January 10, 2007
life update.
i have recently removed myself from the mainland and headed west for a little island flav'a. perhaps if i knew what the West held for me, i would have reconsidered: one person is not capable of beholding so much beauty.
i often refer to the rawness of the rising sun or the frailty of it as it grieves the day. i am easily enamoured by the natural state of creation. i am less easily enamoured with the natural state of man. my new job has released a freedom that exposes the human soul in its natural state.
i spend 8 grueling hours on a ward in a stingy old hospital. the cement cold floors chill more than your toes. death is a fresh fragrance that you never become desensitized to. but in the midst of death life flows through more than iv tubes. breath is regulated through the rawness and vulnerability of each individual.
each patient has a number. rarely referred to by a name. a number. today, number 616B arrived. a cat scan exposed a brain tumor that's tentacles have dug deep into her left lobe. the snake like burrowing of the tumor has made surgery impossible. 6 of her professionals sit in a team meeting. "has any one told her its going to kill her. no. the doctor said she might live. there's no way in hell. sad. yeah, too bad. how old is she. 30. she scared? not yet, we haven't told her its killing her. so how bout 616C?"... no one saw my tears. no one saw my heart shrivel up. no one new i wanted to run to her and trade my life for hers.
615D was a different story. she though it was the year 2170. for a moment i wondered what 2170 might look like. i pictured flying cars. warm hospitals. people being vaccinated for cancer and aids. new diseases still killing us at alarming rates. maybe for her that was reality and as i drifted back to 2007, i wished for a moment i could stay there with her. memory loss isn't as cruel as one would imagine, i continue to be fascinated at their imagination and creativity. memories hold us captive, memory loss sets them free. she was tiny. maybe 80 lbs. dying. we all are. i may be closer than her. we don't know. i may have a tumor growing in my brain, enveloping my center for cognitive functioning. none of that matters. the doctor should approach each one of us, and say, "Results show you are dying. life's tentacles are piercingly deeply into the core of who you are. there's nothing left we can do." its the way it is. its beautiful.
i saw 617B today. it was my first interview. no one liked her. she was demanding and needy. tried to run the show. once i got her in a little safe room. she began to weep. she wept because she was scared, because she was alone. she was raw, painful beauty.
i was leaving the ward late today. i was sluggish, tired, and overwhelmed. i couldnt' think anymore. as i turned to descend the grueling 6 flights of stairs, a piercing light scathed the corner of my eye. it hurt. i turned to face this terror that was distracting me from my numbness. the sky had split in to two as though a knife had sharply sliced through it. the wound secreted brilliant streams of light. the bright blueness laughed at the glistening snow blanket. the wound spilled forth beauty, and even seeped into the cracks of my melting mind.
beauty is all around...