I’m basking in the warmer breezes, fresh air, and growing vegetation. Birds are chirping and singing to welcome warmer days, and nights are warming up to allow for fresh air to blow through the window at night. Pink magnolias have started flowering. Although I think I may have narrowed it down to said trees offending my allergies, I love the week or so of pink trees dotting the streets. I love winter time, but I appreciate spring’s renewing energy.
A week ago today I finally learned what’s been causing strange aches, pains, and sensations over the last several years. Without even hearing words from the orthopedist’s mouth, I could see something terribly wrong with the disc between my C5 and C6 vertebrae. It’s called spinal stenosis, likely caused by a cause of whiplash I suffered in December 2005. Pending an MRI, we’ll know just how badly the nerves are being compressed by this slipped and nearly eroded disc. I’ve been incredibly somber after discovering just how serious this issue really is, although it’s nice to finally have an explanation for everything. I’ve realized that it’s quite possible that I’ll either become paralyzed over time or require surgery to correct this problem. I’m horrified of surgery because it’s such a critical area to be tampered with. So for now, I’m cherishing every moment of mobility I have. Each day that I wake up and get out of bed is a blessing. One day, I might wake up unable to move. It’s a sobering reality, but it only further encourages me to cultivate a life worth loving.
What do you do in private that could be done in public? Why don’t you?
I write in private because people tend to talk when I’m in public. I’ve given up on writing on breaks because it never fails to attract attention. I end up involved in conversations, whether or not I’d like to participate. I like quiet time for writing because I can focus and concentrate better. I don’t feel like anyone’s reading over my shoulder or interrupting my train of thought. I’ve been known to write what I hear if I’m not careful, and it’s very irritating and distracting. So instead of publicly writing, I do it in private where I can be at peace. I feel better that way, and sometimes I actually have meaningful and intelligent discussions with others. Writing is my means of unraveling the tangled web of thoughts floating around in my mind. It’s a practice best done with solitude and a drink of some sort.
I’ve been working in my Steal Like An Artist Journal, and I finally sat down with the Moby Dick passage with the instructions to create a poem from it. I circled and traced for a few moments, and here’s my results:
The light travels faster
through day into night
out of sight
At some further point
darkness is known.
