So you know how you
turn on the six o'clock news once in a while, then turn it right off
after 'headline' stories? - the latest murders, or idiot politicians,
or world disasters? Personally, I'd rather focus elsewhere - walk, or
sing, or read a good book.
But having been hit
by my own evening news - i.e. cancer whacking, punching, and kicking
me like a mean school bully - it's harder to turn off. Some mornings,
the dread is there as soon as I awaken - a weight that sits on your
head and heart, saying your life will never be the same again; in
fact, may soon be over. I weep for the loss, and then move on.
It takes a very
concerted 'focus elsewhere' to make my mind walk, sing or write a
good book, and change the structure of my brain. Fortunately, I sing
out loud in the real, outside world, which is a healing experience,
but I also have had forty years of being a massage therapist, so on
the mornings that the dread doesn't totally debilitate me, I know how
to mentally massage myself; to go into that part of my brain and
brain waves that are associated with healing, and to use that energy
to focus on a specific body part.
I do this in the
hope that I will shrink the wayward and out-of-control cells that
somehow are currently active in me. Does it work? Don't know, but it
makes me feel better, helps me to think that I still have some
control, and just generally reminds me of what is important in the
life: i.e. love, an intention to help, an openness to wisdom and
knowledge that is available subconsciously, and an awareness that
while I don't know a lot, I can be a conduit for good if I simply
allow it.
So in this evening
of my life (I'm not old enough for the
late-night-before-the-final-big-sleep-bedtime news yet). I say,
"Begone, cancer - get thee out of me!". And I've taken to
my own personal "Go Shrink Me" campaign, which is to ask
everyone I know not to waste energy feeling bad for me, but to spend
a few seconds daily thinking of my bad baby belly and
shrinking-to-elimination that demon child, which strangely, I might
have foreseen in a poem, "Bad Babies" I wrote back in 1988:
BAD BABIES
So yesterday morning
I woke up,
Curled on my side,
as I often am,
And my eyes, when I
opened them,
Beheld a strange
sight.
There, between my
thighs,
Was the beatific and
sleeping face of a babe.
"My God!"
I said, "I have given birth in the night".
I wondered if it was
alright, with only its head out,
And quickly gathered
it up.
I thought about the
cord, and how you cut it -
I didn't really
know, but I remembered all the
Natural births I'd
wanted and thought: "Oh yes,
I'll just lay her on
my chest. Everything is fine."
And it was.
Except for some
things I noticed later,
When I held her in
my arms:
She was sucking her
own thumb, and continuing in her blissful sleep.
"What's wrong?"
I wondered, "Doesn't she even know enough
To want her mother's
breast?"
She looked a little
too self-sufficient.
I worried that she
was not normally needy.
And then, there were
her legs: lumpy and toady -
Covered with spots
and warts;
And the black hair,
that was so black, and yet,
Red too.
Long and straight
and fringing the underside of her chin.
A voice murmured: "A
demon child."
"Oh really,"
I thought, "she's so cute."
And still, I had to
admit, devil babies probably were cute -
They had to start
somewhere.
What to do?
The others - (I'd
had three other babies,
All normal, all born
that night), -
Would be enough; I
could toss this one -
Even the Christians
would approve of that.
The problem was: I
liked her.
She was cute, hair
and warts notwithstanding.
And with the loving
upbringing I intended,
Would prove the
silly superstitions wrong.
She couldn't really
be a demon, could she?
************************
When I looked up
"Bad Babies" I found this, written twenty years later, in
2008, on the day my momma died; Today is her birthday. no title:
Huge white panther
at my side
Like a baby;
fearless hide
Belly-up, inviting
strokes;
And a smile that
invokes
All her regal,
massive power -
Set aside while we
have our
Intimacy - public
now -
And our comfort,
showing how
Her prodigious size
and strength
Would keep me safe
should she
Unleash it all.
************************************
Long story short: I
may die sooner rather than later, but today - at least before more
chemo comes, -
 |
| BESAME MUCHO |
 |
| ME, AGE ONE |
 |
| SINGIN' IN THE RAIN |
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