Looking into the wind

I don't often feel "disabled."

Has my life been changed, by this disease? Or as the Science of Mind church used to call them, "Dis- Ease?" Heavens, yes. Scratch that—[string of expletives] yes. Are there things that I just can't do any more? At least at the moment? Repeat string of expletives, twice—yes.

But I don't often feel "disabled." With that specific label.

But I do... today. Right now, I feel disabled.

Walking at all... Getting out of a chair—Everything minor and "normal" is much harder than usual.

I performed at a Christmas Eve service last Saturday night, and nearly fell over every time I tried to get up. And nearly fell out of my drum stool every time I sat on it.

At left, a picture of me, behind the timpani, at Oneonta. Before the Christmas Eve service.

And before a long series of "almost falling over" moments. And moments, during the service, that I avoided falling over and having all sorts of loud equipment joining me on the floor.

Well, I thought as I narrowly avoided disaster during one hymn, That'd sure put a new meaning to the singing of "Silent Night," now wouldn't it?

I don't really want to get out of bed. I'm trying to start a "I can do most of the work this project will require from a comfy chair" web-based project, that when I started working on it, I thought would be fun and fulfilling. Well, there's no reason that it won't be either of those things, but all I want to do is lie in bed under the blanket.

I feel like I can't do anything, any more. Being terrified about my future, having decided that there's just no choice and I have to leave the employment that I'd always told myself (and anyone who asked) that "I never have to look for another job," that (except for the parts that were killing me) I'd always truly loved—and parts of which I still truly love—plus the "squashing" effect Winter always has on me, plus the squashing effect that the current battery of M.S. Malfunctions are having on me...

I'm feeling disabled. And you've read my blog, I know I go dark every once and a while, but I do spend most of my time in the spiritual world, and I always think that the M.S. Highway is a spiritual one. And I still do.

In the book of Matthew, Jesus was walking on the water; he calls to Peter and tells him to walk on the water. Which he does! ... Until he looks into the wind (in some translations, he looks down at the water, but he always looks away from the face of Christ); and he is afraid, and he begins to sink.

I know just how he felt. I have, many a time, been commanded to walk on the water. I truly feel that now, I have just received that very call.

And I'm looking into the wind. And I'm afraid. And I'm beginning to sink.

M.S. is a disease that is full of the most surprising gifts. And as much as it has pissed me off, it hasn't failed me yet, in that regard.

If I'm brave enough to open my hands, and reach out...

I wonder what gift is trying to find its way into my hands, right now?