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Transforming in the beam

May 27, 2013

How does one begin again?

When I was sick with cancer people would say, “You look good.” Then after you’re done, people say, “So how are you feeling?” It’s odd. Like when you’re young, people ask you your age, and you immediately reply, “20.” When you get older a little hesitation creeps in there: “I’m…thirty…five.” Then after, when someone ask you when you’re beyond forty, the response is, “How old do I look?” Then when you’re seventy-plus, you revert back to an immediate response, “Not bad for someone who is 85!” And when you’re young and have health problems, doctors will dismiss most of them to nerves, but when you have the same health issues later in life, they say, “Well, you know you’re not getting any younger.” And you’re talking about the same problems!

Oh, the transforming, trying to begin. I’ve been working at various wineries but the days I look forward to: a beach day. I made a decision to bring books, a lunch, and my board and hang almost the entire day at the beach. I flash to that fresh cracked feel of summer in the air–fresh cut grass, the smell of barbecued meat, suntan lotion on bodies at the beach, salt water, roasting coffee. When you wake up and your body feels lightly toasted, porous and springs into the day to absorb it all. And so much of what I see is a propulsion forward, and when I walk forward or driving and the world rolls by me, I feel I’m a camera for my parents who are seeing the world they made for me through my eyes. I feel like I’m gliding. And whatever comes through good ro bad, work days, disappointments, is giving me added lift. I’m powered by whatever is around me.

So, transforming… In Star Trek people get beamed various places. But when they are beamed in a location you slowly see their body reassembling. And that’s how I feel right now. More and more of my life and physical strength is reassembling, I can see through various parts of me that haven’t formed yet. But strength is coming together. When I caught a decent set wave, and rode it, made the sections, did some cutbacks, and then actually kicked out and paddled back, the smile on my face was so taut and wide the skin could have popped off my skull. I was so overjoyed with this impregnated stoke from connecting with that energy, shaking my head with those tears and trembling taut lips. Returning to this, being transformed by this, paddling, and digging deeper into the ocean, as if it was a restoring nectar, soaking through me, driving out the stale air like a fresh breeze.

And then I come home, and find there’s a call for radiology, setting up a CAT scan. Yes, my approaching toll booth on life’s highway. But there’s a warmth in my body from those waves, and the beach, and listening to music that I remembered from the summers of my teens, which I felt would bring me back to the freshness. And when I go, there will be a copay, a robe, and test results about markers from drawn blood. But there’s something else in those markers, more of me, more of summer, more music, and I have to believe that will be enough to walk through this and back to the beach, paddling for the next wave, and wondering what will flow out of me next.

Now I’m beaming down somewhere else…transforming instead of transformed.

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