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A cancer-free day

June 28, 2012

I was taking a break from bottling wine at a winery in the Santa Cruz Mountains. I was lying in the grass beneath a large tree, staring upward as the ripe and fat green leaves on the branches shifted in the light breeze and the sun flashed through the openings down on me. My feet tingled and vibrated with a numbness that is a side effect from chemo. I was back in the world again.

“Thank you,” I warbled to whatever that big force is out there.

I thought of a stupid interview with Woody Allen, where he lauded a film that always had the presence of death in every scene which allegedly gave the film a deeper meaning. ANd it angered me.That is the voice of the uninspired. The ones to cling to the realty of death are no different to me than priests who cling to celibacy in the harem of life. Their logic will come to pass, but that’s like sitting in the middle of the merry-go-round where it doesn’t move and pleased that when the ride stops you’ve been proven right. Bring on the horses! Death doesn’t deserve any credit. After going through the suffering as seeing the pain of others, I seek moments free of mortality. And that’s life. The presence of death meanings nothing. Seek the moments. Dance to the beat. Laugh at the sunsets and smirk at the dawns.

I looked over at my parked car. It was my Dad’s. When he died back East, I took the car and drove it back to California. I imagined him standing next to the car, smiling at me, his hands in his pockets jingling his change and keys. How safe I always felt when I walked into his presence. The warmth of his support never left me. He gave me a world. I thought of my Mom and said, “Mom I think of Dad a lot when I’m outside. It’s not because I don’t love you. I think of you when I go inside  and how your eyes shined and you smiled at the sight of me entering our home.” I feel so strong and alive here.

And there I was, catching the signals of immortality through the projecting flashes of light that make the dream move past the sleepers as I warmly smile at Mom and Dad .

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