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The Fleeting Moment
My ever changing wildflower garden is turning into a jungle. The rain storms of the last week hit hard and left some of the more elegant petals mangled and disfigured. The early June days of delicate poppies and perfectly placed cosmos have given way to a tangled barrage of black eyed susans. They’re taking over. One passing day at a time, this garden of photogenic perfection is becoming a dense forest of disorder. With some humility, I'm beginning to acknowledge the hazy distinction between a wildflower garden and a plot full of colorful weeds.
This summer, there have been too many blooms for me to name each one individually. As I watch my little friends reaching for the sun, I've noticed how each one is a miracle. I'm glad to have captured a few of my favorites for digital eternity. This Sony Alpha telephoto lens of mine loves to pull focus on the intricate details of the leading characters in the garden. For the first time in my life, I'm fascinated to discover the stigma and the stamen, the pistil and the petal - words I vaguely remember from Mr. Lambert's life science class, but never put into the context of real life. The photos I've taken may last for years or even generations, but truly, the moment is fleeting. The flower shines and then it's gone -- kind of like you, me and Mr. Lambert.
When Hallie was in Elementary school, on the last day of school, we'd go to Katie's Corner to celebrate with ice cream. Every year, I'd break the news, "Enjoy it while it's here, Hallie. Snap your fingers and it'll be September." She didn't like hearing that, but it was always true. A snap of the fingers later, we'd be taking her picture with a backpack for the first day of a new grade in school. Now, a snap of the fingers later, she's 26, married and living the good life in Brooklyn, New York. Somehow, I turned 58 this year and it’s already August. Damn. Who knows what another snap of the fingers might bring. I think I’ll take my own advice and enjoy this day while it’s here.
As I navigate the reality of living with a brutal and seemingly progressive version of ME/CFS, I'm more aware than ever of the fleeting nature of my current experience. They say, "this too shall pass" and I'm finding out they were right. Six days ago, my symptoms were less severe. Two weeks ago, my symptoms were less severe. Three months ago, my symptoms were less severe. One year ago and ten years ago, my symptoms were less severe. For me, it’s been a 32 year progression of downward steps. I’d do anything to go back to the previous step, the previous baseline, but for today, it doesn’t seem to be an option. It seems my best option is to find my home in this moment — this body, these circumstances, this weather, these feelings. The alternative, I guess, is to yearn and to grasp, to fear, to resent, to regret and to suffer. I've certainly done my share of all those things.
I'm more committed than ever to the practice of sitting with the feelings and being with what is. Though the sensations in my body often make me desperate for an escape, my friends remind me that there is no escape. So I practice. All day long. I smile and I practice -- letting go of the past (and by the way, it's all the past), saying yes to the moment (and all I have is the moment) and doing whatever I need to do to stay out of the future. Generally, the current severity of my symptoms determines my success in this practice. It's remarkable how much easier it is to live in the moment when the illness eases up even just a little bit. On my most severe days, I hang on twelve minutes at a time, always just one thought away from panic and despair. Today however, I'm quietly content with this slow, soul-growing path that I’m on. One day at a time, I’m learning to take it as it comes.
In the last few months, I’ve received news of the deaths of five men in my life. Unexpectedly, the world faced the sudden loss of Steven, Kevin, Max and Doug. And after an extended illness, we lost Maurice. Never to be lived again, I cherish the fleeting moments that I spent with each of these men.
I remember Steven’s vulnerability when he expressed appreciation for the big hug I gave him that Fall day before church. I had just learned of his purchase of a new home and he seemed glad to have a new friend. I remember the day that Kevin installed the threshold ramps in two of my doorways. Those ramps have significantly improved the quality of my wheelchair life here at home. I can still picture Max sitting in the back of the church manning the sound on Sunday morning. From my place on the chancel, I'd give him a little nod of the head to fix the level of the microphone. I remember being thankful that he knew just what I meant by that nod. I remember Doug holding my head for hours last January with the subtle movements of cranio-sacral therapy. His hands helped me feel safe with the scary monster of ME/CFS living inside my body. And I remember being enamored with the feeling of Uncle Mo's big strong chest against mine as we enjoyed a brotherly hug between two townies at the co-op.
And then just like that, they were gone.
I'm glad to be a human on this earth for a little while. Little by little, I’m discovering that I’m not as invincible as I thought I was. I very well could've died in that big wave back in 2013, (See Bonus Life) but I didn't. I got to walk Hallie down the aisle. I got to hold my dad’s hand as he was dying. I got to fall in love. I got to become TikTok famous. I got to win 2nd place in a table tennis tournament full of 10 year olds. I got to meet Peggy Munson in person. And I got to plant a wildflower garden. Today, I’m grateful that I get to tell a little bit of the story.
It’s wild being one little part of this thing called life. For thousands and thousands of years, miracle bodies have been being born, aging, getting ill and dying. I’m sure glad to have been included in the cycle. But I need to be reminded that my true nature is something so much more vast and more subtle than this body. I want to live in that vast and subtle place. I want to make my home in the realm of beauty, where each moment is another gift. For now, I’ll rest my mind in the whisper and I’ll wait.
May we all find peace in the ephemeral nature of all things. May we all enjoy the ride of impermanence. ‘Cause snap your fingers and it’ll be September.
Have fun. Bye bye.
The Fleeting Moment