“The missing legs
Of the amputee
Are away somewhere
Winning a secret race.”
--Philip Yancey, from “The Handicapped”
My embrace of Buddhism and common sense 20 years ago served me well in coping with a life suddenly filled with limitations and dependence, one almost completely unpredictable. From that seat in the arena, and through meditation, I came to see that the completely unpredictable was standard even in the best of times. There had never been guarantees or permanent solid ground.
I also learned be grateful, to see the wars each person wages against change, and a desire to help any way that I could; I might even continue learning with them to see that change was not a war at all, but our normal state. I had no masochistic urge to repent or seek revenge on myself for my mistakes; I just found it interesting to see my confrontation fantasies and insomniac ruminations as one long, tedious argument with myself that had no place in my life. There certainly were people I could tell off, incidents that hurt or pissed me off, memories of betrayal that hit the endorphin sweet spot of which I didn’t want to let go.
In other words, it all boils down to fear (and impatience with the way things are). The rage and insult I felt springs from fear of being hurt or abandoned. The exact same place I was in when I needed to face facts about my health, only there the fear was of being abandoned by my images of myself, or that magical future Mike that has all his shit together, happy happy success. Illness left me with no choice but to see myself as I actually was; letting go of cherished goals went hand in hand with letting go of some of the things I feared, regretted, remained offended by. A lot of dominos useful and harmful can fall pretty quickly when you have to face your fear without inner noise or outer illusions.
If I hadn’t gotten sick, I wouldn’t be the person I am now. But given the relentless stream of change we find ourselves in, I would be a different man today whether I liked it or not. From avoiding my fears in self-medication and self-bullshitting, to admit that I am wounded just like the rest of the planet—has meant so much energy wasted on fighting off ghosts that I created could be put to better use. My energy is limited to the point where I can’t afford to waste any; learning to express Compassion, to myself of all people, has made avoiding fears easier than it had been.
Outside of myself, or emerging, I’m interested in the wider world, in how things work, how things live and die, how to make what needs to be made. I used up a lot of energy when younger and healthier on “experience” for my writing, on the mind and on trying to swim through my wounds with no tools for dealing with them. Now, with limited energy and shaky health, I’ve become interested in the tactile, the practical, the lives, all lives, that are and always have been just like me.
It is never that simple, though, especially with challenges far greater than mine. And I still fear that I am missing something, forgetting something, using calmness as an excuse for laziness. I am always leaving parts of me behind, often without really knowing what will replace them. That doesn’t matter to me now; these days I don’t need to remind myself of what is important as much anymore. I’m here now as I am, not in any alternate realities; what is important is what, and who, is right in front of me. In new and surprising ways, I’m ok with my limitations; illnesses don’t get better as you get older, though; who knows what is coming my way to challenge all the understanding I just mentioned. When I’m not ok with my limitations, I still get older, things still change, my understanding is constantly challenged.