Being of the nature to change

Ripe strawberries already at the Farmers' Market

Last week I wrote about the Five Remembrances as described by Thich Naht Hahn and have spent the last week practicing them in ways I didn't quite anticipate. It has been driven home to me that the Five Remembrances can help me to deal with impermanence and change. Yesterday I was astounded to see that the first berries of the season are already (already!) showing up at the Farmers' Market, which reminds me that the first day of summer is right around the corner, even as we are still dealing with either unseasonably hot or chilly temperatures. How quickly that seasonal change seems to happen, and here it is yet another Sunday morning with me sitting in my dimly lighted room with the light of my laptop screen gently prodding me to consider what to write about today.

My routine includes every other Wednesday afternoon spending some time talking on FaceTime with my sister Norma Jean, and this week I wanted to show her my beautiful front porch garden and how well it's coming along. So I turned the iPad camera around and showed her the pretty flowers I've cultivated this spring. While holding the iPad in my left hand, I reached forward with my right hand to point out a plant, and that simple movement caused me to pinch a nerve in my lower back, in the sciatic area. When I stood up straight, the familiar spread of pain reminded me that I'd definitely done it again, performed that movement I should avoid, and that I had once again caused myself to "throw my back out."

I haven't let it keep me from my usual activities, but I have also been reminded that there are certain movements I must avoid until the back has healed. Not knowing exactly what they might be unless I test the limits, I managed to go on my Thursday hike as well as yesterday's walk with the ladies. Even now, as I sit here on Sunday morning, there are still remnants of the pain lingering, but mostly it's gradually improved. It's that pesky Second Remembrance ("I am of the nature to have ill health") that I've thought about as I rub cream into my back. When I finish writing today and get dressed, I'll find out when I try to do my exercises whether I'll still have to modify them, as I have for the past three days.

Then, just yesterday, I received a shock when I learned that one of my favorite bloggers, Ronni Bennett of Time Goes By spent three days in the hospital and returned with a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. Ronni usually writes about what it's like to get old, and because she's only a couple of years older than me, I can relate to everything she experiences, as it is always relevant to my own life. She has reminded me of the Fourth Remembrance ("All that is dear to me and everyone I love are of the nature to change"). As I feel the sense of grief, that all too familiar friend, I realize that she will look ahead and know that her life will never be the same. Just like that, the ground has shifted under her feet. And mine as well.

Even though it seems like there is little comparison between throwing my back out and getting a diagnosis of cancer, it's really just a matter of degree. Nothing stays the same from one day to the next, and when I snuggle into my bed at night, allowing myself to relax and let sleep come over me, I don't know what the next day will bring. I think I know, because I expect everything to stay the same, and of course it doesn't. If I allow myself to  forget that, even for a moment, I experience the pain and suffering that comes from the futile effort to cling to what was. Instead, I must leap into each day with as much joy and delight as I can muster, because there really isn't any acceptable alternative.

I think that's what getting old is really about: you go through enough of these changes and just trying to find some stable ground underfoot causes you to look elsewhere for that stability. Which brings me to the Fifth Remembrance ("My actions are my only true belongings"), which reminds me that my actions are the ground on which I stand. And I've got a lifetime of actions to contemplate. The "action item" of the moment is writing this post, pondering what's on my mind as I've done now for more than eight years, every Sunday sitting here with my laptop and pouring my heart out. Well, sometimes it's just a muddle, because for whatever reason I cannot get into the flow of it, and sometimes things come out of my fingers that surprise even me. It's truly a meditation, and anyone who's ever attempted to meditate knows that one's mental processes sometimes get in the way of serenity. You just keep on keepin' on, knowing that the effort itself will cause you to change direction, following the breath in and out.

I took a quick look at the news before I began this post, but it was so distressing that I decided not to read any more about the latest terrorist attack in London; it upsets me so much and causes me to despair. So, I look away for the time being and concentrate on my post, on my garden, and the wonderful strawberries I'll be enjoying in a week or two, thinking of my many blessings instead of the tremendous upheaval surrounding us all. And in a short while, I'll get to test out my back and see how much (or how little) better it is. If every day is different from every other day, I can choose where to focus my energy and find some "action items" that will improve the world around me.

And with that, the post is written. A fair description of my past week, and I know that my dear love, who lies next to me sleeping, will add plenty of enjoyment to this fine day, and that my dear friends at the coffee shop look forward to my arrival. And you, dear reader, my friend in the ether, you add so much to my life. I look forward to your comments, to your own blog posts, and feel our connection with gratitude and love. Be well until we meet again next week, and don't forget to look for some action items that will please you and your loved ones.