Hope after the Redline Samba

Migraines clear a calendar like heavy rains clear the air after fire season.  No matter how much I want to resist it/fight it/deny it/refuse to give in to it, eventually it overwhelms me and wins, and sends me (literally) to a place of darkness, quiet, and calm.  Figuratively, too - it packs a lot of value into one nasty headache.

Surrender.  I came back from the epiphany of retreat and, without missing a beat, immediately picked up the frying pan/fire two-step as though the music had never stopped.  God bless my body - it will only tolerate this redline samba for so long before the inflammation sets even the vessels in my brain on fire and I am forced to STOP.  Dark glasses.  Nausea and pain meds washed down with a caffeinated beverage, followed by a dark, quiet room and SILENCE.  Breathing.  Stillness.  Peace.

Surrender.  And then perspective.  I went there again - (damn!  why didn't I catch this sooner - see where I was headed, stop this before...) - I went there again - (it's ok - patterns formed over a lifetime do not shift in a day - or month - or year - or decade? - rest - breathe deeply - you are fine - you are getting it - you are learning to be you.   Not the you you are supposed to be, but the real you - the soul you.  It's ok - it is a spiral dance - and as you go around the spiral, passing again through the "stuff" you keep going, and...) - I went there again - to that experience of God's renewing presence.  And I am refreshed.

Eventually a dim light is turned on (both literally and figuratively), and I reach for my glasses and a book - Anne Lamott's  "Stitches: A Handbook on Meaning, Hope and Repair."  I smile, and I cry.  And cry some more.  And gasp with recognition - like when you unexpectedly see your reflection and get SURPRISED by yourself - and smile - the deep kind of smile that starts in the place fitness geeks call the "core" and radiates out as far as the ends of my hair.  From now on I think I'll call that a body smile - no crunches required.  With  refreshed soul, I find myself propped up in bed, and writing for the first time in almost a month.  That is a very hopeful sign.

It is good to feel hope, for there is so much, even in the most trying of circumstances, that is worthy of hope.  And joy.  And gratitude.  Thank you, migraine.

Now if only I can remember these new dance steps...

Body smiling,
Kim