Metal

In the Five-Element system, Fall is the season of Metal: the element that enables us to connect with quality, but also the power to let go; the element that grants the power to grieve.

And, as the Taoists told us millennia ago, ending creates beginning. Creates it. There can be no beginning until the end ... ends.

Had a "I'm gonna do this, dammit" moment today... I did some laundry, then (here's the "dammit" part) took it, somehow, outside and hung it on the line.

Did some very spectacular Harold Lloyd-esque bounces off the line that I wasn't hanging things from, but nothing hit the ground (including, fortunately, me) and everything is currently hanging happily on the line to dry.

As I was in the backyard, I saw... the workbench that I haven't used since The Diagnosis. The saw that I had bought about a decade ago to build cabinetry with, and that I had built some lovely bookshelves with, but which I haven't felt safe to use, haven't felt able to manhandle lumber onto it or even to the backyard to work with it, since The Diagnosis. The backstop I had used as an safety behind-the-target arrow catcher, that I haven't used since I've been afraid to use the bow, fearing it would push me over backwards; or that I'd simply fall over trying to plant my feet or stand up, even before I drew the bow; or that I'd simply fall over walking to the shooting line.

And let's be truthful: The Diagnosis didn't stop me from using these things, my motor skills had been askew for two years prior to The Diagnosis; but at this temporal distance, it's as good a hook as any, time-wise, upon which to hang The Big Change.

These things have pretty much left my life, but I haven't gotten rid of them, because I'm hoping that one day, Things Will Maybe Be Better and I'll be able to use them again.

Now, that's certainly probabilistically true, but... not much sign of it happening anytime soon.

Or ever. At least not right now.

A scholar of philosophy said that the final creature to fly out of Pandora's box, Hope, is not the cheery little fairy everyone likes to think that it is. He said, it's the worst of the demons. The demon that lets you pretend that a magical fix will happen and Everything Will Be Better and you don't have to do anything to make that happen.

I'm having to deal with the truth that "ending creates beginning" in so many areas of my life, right now. There are some things that I really, really want to be over, so I can move on; and yet, I'm afraid to let them end. Really, really afraid... even though I know, I know, that keeping them will not only prevent the "new beginning" that I hope for, the keeping of these things will make matters worse, and worse, and worse.

Something we M.S.ers are tasked to deal with all the time is the need to let go of The Way It Used To Be. Because it's in our face. Every day. Things aren't The Way They Used To Be, and they never will be again. Because even if The Disease were suddenly removed from us, we've been changed; and we aren't what we Used To Be. And never will be.

And yet, we--I--hold desperately, desperately, on to the dream, the memory, of The Way It Used To Be. And it was never ours to begin with, because it was never real. It was just a dream. Our waking dream; but a dream.

Time to open my hands and receive the gift of Metal. To perceive and experience quality; "to receive the pure chi of the heavens," the specific job of one of the Metal officials.

And to grieve. To face the truth.

And grieve.

Needles and Tarot

A very poetic treatment today, at the acupuncturist's; points included the Inner and Outer Frontier Gates, the Gate of Hope, the Great Hammer, and the Spirit Path.

That last one, the spirit path... that's something that I know that I am being called to walk. It's going to be hard... I can tell already. But it is very, very, necessary.

In Vegas, I got a tarot reading from a very, very perceptive person. Tarot is an interesting thing; it's not about "telling the future" or "telling you what to do" or "messages from the spirit world" or any nonsense like that. It's a metaphor, from which you take whatever meaning you see in it. A good reader will show you things to look at, but you're the one who makes the real connections.

And the real zinger cards were The Devil and The Hanged Man. Lots of interesting stuff in both cards, but here are the kickers: Held by the Devil in chains are a man and a woman—but look at how the chains are merely draped around their necks. They could leave, if they wanted to; they're captive because that's their choice.

The Hanged Man is not about "someone being tortured," it's about seeing things in new ways. Yogis do inversions to (among many other reasons) help them look at the world differently; if you're looking at things the wrong way, change the way you look at them.

When the acupuncturist and the tarot cards are saying exactly the same things—time for a change: a big change—the Universe is trying to get your attention. (Another meaning of The Devil—there's a message trying to get through to you and you ain't listening.) Heck, even Tiny Buddha has been talking about listening.

The message is clear...

Time to listen.

The mountaintop

I'm back in sunny (well, partially cloudy, today) Southern California. Back from my conference in Vegas.

It's hard to come down from the mountaintop.

The mountaintop calls to us; and we climb it, though the path there may be one that we have to make ourselves.

And once there... we are called to return; to return, changed, changed by the journey, changed by the struggle, changed by the call the mountaintop made to us.

Coming down is sad, and beautiful; but sad. Although, as a wise friend once said, "There are many paths to enlightenment, but 'nostalgia' isn't one of them."

And while on the mountaintop, I was absolutely hammered with ideas. Possibilities. Especially ways in which I can give back to our M.S. community, in very new, and very interesting ways. More about those if... If? Shall I commit to them by saying "when"? Yes, I will!

I'll say more about them when they come to pass.

In the meantime, I need to deal with the present. Some parts of that dealing are not at all fun; some parts of dealing with it are made more difficult by scars I acquired in my pre-M.S. past. Forgot about those, didn't we?

We spend so much time dealing with the scars the having-of-M.S. leaves on us that we forget that life itself leaves plenty of those, no matter what organic dis-functions you may or may not be dealing with.

Although having M.S., it does inure us to injuries that we might otherwise have taken. How many times have we heard this conversation in our heads, when someone expresses their displeasure at somthing:

"Bad? You think that is 'bad'? I can't do some things that have been central to my life and happiness since I was a teenager. I fall down with no warning. I need a wall or a wheelchair to do what I laughingly call 'walking'. My bladder has a mind of its own, and a capricious—sometimes malicious—sense of humor, at that. And I don't know from one day to the next whether things are going to improve, or disintegrate, or neither. And you call this 'bad'?"

Man, that was vehement. Guess I need to spend more time on that mountaintop, don't I?

Or to embrace the gifts that it gave me while I was there.

Ah, embracing gifts. We on the M.S. road are asked to learn that particular lesson many ways, aren't we?