Originally posted on Beliefnet on October 23:
It was a crisp thirty-seven degrees as the sun rose this morning. I stepped outside with my dog for our morning outing. For the first time in seven months, I could see my breath steaming and rising into the early morning light. The dew frosted the tips of grass and made my shoes wet. Sun streaked across my yard and brightly lit the fronts of houses across the road. There is a brightness about the early morning sun that is barely remembered and almost mundane by midday. I have good associations with mornings like this. To be in it is to be vibrantly alive.
I haven't figured out where this is going, but from time to time I think about being present in the moment. I try to be. I try to savor what happens in everyday simple seconds. I'm prone to daydream, to be lost in my thoughts and anywhere but in the reality around me. So, to be present in the moment means calling myself back from whatever adventure I have created in my imagination.
Kahlil Gibran said something in the Prophet that has always haunted me--although I can't quote him right now because I don't have my book. It was something to this effect: That although we go forward slowly, we go not backward. So whenever I am present in the moment, that moment is tinted by this thought. We, and I think I can say this fairly, spend most of our lives going forward and backward. Or round and round. And if I go forward for a while and break the chain of my existence, I return again. Tonight will find me in the same place as I was in last night. And this is security and we like it this way. But this is also boredom and tedium and we don't like that at all!
It has been a year now since I noticed the first symptoms I had of this sickness that has unearthed my daily existence and has dislodged me from my old routines, robbed me of plans for my future I'd never identified, deprived me of most of the material baggage that has increased and clung to me through nearly an entire lifetime. Uncertainty is not something we like (again, I feel safe in saying this because most of us aren't comfortable with it). Depression has accompanied it. The effect is that when I need to be moving forward, I spend my time dwelling on what I can't do anything about, what I am probably leaving behind forever and what I wish I could have appreciated more before I lost it. And I spend an awful amount of time trying to be healthy.
So more than ever right now I am noticing how much routine pleases me. And how what tomorrow may bring can unhinge rob me of hope. I'm forced to dwell in the moment because my imagination can't find a solution for the unknown that lies ahead. A lot of things like my imagination have gained new purpose in this adventure. My imagination is a tool that could, I hope, find a solution. It would be so much better to choose which way to go than to be shoved one day at a time, unwilling, into a less-than-ideal existence. Allergies have had the same effect as they warn me away from what makes me sick.
I hate to say it, but I'm lonely. And I know that others go through this too. At a time when they most need their loved ones to share their lives, their loved ones have withdrawn, become angry at what they don't understand . . . It is very difficult to say that. Sometimes it hurts me so deeply! I feel judged, but for what? It isn't something that I did. I'd gladly dance right back from the fate that has me in its grips.
Where has God been through all of this? My faith has had its ups and downs. Because I am so slow about my duties, I don't take the time to be with him the way I used to. But for some reason, I feel that God has--shall I say "allowed"?--something to do with this--shaking up my old routine, changing me, moving me in a new direction. And is it optimism that makes me believe that in the end "all will be well"? I tread uneven ground now on the path up the mountain. At the top is the glittering city that I had seen from far away, the one that I was promised. I just have one last climb.
