unexpected gifts

Hello out there...it's been a while. Since I posted last I've had my final trip to the doctor until my next surgery in July, I have gone back to work, and I have finished and sent out three poems into the big wide world. And there have been other things occupying my days and nights..but that is not what I am here to write about today. 

The photo above was taken a week or so ago on a lazy morning by the pond at the farm next door. It's a special spot for me, kind of unruly, and that tree is like a touchstone for days when nothing seems quite touchable. Some days I see it as a praying tree, on its knees. Other days it's as thirsty as I am and I see it bow to drink its fill. And some days it's as broken as can be, prostrate and weeping, too heavy with despair to get back on its feet. On those days I talk to it about my own despair, and I can sometimes see in the mirror of pond a kind spirit reaching its many hands up to keep the tree's tired limbs above water. If I'm lucky, before I leave for home I realize that if nothing else the ground beneath me will support me...but really what I know is that the people in my life that I love and that love me are the real support.

This morning I had an unexpected visit from one of those people and it was a beautiful beginning to my day. And when she left I had another unexpected gift, an email from a reader far away thanking me for the words I write here and sharing some of her own very personal rays of light that get her through the darkness. What a validating thing it is to receive the grace of another spirit. Nourishing and generous with hope and kindness. 

One of the things she said in her email reminded me of one of the lessons I have learned from having cancer. The lightning strike. I have had other lightning strikes in my life; the most profound of them was when my first son was born so sick and died three days later. Things can storm into your life with hardly a notice at all. Sometimes they are good things, but often they are not. It's the things that are not so good that are worth the most, it seems. The things that hold us up for measure...that shock us into realizing that we are only very human after all. And being human means being fallible, fragile, and a living breathing miracle as extinguishable as the ant that finds itself under your careless shoe. 

Being alive on this earth is a miracle and a gift. A daily gift. And once the lightning has struck, even if it takes several strikes, it tends to make one realize the vulnerability and preciousness of what it really means to be alive. What I am trying to say is that most of the time I have a deeper appreciation for my singular life and how it is no less or no more important that the life of any other plant, animal or mineral on this earth. It allows me to every now and again really understand that there is no such thing as "why me?" Good and bad will fall on every living thing, and at any given time. The ant toils to build its hill only to have it stepped on or even kicked to dust by a curious child...and then it gets right back to work, building it again. Being alive means work. Being human means we are at a disadvantage next to all other living things...because being human means we have the ability of discernment, and sometimes that means we choose to give up. An ant would never choose to give up. The grass in the field will die every year and will never have the choice of whether it desires to spend all that energy and time to grow tall again. The garden spider will weave again and again, despite a heavy rain or the careless shears of the gardener which cuts the stalks that spider had built upon. 

Shit happens. Nothing is perfect. If you are lucky enough to be alive in this world you will sooner or later take a fall. And who knows why some will fall harder and more often than others. It is those people, the ones who keep on getting up, that fill my heart with awe and respect. They are the salt of the earth that bring me thirst enough to find water in the driest desert. They make anything seem possible. 

I have always believed in silver linings, but not as much as I have learned to believe in the beauty of sheer determination to get up and carry on. Not nearly as much as I believe in the grace of having those special people in our lives, those we know intimately and even those we have never seen face to face, that help us to see it through.

(Thank you, Siobhan, for your email this morning. It meant a great deal to me.)

Comments

[Mary Thompson]

I love reading your thoughts. They seem to always provide a perfect jumping off point for introspective conversation. I really appreciate you for sharing!

[Libby Maeder]

Hi Kateri,

My father-in-law Jack Maeder led me to your website, and I'm glad he did! You are a really wonderful writer. And your site is gorgeous. You are Rick Ohler's friend, right? And his web mistress? I can see why, on both accounts!

I work at the East Aurora Advertiser and would love you to submit essays for the life and leisure page, or maybe a guest column. And I'm sure Jeremy Morlock would love to receive poetry or photos from you for the monthly arts page. I'm sure readers would enjoy Kateri in the paper.

I have bookmarked your site and will visit again.

Take care,

Libby Maeder

[Stephanie]

Dearest Kateri-
I was wondering how you are and stopped by last week to say hi. You must have been working. Glad to see you writing and hope to see you soon for some Shenanigans. Love to you~ Steph

[Carmen]

thinking of you