The yoga of sea spray on Christmas Day..
Limp to UG and turn back facing the setting sun in the West.
Something about the light.. it seems like a kind of light mist, smoke is wafting over the wall. There is no fire.
The tide is high. The breeze is high. The light is in that position in which the usually invisible mist is visible.
Christmas rituals change. No ginger beer and the Christmas Tree did not go up as life intervened. Anxiety to have at least the two other rituals - the Book to read intensely over the two days and the walk on Christmas afternoon.
The book is there.. Americanah.. powerful book , appropriate for the two days of reading.
The walk though. Anxiety over the feet and the pain.
The boots feel strange. I had bought them four years ago to run with and they ran a few times and then walked limped until shelved. Last time I used was last year Christmas Day. The tingling starts in the feet. The breeze is high and the spray comes over.
A young man earlier in the week, intelligent , talks about his spiritual experience. Scientist who had to make a choice in terms of the kind of worship. He spoke of the discipline of that choice. Something about that in my mind as I walked.
There were pangs with the tingling slightly paining feet moving.. along the wall where they used to run, but in my head , a choice of mourning the loss of being able to run and all the other things, with gratitude for the breeze, the waves, the salt water splashing and the mist over the wall.
The old doctor runs past.. he had shown me the diclofenac tablets he uses, said he has had arthritis since he was 14 but he runs still. The young brilliant student runs past, man who has overcome many challenges in his own way and who has not picked up an AK47 to kill anyone.
I no longer mourn not being able to run with them. In my head, limping along, I say thanks for many things even as others are lost. The thin wall which prevents the throw back relaxation at the end of the walk is no longer a problem.
The plastic bottles on the new beach are there but not a problem beyond wishing they were not there.
The acceptance of the things which have changed and which I keep fighting is no longer a problem.
Limping along, breeze blowing, waves pounding, breathing in the mist.. gratitude for the food, for the work which I managed to do. For the dark moments and for getting through them. For the random connections with people which are nurturing, especially strangers, and for the moments when other moments of disconnection are warded off by choices made in terms of words and language.
And even as it is a struggle to live in a place in which even as many people aim to destroy others so that they keep in power, gratitude for those who resist that oppression and who are resilient in their own ways.
So straddling that bit of wall, feeling like I would fall in the sea, inhaling the breeze, legs feeling weak and knowing that this will be a memory soon and that there is no point holding on to the feeling of that moment but to move forward,
gratitude for being able to accept that things have changed and that the body and the spirit have different kinds of work to do and releasing the energy which was consumed in mourning the loss of things which I used to do and which I had wanted to do.
Something about the light.. it seems like a kind of light mist, smoke is wafting over the wall. There is no fire.
The tide is high. The breeze is high. The light is in that position in which the usually invisible mist is visible.
Christmas rituals change. No ginger beer and the Christmas Tree did not go up as life intervened. Anxiety to have at least the two other rituals - the Book to read intensely over the two days and the walk on Christmas afternoon.
The book is there.. Americanah.. powerful book , appropriate for the two days of reading.
The walk though. Anxiety over the feet and the pain.
The boots feel strange. I had bought them four years ago to run with and they ran a few times and then walked limped until shelved. Last time I used was last year Christmas Day. The tingling starts in the feet. The breeze is high and the spray comes over.
A young man earlier in the week, intelligent , talks about his spiritual experience. Scientist who had to make a choice in terms of the kind of worship. He spoke of the discipline of that choice. Something about that in my mind as I walked.
There were pangs with the tingling slightly paining feet moving.. along the wall where they used to run, but in my head , a choice of mourning the loss of being able to run and all the other things, with gratitude for the breeze, the waves, the salt water splashing and the mist over the wall.
The old doctor runs past.. he had shown me the diclofenac tablets he uses, said he has had arthritis since he was 14 but he runs still. The young brilliant student runs past, man who has overcome many challenges in his own way and who has not picked up an AK47 to kill anyone.
I no longer mourn not being able to run with them. In my head, limping along, I say thanks for many things even as others are lost. The thin wall which prevents the throw back relaxation at the end of the walk is no longer a problem.
The plastic bottles on the new beach are there but not a problem beyond wishing they were not there.
The acceptance of the things which have changed and which I keep fighting is no longer a problem.
Limping along, breeze blowing, waves pounding, breathing in the mist.. gratitude for the food, for the work which I managed to do. For the dark moments and for getting through them. For the random connections with people which are nurturing, especially strangers, and for the moments when other moments of disconnection are warded off by choices made in terms of words and language.
And even as it is a struggle to live in a place in which even as many people aim to destroy others so that they keep in power, gratitude for those who resist that oppression and who are resilient in their own ways.
So straddling that bit of wall, feeling like I would fall in the sea, inhaling the breeze, legs feeling weak and knowing that this will be a memory soon and that there is no point holding on to the feeling of that moment but to move forward,
gratitude for being able to accept that things have changed and that the body and the spirit have different kinds of work to do and releasing the energy which was consumed in mourning the loss of things which I used to do and which I had wanted to do.
This one came, perhaps, the way Martin Carter says some poems come, "Full blown like the wind". This entry is so honest, so personal. Thanks for putting your thoughts down.
ReplyDeletethanks for reading Sherod
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