Truthful expression; gifting

Interesting moments, yesterday...

First was an "interaction" with a disability-insurance company. I suppose it was technically an "interaction," although all that was involved were tossing phone messages to (at) one another...

There's this Insurance Company who has a policy purchased by my former employer, that's supposed to care for long-term-disability people such as myself. There's a bunch of not-all-that-good stuff that has good one, I'm not at all happy with them, but details don't matter at the moment... anyway, one of Their Representatives leaves a message on my phone: Hello, this is X from company Y, we just wanted to see how you're doing, if everything is going well, and what doctors are you seeing and how are they treating you? (I presume they meant "medical treatment" not "are they nice to me").

I left a simple but rather brusque message:

1. Thanks for the call. How am I doing? Well, it changes all the time, some days good, some days not so good. I still have MS, that at least is clear.
2. What are my doctors doing for me? Don't take this personally, but it's none of your business. Besides, if you know anything about MS, you know that there's nothing that someone can give you that'll just "make it go away," which if only they were giving it to me, I wouldn't be disabled any more. It doesn't work that way.
3. You know nothing about me. You know nothing about my condition or how I'm experiencing this disease. I could tell you everything about what they're doing, but it would mean nothing because you don't know them and you don't know me. You know nothing. Anything I would tell you would be useless, meaningless. So there's no point.
4. And besides, it's none of your business.

I didn't get shouty or anything, but I don't think anyone hearing that message would think that it would be a good idea to call me back, that they'd think anything besides maybe... we should just leave.

But here's the really interesting thing from yesterday... At my Monday acupuncture appointment/dharma talk, I told my doctor that I had come to f@#$ing hate walking. He told me, "There is only one thing that can counteract hatred."

"Love."

At the time he said this to me, I knew he was right, but I couldn't really take it to the (forgive the metaphor) next step... it needed to just sit and "cook" for a while.

And last night, I knew what he meant, and what I had to do.

I needed to love my legs. Not "enjoy," not "rejoice in," not "get all happy about," or anything like that... to truly love, to extend my heart and just connect. Not desiring anything, simply offering... love.

When I taught high school, I had a very very deep connection to and with the students. I loved them. My heart connected to them, to the state they were in right then and there, whatever it might be, and to the person that I knew they were born to become. I didn't always think of them as "friends," or even "pals," but when I connected with them, I connected with them. I loved them. It was an invisible, energetic, Jedi-esque connection. I felt The Force flowing between us. And that gift, the gift of that moment of perfect connection, was beautiful. Life-changing. For both of us.

And that's what I extended to my legs last night. No expectation, no disappointment, no hopes, no "if only's," nothing besides... here I am. A connection. Love.

And I gotta tell you, my legs radiated happiness. Warmth. A shared blessedness.  

I still have plenty of "issues" with locomotion. But, at the moment at least, there's no hatred. At all. Love doesn't "accept" faults. It doesn't care about them. It just loves. And that's just fine.

So that was the gift I received last night, and that I share with you today. Just love. Not the equipment, the chair/cane/catheter/needles/whatever. Not the equipment. Not the label, The Disease or the scleroses or the whatever-it-is that you tell yourself is "broken." Just love... You. Your [whatever] is unhappy. Offer it love. Just love it.

It's good for you, it's good for everything. For everyone. And the side effects?

Peace.

I still don't "walk" so good, I'm going in an hour to go get fitted for a new wheelchair. But how do I feel?

Much, much, better. One might even say... at peace.