice that every bush and tree has spikes. This is the birch in my yard. It is soooo cool looking.



Yesterday's nurse suggested my mom walk a little more during the day. Walking is a huffing and a puffing kind of thing. If she doesn't she won't be able to after a short while.  Mom feels good just sitting in her recliner. Her hands on her belly. Keeping it warm. Almost like nurturing it.
She walks a little. Bathroom breaks are fewer than usual though she tries to drink water. She says it tastes bad now. Even with himalayan salt in it.

Healing is an art. Taking pills is an art. Drinking water is an art. You want just enough, just the right amount. Too much water sodium goes down. Not good. Too little water. Not good. Too much blood pressure medication. Too low. Too little medication. Heart don't like it. I'm learning to listen and watch. Just enough walking to be strong. Just enough food to not hurt.

I'm learning a lot.

April 2017 a surgeon gave mom news that she has cancer. She asked - how long? He said 3 to 4 months. Bastard. She's been dying since then.

May 2017. "Chemo never killed anyone"

June 2017 .......yes......it almost did.

July 2017 doctor on call said she has a few days. Gave her steroid to clear blockage. She is still here.

Dr. B. puts it this way: If things change yearly you have years to live. If things change monthly you have months to live. If things change weekly you have weeks to live. If things change daily you have days. If hourly you have hours. No one can say.

My mom loves Dr. B.
I love Dr. B.
He knows healing (and dying) is an art.

The bed is made.

🐦
I heard my dog snoring. My first sound. 6 am.
Meditation. A few sun salutations.
Oatmeal. Coffee. Yesterday's newspaper. Hunter boots. Walk to my mom's apartment. A bird chirps merrily. It is warm enough to feel like spring. Since it's Saturday there is no traffic this early.

My mom is still sleeping. I sit quietly in her living room reading emails. I hear her phone......blip......blip.....blip......she's calling me. How fun! I answer. Good morning. I am here in your living room. Here? Now? Yes, mom. Ohhh! She sounds relieved. We laugh at this. She will have something funny to tell her friend when they chat later this morning.

Water. Pills. Pink. Blue. Yellow. White. Change into day clothes. Hair. Washroom. Toilet. Blinds. Walker. Mom is tired. I wheel her into living room on her walker. I make a vroom sound. Voi. Voi.

Oatmeal. Butter. Honey. Pills. Water. Television. Blanket. The day begins. She has a fire in her belly before pink pill kicks in.

So far today everything is in order. The bed is made.
🕤

Beginnings and endings

This photo of my mom was taken in 2015 when she was still living in Australia. In this photo she is 82 years old  She is just recovering from surgery to have cancer removed from her bowel.

Today she is living in Canada. She is in the last stages of a rare form of cancer called Sister Mary Joseph cancer, a cancer of the colon. She is the colour of the orange on this caftan. She is smaller. Her belly is distended and it's oozing what looks like fresh sausage from her belly button. She said this morning that her life is sleeping, eating, huffing her way to the bathroom, sleeping, sitting in her chair watching television, sleeping, a bit of talking on phone or with someone visiting, sleeping, eating, taking pink pills and blue pills, sleeping, and around again.

She said to the nurse this morning that she is happy. This in itself is a miracle.

She still has a great sense of humour. I'll tell you more as the cycle of her days continue. I'm writing for me. I need to talk.

I read this in Richard Wagamese's book "Embers":

"My mother's physical death taught me that I didn't come here to master devastating situations, circumstances, changes, losses or even my own feelings. I came here to experience them. I came here for soul lessons and spirit teachings so that I could carry on in this wonderful spiritual journey we are all on, this teaching way, this blessing way. So that, in the end, I can, like my mother has done, return to the beauty that I was when I first arrived here."

Oh, wow. I see where I am with my mother. I have not always been understanding or happy with my mother. She has known that. The other day as we were watching television together, she reached over for me and said "we're getting along good now, aren't we?" I said, "yes" and smiled.

Life is so furiously happy and sad at the same time. I now see how she was a beautiful child of the universe when she was born butt first. at home.  A big baby, the youngest of the clan. The wild one. The unruly one. The stubborn one. The independent one.

Her life both hard and brilliant. Yet there never seemed to be any ease. And then this miracle. Her saying to the nurse this morning that she is happy. At Christmas she said it was the best one ever. She is ready to die. She is at peace. This is such a beautiful happening it feels like tears are being pulled out of my heart. She is returning to the beauty of when she first arrived here. If this happens to one, it can happen for all. I have enormous trust in this.

Thinking obscures wisdom.

I recently discovered that thinking obscures the inner message. I would have thought I knew that already. Not like I do now. It happened that I was writing to a friend and I was grumbling about someone. I wanted this person to be different (I can be a slow learner sometimes).  I was writing about the two sides of the situation. One, how great this person is but, if only, well, you get the idea. On one hand I'm seeing my grumbling isn't effective or helpful and I'm trying to see clearly but my thoughts about the situation keep me jabbering.

It so happens that I have a very astute friend. He highlighted all my "thinking" in red and all my "awareness" in green. He sent that copy back to me. He then deleted my thinking words and sent it back to me. So, I'm looking at the words I had written with all the highlighted colours and I realize it's like two people talking in the same letter. The copy with my red thinking thoughts gone was astounding. I sounded so clear and any dilemma I had was completely wiped out. All my wisdom had been there in the letter but it was obscured by my own thinking. When those thinking words (stinkin' words) were gone wisdom was left. It was pretty cool to see.

I now keep a red and green pen near my computer to remind me. It's just an old habit to keep thinking. But it's a cover up for the truth!

How to be Ultra Spiritual (funny) - with JP Sears

A wonderful new year

Happy New Year to all!

I am going to do a fun gratitude practice for the whole year 2017:

At the end of every week I'm going to write on a piece of paper the most amazing or joyful or happy or positive thing that happened  that week. Then I will fold up the paper and put it in a jar. At the end of the year I'll have 52 things to be wildly grateful for. Now how awesome is this exercise!!

I plan to read all 52 things on New years eve 2017.

If you do this too let me know at the end of the year.

restingfrog@gmail.com

May you have a magical year!