Tag: poetry

LIFE IN PRESENT TENSE

by Maasaisis

I regretted asking the moment the doctor responded. Until today, I had never inquired about my official diagnosis. Did it not matter to me because I’m focused on the work to get better, or did I simply not want to know? ‘It’s stage four,’ she said. She didn’t have to finish with an extended explanation and we both knew it. My stomach dropped as her words instantly filled the hollow in my gut. Though I knew this to be true, it had been tucked away in a no-access zone, hidden out of sight and out of mind.

My coping mechanism oscillates between faith and denial, with only a thin veil separating the two. I’m learning that adversity is an invitation to awaken to my response to life. Struggles only arise when I compare myself to my past self or when I’m overwhelmed by what might happen to me in the future. Both tendencies make me miss what’s possible now.

I was fine until I asked. I even impressed myself with my ability to detect the early stage of another staph infection, which was the reason I was sitting in the doctor’s office in the first place. Instead of being upset about another recurrence only a couple of weeks after the last, I chose to be grateful that I caught it early this time instead of landing in the ER again. Instead of resisting another round of antibiotics, I accepted what needed to be done given the circumstance. I showed her my breast, and she noted how much better it looked, confirming how I felt. But everything changed when I was put into a category.

The power of two words spoken aloud by someone else instantly created a different reality. It contradicted the feedback from my body, which suggested that despite the expected side effects, the treatment is working. I recognized my visceral reaction, which prompted a sudden shift in my state. The chill that ran through me seemed to extend into the future, yet it felt like just one of many potential versions, too elusive to keep me in a state of panic. My wise friend reminded me that a diagnosis is not a prognosis. With this reassurance, I return to the baseline of what I know to be true in this moment, focusing on all that is well within me rather than fearing what could go wrong.

I continue to meet myself as life unfolds before me. Today, I was granted the grace to observe my reaction and respond in a manner that felt more authentic than succumbing to the abyss of ‘what ifs.’ I became aware that I attributed meaning to those words based on conditioning that was not mine and not based on where I’m at now. There is no future, only now and now and now.

With the residue of Doc’s words still echoing in my mind, I drove home, recognizing the weight inside me. I allowed myself the catharsis of tears to release it. Seeking solace in the forest, I clung onto a sturdy tree. Shinrin-Yoku, the Japanese practice of forest bathing, has continually brought me home to myself. Amidst the trees, I felt the cleansing stillness wash away what was not serving me. Anchored in the solid embrace of a cedar, I calibrated to its unwavering presence. My senses opened to the palpable calm around me as I slowly exhaled.

I asked myself: ‘What is true in this very moment?’ The answer came with ease: ‘I’m safe, I’m okay, I am not in imminent danger.’ Such certainty is only available in present tense.

I’m aware that my grievances stem from reaching towards life without cancer, from being free from interruptions of symptoms, and from having limitations. Yet, my quest for purpose is unfolding in the present. This is my purpose—to find a way to meet myself as I am and find ease in the midst. There is always a choice to accept or resist. The gift lies in having a choice, even when it may not feel readily available. It’s okay to shake and shudder until the moment leads to something else. It always does.

Each moment serves as a meeting place for the full gradation of possibilities of how I can engage with my life. It’s a beautiful life, filled with the diverse shades of the human experience. To be asleep to it, lost in denial, is to miss the essence of my purpose. This, perhaps, is the most profound lesson showing me the way to liberation in any given moment. .

THE PATIENT PATIENT

by Maasaisis

I’m battling the Saboteur, determined to resist its attempts to tarnish the glow following a delightful stroll in the sunlit forest. It lures me into exchanging it for a darker version of my circumstance. During the walk, I was impressed by my ability to maintain a brisk pace without compromising my stamina. Even on the uphill climb, I sensed newfound strength compared to my previous treks.

Returning home, exhaustion engulfed me, my focus latched onto the energy being syphoned out of me. The electric pain travelling through my body brings my attention to a new, suspicious discolouration under my breast. Now, the Saboteur transforms into the Victim, and a sense of helplessness drags me into shutdown mode. The mind, once uplifted in the forest, now succumbs to weightier thoughts-dragging me into numbing sleep.

Negative thoughts possess a density capable of overshadowing the light without a moment’s notice. They filter out the wisdom I’ve gathered into a blank void. The Victim induces temporary memory loss of all that I have to be grateful for. It’s evident that I’m not a patient patient, and I’m frustrated with life revolving around the central axis of my health. I’m frustrated with being frustrated when I know the only way through this is to allow it to be whatever it is. I’m looking for ways to escape but this will follow me wherever I go.

A sickly-looking woman is gazing back at me in the mirror. She has a shaved head with patches missing and dark spots decorating her skin. Who is this person looking back at me? What is her purpose?

The judgement values that have served as a measure of my self worth is suffocating me. I can no longer rise to the gold standard to satisfy the insatiable need to achieve more. These unreasonable expectations, even at the best of times, demand ‘you should be’ orders, kicking me while I’m down. Curled up with my hands pressed on my ears, guilt washes over me.

A chasm exists between the part of myself witnessing this self-abuse and the one perpetuating it. The witness sees the dominating pattern that has been running the show all my life. She shakes her head with her hand on her heart while the abuser is barking orders, pushing me to do and be more. The irony lies in the fact that the relentless drive to achieve more has been a fundamental building block shaping who I am today. Now, I’m being forced to find a new way to satiate the need to do more to feel of value.

It feels like the stripping away of what used to give me a sense of purpose is bringing me closer to my real purpose. I still don’t know what that is, but I sense that I’m immersed in it without fully recognizing its value. This is where the healing needs to happen. Instead of feeling weak and aimless, how about translating it as a sign of healing? How about taking this exhaustion and the need for rest as a sign of my body recalibrating? How about viewing my unstable emotional state as a reflection of the beauty of my vulnerability, rather than something to dismiss with a smile? How about the grace of love to be enough as I am now?

Perhaps a deeper alchemy is unfolding beneath the biological changes induced by these medications, maybe budding beneath the layers of depression and exhaustion. This slow, sticky, stagnated state could serve as the perfect incubation ground for whatever needs to be realized and embodied in preparation for my next phase. At some level, I’m still in denial about what is happening inside me, clinging to the idea that life should continue just as it did before. Amidst the complexity, there are numerous layers—some more readily peeled away, while others need to be left as they are, forming the foundational base of what is to come.

LESSON: PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE