No imagine not a two-sided coin, but some sort of three-sided coin, also spinning in slow motion. And imagine how each of the three faces flashes its face toward you as it spins... slowly... slowly.
That has pretty much been my state, the last few days. Spinning slowly between three different states...
- I can do this. (Whatever "this" might be at the time.)
- There's no way I can do this. Or anything, for that matter.
- I give up. Really, really give up.
Not the smoothest ride; certainly not a pleasant one. One night last week, I had a near-religious experience seeing some unbelievably wonderful magicians, and enjoying some amazing chats with them before and afterwards. Sadly, that elation didn't last... I keep returning to a space of "I don't know whether I'll be able to keep walking or even keep standing"—not in the "larger sense," in a very short-range, "in the next five minutes" sense.
All sorts of things are on the verge of changing; not all of them neurological. My relationship to the "working world" is going to move into a different phase very soon, and how OK I am with that is going to take a while to work itself out. Some things are neurological; walking has become nastily difficult in all sorts of new ways, but also there are actually new sensations in my feet and legs. Something re-constructive is also clearly going on.
Sometimes, one is tempted to wish "if only things would stabilize and stay the same for a while, so I could get a handle on things and get things under control." But nothing "doesn't change." Nothing. Why should we be any different?
The trees lose their leaves; their branches are bare; new leaves appear. Each leaf looks the same as always, but they're not really the same; if you looked closely enough, you could see the differences.
And the cycles that the world goes through, the trees, the flowers, the animals, the stars and the planets, they are all beautiful.
Why should we be any different?