“’Nothing to Lose! Nothing to Lose!’”
Understood, geshe. Three realms of samsara. Gleaming the void. …O bla-di…bla-da.
…But. & this is a really big “but.” EASIER articulated then done! & from my bedside, & wheelchairside, & walkerside point of view, it’s a concept that has been breathed in as a whole lota wholly horseshit sometimes …and breathed back out in sighs and gusts of admonition towards all continuation birth to death. I mean, there have been good bad days and bad good days and bad bad days and good days too. A thou-snd blessings are counted each night as I hold Maya to sleep and every morning that splendid-She blinks awake ocean-eyes that look as if to claim a stake in swigging the marrowy sap out of another day.
Today, I woke up with an appreciation of the rare sunshine in our favorite southern facing window, a brush of mine against hers… and a breath of dry furnace-heated air, a familiar awareness of some regret towards at least one PM or email sent to the winds in haste & spontaneity, and a desire to get Maya’s oral and IV and subcutaneous morning protocol completely set-up and prepped (as usual) before trying to concoct a first-time effort at peach pancakes.
Being a newbe to pancakes (one year’s worth of error and trial), and not having really succeeded at a good batch, the notion of taking it to another level already seemed over-ambitious. But, without the aid of a recipe, (on a hunch) I pulse-puréed a can of peaches, mixed with one cup of buttermilk, 2 cups of Bisquick (on a hunch; not completely from scratch although the materials were available…so maybe next time), a teaspoon or so of vanilla, around a tablespoon of melted butter, and two free-range eggs. The experiment worked. Then I served it to wife & sons, my companions in samsara until sons take to their own roads. ..Anything short of Maya & I remaining companions, Mick, is a fuckin’ disaster of epic abortions and that’s just the way it is with me, mate. Suffer this fool or not.
Maybe that’s why we only use 3-5% of our brains on this earthly samsara realm, maybe I use even less…all wracked-up in the throws of illusions of lasting love and camaraderie. All I know is, there are people who take their relationships for granted. I can honestly say (we) I never have. Never. ………...Never. And yet it is we two who have been stripped of our youthful dreams and planted in the very wary moment.
Not JUST we, please know I am not crying aloud in that way. Our day poses many subtle opportunities, no doubt we’re very aware there are people in shit shape all over the place. People with years’ worth of days in the earnest throws of caregiving to offspring with birth defects or childhood injuries, etc., and people with other more intrusive forms of tissue cancer, etc., and folks who I’ve held and attempted to comfort who’s loved one had just recently lost the battle on grounds of spirit, flesh, and chemistry; ..and those without homes, ..and those without next month’s rent, and those without the ability to ever meet a lover because…to make affecting eye-contact ‘is just too damned difficult,’ oh…and those who will hold the bloodied flesh and bone destroyed body of a loved one in the street outside the collapsed walls of some odd blown-out building in some odd war-torn region of canon or convenience and all'round bad vibes. But it doesn’t make me any less pissed that we got the rug so mean-spiritedly yanked out from under our 22 years of inspired footwork---for whatever cosmic reason or randomness.
I really, really, dug the way we were and the way we moved about the place. & no doubt I’ve bummed out more than one good friend or pen pal this year with what has evolved (or devolved) of my outlook via communiqué. Enough so to have given deep thought to closing the book on internet communication. So far…chug-chug-chug-putt-putt-putt the express remains…to be seen in print for whatever sort of ends or beginnings, I don’t know, and so it goes.
Maya slipped off her chair in the shower yesterday and opened her chin on the tub, …it all happened too fast (as these erratic blood counts and emaciated muscle accidents happen) and I reacted too damned slow. But we patched her up diligently and she’s sunny today. One son is off playing basketball...then going bowling (things we did together regular as a family until oh around midsummer this year). The other just now left the house shouldering a big rigid gig bag enclosing his tools: ...a hardcover journal, a powerful laptop pc, an E-MU 0404 USB audio/midi interface, the Yamaha keyboard/beatbox he’s known for years, a mic and some cords---off to seize the day, we like to hope. The cat’s been fed. The house is comfy. Maya just put her perfectly warm hand on my thigh and smiled. ...What can I say about samsara
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