I Get The Point

It bothers me, the way time slips away without a whisper sometimes. I didn't feel it; I felt sharp points. I have never appreciated nor tolerated sharp points well. Give me curves and blunt instruments. Sharp points, as a child came as flu shots my bad aunt wielded like pick axes. My bruised swollen arms took weeks to recuperate. Plunging, stinging points came in swarms on three different occasions when I stepped into ground honest nests. Razor sharp knives cut off the end of my left index finger when it was where it shouldn't be in a hungry wood chipper. Needles are what I used to administer insulin to my diabetic cat. Damn, I hate sharp points.

It bothers me, the way my life is now scarred by sharp points. There are the obvious ones, like the medication I have to administer through shots every other day for my M.S. And there are the needles used when I need a contrast MRI, or chemotheraphy IV day long treatments, and the countless bloodtests, and lately, the revisiting of the CAT scan color contrasts and the new octreatide scans with those nuclear marker IVs.It's amazing how the scientific community just keeps coming up with new ways to pentrate and accost the body.

And then there are the not so obvious sharp points, the ones that really do more than numb the spirit; they numb the soul. The past couple of weeks have been difficult at best. In the city there are many, many people, and some of them gather together to help others. Actually, New York City has one of the highest rates in volunteerism even before 9-11, and I am definitely in that percentage. In our axuiliary police unit, we strive to live up to a motto--"To be mature, knowledgeable, professional, and above all, courteous." We patrol and we have each others' backs. We are diverse in every respect of the word. I have been with this unit for over 14 years, and I have always experienced the best of humanity; we are a family. But this feeling was sharply severed a couple weeks ago when some of the individuals succumbed to a feeling of self importance and self entitlement which rose above what we really are there for--the community. And this darker side of humanity arose in the shadows rather than out in the open. We have worked hard to not let this betrayal destroy the rest of the whole, and I think we have succeeded thanks to openness and honesty. Our better nature prevailed, but we are left with wounds and a relization that even we are not immune to sharp objects.

I guess I put these kinds of sharp objects in a basket called the dangerous side of being human. And in this basket are feelings like: arrogance, self importance, self righteousness, greed, and entitlement. I have seen these run rampant in my workplace at times, too often to count. I have seen them now run amok in my volunteer space. And I have certainly experienced them through the years in many forms and degrees both in the city and in the montains. This destructiveness resides in each and every one of us. I think we are tempted to use them when we are afraid or angry. It is up to each and every one of us to be vigilant and not fall prey to them. I am afraid I am very intolerant of who are not. I am pissed off that I have recently lost time to these kinds of behaviors lately, and because of that, I must now make sure that I do not let my anger turn into self righteousness. Damn, life is so complicated, full of sharp turns. I prefer curves.

The Gates of Bliss

I've been wanting to create a new post for a while now, but I was in a dilemma: do I just post to post, or do I wait to see what I might have to say. I waited, and waited, and, well, I have a glimmer of what I'd like to say. I will just follow that spark and see where it goes. The Gates, a very eccentric art creation by Christo and Jeanne-Claude in Central Park, has been in my sight now for 16 days. At first, I found it completely out of place--imagine orange girders 16 feet tall with an orange curtain hanging 7 feet down so you may pass beneath them. I hate orange and I love nature. So at first for me, his art display was not to be memorable,just tolerated. I did enjoy watching all the people coming to see it. Every morning I went down my stoop, and I saw the Gates flowing in the wind--sometimes against a backdrop of skeletal grey trees, and sometimes against the white of newly fallen snow.

And you guessed it, I have come to terms with The Gates. I have been in limbo myself for the past 9 weeks--waiting to see my doctor, hoping he will find me cancer free, hoping nothing nasty is growing inside of me since the chemo. ended, questioning every little twinge I have, and watching my hair come back in platnum or white or grey or whatever color this fuzz may be. It has not been a good time for me. I don't know why. At least I am out of that hell called chemotherapy and I should be grateful, actually, I should be enjoying sheer bliss. But that isn't it--it's the uncertainty, the waiting, the not knowing, and the inaction. It is one thing to fight and it is another thing to wait not knowing if this wait will extend into a restful place or if it is only a slight pause between rounds. The doctor canceling my appointment three times didn't help. So I worked my job, worked my volunteer duties, and tried not to think too much.

But those orange waving panels called to me. And so, I finally went for a walk amongst the waving Gates art display--and I found myself grinning, yes, grinning. How absurd that I was grinning from ear to ear for no reason, and to top it off, I actually felt bouyant. Lots of people were out walking, as they have been every day, from all over the world. They were grinning too, absurdly, and we found ourselves saying hello, and laughing, and just grinning at each other like imbiciles, or maybe this is what it means to be happy for no reason other than you feel like it. And I have continued to revisit The Gates. Sometimes when I go, the snowfall is new and clings to the trees as the gentleness of the orange strokes the air soundlessly. Other times the sun dances across the fabric and captures bits of purple, yellow, blues, and even teal, and in a blink, dissolve back into the not so offensive saffron. The Gates have a gentling effect on my mood, and their opennings seem to encourage all who pass below the saffron-fabric panels to greet the passage with an open sense of happiness. Weird, cause I don't like metal, I don't like plastic fabric, and I sure don't like orange. But I love The Gates and am grateful they came here to this park outside my doorstep. I have found a surprising connection to this art at a time where it was difficult for me to allow myself to feel at all, and I guess I can call what The Gates have given me is a sense of bliss.

And now they are taking it down to recycle it forever more. Funny that I don't feel sad. I do feel a little regret that it will not greet me when I step outside anymore, but then, I do have this wonderful feeling still that I can only liken to when the shadows of the clouds pass above the White Mountains sometimes, leaving streaks of purples, greys, blues, and at dawn, oranges almost like saffron, for a moment in time, and when you blink, they are gone. Kind of a coincidence that today, the second day of the workers taking down more of the 7500 gates, my doctor deigned to meet with me. Looks good so far. Breathe........