This
is my life for the next two weeks. With breaks for the new Star Wars film and
hosting a visit with my wee and boy sisters on New Year’s Eve, the bulk of my
remaining fortnight’s vacation will be spent writing. Yup, a typewriter and a
coffee cup (actually a computer and a tea tumbler) are my constant companions
as I devote myself to reconnecting with the Muse.
My
primary project is the story of Caius and Aurelia. I won’t get it
finished—there’s too much to tell—but now that I feel more like myself again,
I’m eager to resume the writing of it. While I was doing the dishes the other
night, the opening lines of Aurelia’s POV drifted in on the winter wind, soon
followed by a third character stepping up to tell his version of the tale. I
was so excited I forgot about the dishes and stood with my hands in the hot
water, watching the pictures in my mind’s eye. With that much meat on the bone,
I’ll be feasting well into 2017!
Reconnecting
means more than with the Muse, however. I lost some serious touch with my daily
practice after accidentally igniting an auto-immune reaction to a homeopathic
flu preparation in November. A natural alternative to an annual flu shot, which
I have never had, I decided to get back with the program after some years of
going without—and I wish I had gone without it this year, too. Within 48 hours
of the first dose, joints were flaring all over the place; and while there is
no definitive proof that the medicine was the culprit, the timing is too
suspicious to discount it. Over the five week course, my arthritis
progressively worsened, started to recover, then worsened again. Three health
practitioners had three different theories. None of the treatments made it
better. One or two made it worse. I decided to finish the flu program rather
than quit halfway through—it may or may not have been a good idea, but four
weeks after my final dose and my body appears to be recalibrating. Oh, my
joints still hurt like tiny star flares, but the frequency, location and
intensity are diminishing and, as I say, I am beginning to look outward with
more interest in things than I was through the past couple of months.
During
those interminable weeks, it was all I could do to get out of bed, get to work
and hang on until fatigue sent me to a premature bedtime. Christmas only happened
with the help of tea fairy Treena and my angels—thanks to them, I was able to
pull off the coup of Christmas
prezzies for my beloved Ter, who was my stalwart rock the whole time—but
anything else requiring energy or focus fell by the wayside. Weekly yoga
sessions, daily meditations, attention to detail at the office (I’m sure my
mistakes will show up later in January), and writing anything other than my
name were sacrificed in the name of survival.
Though
I did finish my annual reading of The
Night Circus. And the Christmas cards got done. Priorities, you know.
So,
my fiendish plan for the rest of my vacation also includes reconnecting with
Ru. Gradually, gently, I mean to reinstate my twice weekly yoga sessions and
practice more frequent meditations. Ter has wryly warned against “over
meditating”—she has as many gurus as I have doctors, and in helping to make her
point with me, she realized that she has a similar proclivity to spiritual
maintenance as I have to physical. And it’s true: too much of a good thing can
be as harmful as too much of a bad one. The pendulum on maintenance (physical
for me, spiritual for her) swung a bit too far and messed us up in 2016.
Between us, we intend on simplifying our practices as we move into the new
year, aiming for balance in all things.
With
love,
No comments:
Post a Comment