Sunday, December 12, 2010

Thank you, Someone Else's Turn

I'm dry today - no springs of gratitude fountaining up in me. Just dry, dry - I should be thankful for that, at least, that something's dry in this world of wet - flood warnings these past three days and our dustbowl yard, narrowly perched above our house, no longer dust, no longer mud, no longer even swamp, but rivers and ponds of standing water.

I should be thankful for what wrought the dustbowl devastation in the first place - for the new foundation - that the water stands out there and not in the daylight basement.

I should.

I should be thankful for the day-by-day surcease from the pain that had kept me hobbled these past months, surcease partial but sufficient - as long as I do the daily 30 minutes therapy.

I should - I suppose - be thankful for the pain itself - I whose threshold for pain had been set perhaps too high - who, as only one example of far too many, biked 23 miles on a broken foot and then hauled rocks up and down the stone steps, lugging massive rootballs of shrubs and trees for transplanting, ignoring twinges until the cracked bone slipped and real damage was done.

I should - if I could - be thankful for the insights pain's hopelessness have given me into Fritz' mother and her years of suffering.

I should be thankful for everything, anything, the abundance, the choice, the too too much everywhere.  But rather than piling up warming embers of gratitude on my chilled heart, all I'm getting is a steaming pile of should.   

And I am dry.

So thank you to my friend Suzanne, whose words don't fail, whose flickering firefly pinpoints of light spell out a blessing that brightens inside my mind.

And thank you to my friend Neighbor Jane, who passes on an instance of transformation:


and sings her own hallelujah, bathing my dry heart in borrowed praise.


12 comments:

Neighbor Jane Payne said...

I wondered about your ailment. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.

I have loved your "thank you" posts. Truly loved them. I'm glad you enjoyed the video.

Emma J said...

Jane - I love yor posts which are always "thank you" posts I think. All this positivity is not natural for me - but surely salutary?

The broken foot was years ago - my current ailment is a ridiculous old person's problem - plantar fasciitis - nothing fatal, often heals itsef in 6 months, treatable with inserts and if necessary surgery. I'm holding out for 6 months heal itself.

Mrs. Organic said...

So for your PF are you doing the "soup can roll"?


Stop by later tonight and your heart will be all filled up with the goodness and beauty of others. I wish you could have been here in person - you who were with us on the journey in the beginning.

suzanne said...

Oh. I'm...speechless.
Love. You.

Emma J said...

Mrs O - you know it. And yes, wish I could have been there, too.

Emma J said...

Suzanne - not speechless for too long I hope - I'm waiting to hear what you will write next.

ArtSparker said...

I don't know...I think sometimes pain is just pain, and one shouldn't feel obliged to feel gratitude for one's own or bearing other people's. It just is. I'm not a spiritual person, though.

Emma J said...

I'm with you, Art Sparker, I can't find it in me to be thankful for pain.

And I don't think that necessarily disqualifies us from spirituality - just suggests we have some sense?

Emma J said...

. . . or maybe the point is . . . that thanks can't be an obligation. If it's required it's not gratitude but just another piece of should. Which is just what it sounds like, seems to me?

Clowncar said...

ouch indeed.

I have not been blogging - not writing at all - but your daily litany of gratitude has found a space in my day-to-day life. so thank you for that.

the flash mob is a wonder.

Emma J said...

Clowncar - I am glad. And hope the writing finds its way back to you, you back to it.

Clowncar said...

we'll undoubtedly find each other again in the new year. to borrow artsparker's, I'm banking my fire, keeping those embers safe and sheltered from the winter winds.

you have yourself a fine holiday, emmaj.

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