70

I turned 70, a solid round number.  It sounds substantial, has gravitas, invites admiration.  There have been other openings in the last week or two.  I had an intense bout of grieving Gil's absence, realized how touch starved I am, became aware of a hunger to be held.   How odd and disorienting after 7 yrs. 4 months.  Somehow I haven't moved as far along into my life without him as I thought I had. 

My body is getting better for the most part.  The baseline walking, weight bearing disfunction seems to have significantly improved though I still cycle through bouts of pain and exhaustion.   It leaves me hopeful and much more tuned to the NOW of what I feel.   There has been a shift.  I've prayed for my Life Force to sweep me up and help me reengage with what remains of my life.  Perhaps this moment of awareness of hunger, pain, relief and curiosity is the tension filled balancing act of being alive.

A poem which spoke to me:

Want 

by Carrie Fountain (excerpt, slightly edited)

Perhaps this

is the heart’s constant project: 

this simple learning; 

learning how to hold hopelessness

and hope together;

to see on the unharmed surface of one

the great scar of the other; 

to recognize both and 

to make something of both;

to desire everything

and nothing at once

and to desire it all the time;

and to contain that desire fleshly, in a body;

to wash it and rest it and feed it; 

to learn its name and from whence it came; 

and to speak to it-oh, most of all

to speak to it-

every day, every day,

saying to one part,

“Well, maybe this is all you get,” 

while saying to the other,

 “Go on,   break it open,    Go for it!”