Beware of Darkness

This is the 7th day of a flu I'm hosting. Since day 1, whenever I woke from a nap or night's sleep, I always expected at least a marked, if not complete recovery. Despite the odometer reading, my body tends to pleasantly surprise me with its ability to recover. But the achingly slow pace of this recovery has actually been a revelation. Even the most basic of consolations eg interest-in-drinking-water-when-thirsty, was gone. Water tasted like dry dirt. No appetite; fever; fairly steady, low-grade headache; fatigue; no interest nor enthusiasm for anything. For a week I was able to experience (at some level) what hopelessness feels like.

In the midst of all this, a friend passed away in another city. She had been dealing with recurrent ovarian cancer. The flu's effects allowed me to feel more in sync with her in her final days.

Sometimes I go about with pity for myself

and all the while Great Winds

are carrying me across the sky. Ojibwe saying

With age, the repertoire of our consolations & diversions rapidly narrow, shrink & disappear. What we don't let go is ripped from our grip. This leads some to despair. How many of us live from one meaningless consolation to the next? Old age means we've already "won" the survival part of the game. There are good reasons for surviving into old age & they have nothing to do with the perks & consolations of youth. Wisdom traditions suggest we investigate this mystery.

What IS left when I let go of absolutely everything I have?

To live in this world, you must be able to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go. Mary Oliver