I am having a truly crappola morning. Hmm. Ordinarily, I don’t say things like crappola morning, much less commit them to print. Pain brings out one’s strangeness. It is extremely humbling.
I fell yesterday. My husband scooped me up and deposited me on the nearest lawn chair. It has a red cushion. Funny what sticks in the mind during moments of peril. Nothing was broken, thank Dog, but this morning everything aches, and I’m black and blue all over -- not my best colors.
My husband was heroic, and I’m in one piece, but not for long. Soon I shall be carved up. The days are ticking away; surgery looms. At our pre-op appointment, the doctor said:
“Keep moving. You need to be as strong as possible for this surgery. Pain is your ceiling.”
Thanks a lot, I say, but not out loud. I would love to move: run, play, swim, do yoga asanas. But I get it. It is time to push myself a little harder without being stupid. So not only can today’s soreness be attributed to yesterday’s fall, but also to yesterday’s exercises in the pool and 15 minutes on the stationary bike.
My husband’s scolding but loving advice after my tumble was succinct: “You can carry things and walk with your cane at the same time. You can even go up steps, carrying things and holding your cane, but you cannot carry things while holding onto your cane and going upstairs through the bushes.“
Good. I can blame it on the bushes. Isn’t that the American way? To pin the blame on somebody else? Actually, that stopped working for me years ago. Rationalization has no place in my world anymore. Since I have to harvest what I sow, I want the fruits of my actions to be tasty, sweet, organic. I have learned to consider with care, how I move through this world, and taking a tumble now and again is part of it.
Okay, I’ve brushed myself off. Yes, I’m in pain, but I am rallying. We are lunching with friends and then my assignment is to lend moral support to said friends and hubby as they try to master the art of SUPping on Emigrant Lake. I never knew there was such a word, but there it is. It involves balancing on a fiberglass board -- dimensions twelve feet by three feet -- and paddling while standing up. I can’t say this sounds like fun to me, but I have agreed to be the cheering section and promise not to laugh if anyone takes a tumble. Better to fall into the water than to take a prat fall on the hardwood deck in the bushes.
Falling assaults the entire being. It is upsetting and disorienting and hurts on all levels.
I am accepting the pain, not resisting. No resistance, no suffering, right? Cover of The Buddha Smiles, in case you can’t remember where you saw that. Well, the actual quote is: “Pain is inevitable, but suffering is optional.” Same message.
What I know about working with pain skillfully is this: you can immerse yourself in the pain; you can circle the pain; you can focus on something pleasant and entirely unrelated to the pain; you can note emotion and mind activity. The result: the delusion of a solid self dissolves and so does the suffering.
The pain still exists, but it has become a friend instead of an adversary, and a universal friend at that. Now, I can aim for peaceful coexistence. Acceptance and equanimity are great tools for happiness in the face of life’s vicissitudes. I am breathing in the present. I’m showing up and employing my smile muscles, but not sacrificing my authenticity by being a pain-in-the-patootie-Pollyanna.
Our discomforts, whether physical or emotional, offer an opportunity to cultivate compassion and suspend judgment. People act out, they get strange, they hurt us, and they also surprise us with their open-heartedness and generosity.
So limp on, even though it hurts. Then when you sit down, ecstasy.
With Lovingkindness,
Your Hip reporter
FYI: I was using my cane when I fell.
This is what SUPping looks like.
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