Stillness

There's something holy about stillness. Not religious holy, but spiritual holy. A major difference in my book. Religious holy represents a concrete entity, a man-made religion that holds power and awe over other "men.' That has corrupted the world, provided excuses for violence and endless wars all under the guise of "good vs. evil." It has always been so and provided great fodder for literature through the ages.

But I am speaking here about spiritual stillness as holy, awe inspiring, and definitely not man-made. It is just there if you really listen. It's just that we seldom really listen. I have never taken a philosophy course, and I don't pretend to relate this to anything known and discussed at great lengths, probably by minds far greater than mine. I don't even care what they have to say. I am simply grateful when it comes and settles within me, around me, through me, as it has right this moment. It hushes me.

I'm here on my screened in front porch in the mountains. this morning I hauled gravel in my old wooden wheelbarrow down the road and filled in the washboard potholes that have arisen due to the weeks of rains. I stopped, filled in a hole, moved on, stopped, filled in another hole, and moved on until the road was fairly even. I wish life was so simply repaired. Today it is. I worked up a sweat. My mother would take issue with that descriptor. "Men sweat. Women perspire." My grandmother would have tossed out one of her tried and true snapshots of wisdom: "You're getting damp, my girl. Get in here and rinse off. That's a man's job."

No men here today grandma, I say to her memory. I respect sweat. It is a real result of hard physical work. It is a part of my roots, and one I am proud of. Today it has given me a breath of fresh air. I have missed physically demanding work. blue collar work, not gym work. And I've missed fresh air and stillness. both are givens here in my healing place. And from them, comes the internal stillness sure to follow. It's as if they strip my body and thoughts clean, and like a cat, I stretch and purr from somewhere deep inside.

I try to ignore that the end of this month will come and my new chemotheraphy treatment will begin. I will have to keep my bare hands out of the dirt. Back to gloves, and no grubbing around on my hands and knees the way gardening ought to be done. Probably no bare feet either. got to be vigilant again about threats to my immune system. Well, the raod is now in good order, and most of the raking of the yard, putting in of the annuals, and planting of a lilac bush I hope will outlive me. I still have lots of tree trimming, brush hauling, wood cutting, and weeding out of the perennials in the medicine wheel gardens left to do. Gave the inside of my outhouse a fresh coat of paint today. Feels good to work. This is the kind of work that when you're done, you can sit back and admire for a moment the results before going on to the next task. Of course, the tasks are endless. They seem to reproduce themselves just to keep you in your place, keep you humble. I love this stillness. I have missed it over the past nine months. When in chemo., I have tried to visualize this place and all it demands to quell my fears, to put them into perspective, and give me hope. Today I am full.