i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes
(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)
how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any-lifted from the no
of all nothing-human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
Okay, I thought the balloon man was my favorite e.e. cummings poem, but apparently I was mistaken. I kept hearing the first line of this marvelous piece of beauty in my heart, until I found myself googling it, and trying to remember who wrote it. It seems that sometimes I'm starved of that kind of beautiful "litergy".
I thought about that poem, because in a way, I'm feeling alive again. I spent Friday in the Emergency room, getting CAT scans and medication that made me loopy and staggered. There was a spot on my brain that seemed to be lit up like Christmas, but upon doing a scan with contrasts, they found that it was just some inflammation, which is only right seeing that I had what they called a "prolonged" migraine, which is a clinical and inoffensive way of saying I'd had a migraine headache, and all it's awful secondary symptoms, for a whole damned month!
But, I digress. This is about the birthday of the sun, the days that melt sweet and dreamy as white chocolate fudge since I stumbled off the bus, meanandered home, and feel into bed in a dreamless sleep, only to wake up the next morning feeling like myself again. I spent the weekend riding my bike, considering the brown-eyed susans of the fields, and cleaning my house like I was Martha Steward on speed. I was a little cranky doing the cleaning, I'll admit, but the house sure is sparkly from my attention!
It's been strange, this me, now unfamiliar after years of chronic pain, this me pain free and with energy, and just a hint of the possibility of another headache circling my head like a halo of blackbirds. It's been strange to wash dishes and not be exhausted, to remember what I used to be like when I felt like a normal person, a woman who cleans, and sleeps at regular hours, a woman whose thin skin isn't permanently stained with her dark, indigo blues. I didn't write this weekend. I lived. I was a friend, a wife, a mom, and when I walked my children to school today, and I looked at their shining brown faces, crisp and lovely in their brand new school clothes, I felt so grateful for this respite. I thanked God for this most amazing day.
Even the winter coming with the force of the hurricane doesn't scare me quite as much, and I'm stepping a little more lightly, a little more grateful, and a little more careful to approach the darkness ahead of me with a little more grace for the journey. I'm not so afraid anymore, and that is a miracle to me.
Thursday is my birthday, and kinda like the poet's sun, I am golden-dreadlocked (my birthday present to myself) and shining, bright with from the touch of the Yes that is our God, and feeling natural, and free, and wild.
I thank You God.