SPIRITUAL RETREATING

Here’s what I thought would happen. I thought I’d spend Sunday, sipping mushroom broth and apple juice and being hungry. I thought I’d sit on my yoga mat and meditate and then journal about my hunger before starting to drink the medicine that would clean out my guts. I imaged that the clean out part would be like the beginning of one of those spiritual retreats where everyone drinks a psychedelic mushroom tea that makes them vomit profusely before seeing visions of the person they can or want to be. Except instead of vomiting profusely it all comes out the other end. The next day, I would euphorically walk into the GI Diagnostic Center ready for my first colonoscopy.

That’s not what happened. Well some of that happened. I drank mushroom broth and apple juice. There was no yoga or meditation. No journaling and certainly no vision quest. I drowsily walked into the GI Diagnostic Center, not euphorically. When I walked up to the receptionist, she called me Penelope and I said “yes!” At least two more times before the procedure, I was addressed by the wrong name. Then my nurse couldn’t find a vein for the IV, which is not surprising. Nurses have struggled with the veins in my arms on good days. IV in, a run down of what was going to happen next confirmed and they wheeled me to another room for the colonoscopy. The anesthesiologist explained that he was putting something into my IV line and that it might burn. I said “Ouch.” and then I woke up in another room with a different nurse asking me if I wanted to wake up now.

I almost told her “no.”

Ten minutes later, I was walking out the door and Michael and I went to brunch. Michael dropped me off at the restaurant door with instructions to put our names on the wait list while he parked the car and then remembered that I was still high and groggy. So he added “Just don’t do anything crazy." to his instruction list. I must have put a recognizable name on the list because eventually we were seated and I rested my head on the table while we waited for food. My plans for the rest of the day was to eat and then go back to bed and sleep for four hours, but I only ended up eating. When we got home, I crawled into bed and closed my eyes, but I didn’t sleep. Instead I listened to Rosie (robot vacuum) bang around the house. She never gets to do my room because I shut Josephine up in there during the day. This time, since I didn’t close the door all the way, she managed to break into my room. While she clumsily moved around my floor, I thought about the time I was under anesthesia. The thing is, I don’t remember even closing my eyes. I didn’t see colors flashing behind my eyelids. I didn’t dream. Seriously no concept of time because when the nurse asked me if I wanted to wake up, all I could think was I just closed my eyes. All I could tell you about the mere seconds I was under is that it was if I was wrapped in a weighted blanket and placed in a room devoid of light and sound.

And I want to go back to that room.

I want to spend more time in that space. The nothingness of that space was soothing. This part of all the above was the only thing that matched my idea of spiritual retreating, not because of profound visions, but because of the lack of visions. In those seconds of time I was nothing and even though I felt heavy, the idea of being nothing for a little while was freeing. I wasn’t a caregiver. I wasn’t a career woman. I wasn’t a yoga teacher. I wasn’t a photographer or writer. I wasn’t a daughter. I wasn’t living up to other’s expectations of who I should be. I wasn’t living up to expectations of who I think I should be. I don’t need visions of the person I want to be or can be. I need to be nothing. Now, I’m not saying that I could have stayed there forever, but what a relief it was to be nothing for that short amount of time.

I never ended up going to sleep. Michael came in to check on me later in the afternoon and I was watching garbage TV. He asked if I’d slept at all and I shook my head no. “Not at all?!?” he asked. “Not at all.” I replied. Anyway…cancer screens have all been completed. Colon is fine. The dermatologist this morning said that my skin looks fine. The consensus for everything is three years. In three years, I get to repeat all of the tests and scans.

In three years, I get to experience nothingness.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Snow day ❄️

See this Instagram photo by @elephant_soap * 6 likes

Thursday morning, I got out of bed and proceeded as usual even though I knew that there was a fresh white layer of snow outside. I knew the snow was coming, but assumed that it wouldn't be a problem other than adding time to my commute. Once I was dressed, I bundled up and headed out to the garage to dig out the leaf blower/snow blower and an extension cord. I was fighting with the extension cord when Michael banged on the kitchen door window. "What are you doing?" His question came out around his mouthguard with a slight lisp. I told him that I was digging out the leaf blower to unbury the cars and then he said that his school had sent a text saying that they were going to be closed. 

I stood there with the extension cord (that may or may not have a good plug because the dog chewed the ends off one of our cords) in the dark cold garage. The light went out in the garage weeks ago and neither of us have felt like climbing a ladder to replace it. I let Michael convince me to set the extension cord down and come inside to at least eat my oatmeal and watch the news. He continued to plead his case for staying put. His truck was blocking my car in the driveway. There was uncertainty about whether or not he would even be able to get his truck back up into the driveway if he moved it. The news was showing cars going nowhere on the highway. So, I reluctantly agreed to stay home. And I struggled with that decision for most of the day. All of the day. I struggled all of the day with guilt over not being at work. 

I recently read an article about the art of doing nothing. It talked about how the act of just sitting back and doing nothing increases creativity and that taking time to reflect on inner experiences translates to greater compassion. I tend to think that I am pretty good at doing nothing. I could give you a list right now of unfinished projects and things I need to be working on outside of work. I also recognize that I have a job that takes up eight hours of my day and even more hours of my brain space. So I try to cut myself a little slack when it comes to getting those other projects done, but suddenly I was put into a position to do nothing and I balked. I roamed around the house aimlessly. I washed breakfast dishes and put a pot of water with oranges and cinnamon sticks on the stove to help humidify the house. I checked work emails dozens of times. I watched a car moving slowly down our street. I walked around the house aimlessly some more. I stewed in my guilt while Michael and the animals snoozed on the couch. 

It became painfully obvious that I needed some practice in the art of doing nothing and the greater compassion I should be having, should be for myself. Eventually, as the house began to smell of cinnamon, I let myself be still. I picked up a book from a stack of books that have been waiting for me to read them and I read. We did clean off the cars and feed the chickens, but for the most part, I sat and did nothing. Today I am thankful for the realization that I need to have greater compassion for myself. I am thankful for my moment of nothing. 

At some point yesterday, Micheal looked over at me and both the cat and the dog were laying on my body. He asked me if I needed to be covered with any more animals or if I had enough. I replied that I probably had room for one chicken. I'm all the time cold in the winter and the pets just seem to know that their job is to keep me warm, weighted down and unable to move. I am thankful for the gruesome twosome (Josephine and Albus). I am thankful for the smell of cinnamon and oranges. I am thankful for dried cranberries in my oatmeal. I am thankful for surprises like the Princess Leia action figure I found on my desk this morning. I am thankful for bread and I am so so thankful for you.

Here's a warmer weekend and super Thankful Friday.