The Fabric of Time..

This blog often serves as a gentle reminder of how time passes.  Like water carving a continuous meandering stream; time has a way of flowing consistently, shaping the river of our lives.  And within this measure of time reveals a staggering statistic:  its been almost three weeks since my last post, and more importantly, over six weeks since my accident.

It seems as my words find their way back to time.  I can't help but think it has something to do with what my life has been filled with recently, time.  By no means am I suggesting that time is moving slowly, or that I am getting bored.  Actually, I reckon that time has not changed at all, since the clock ticks as if it were water cascading down a hillside, steadily.  Like the calendar that measures our age, the landscape is defined by the impact of the water.  If the water shapes the hillside, similarly, then one can contemplate how time molds our lives.  Yet who is in control of the molding?  Strange to consider that time and schedule are what many people's molds become (albeit some more than others); dominated by the clock instead of managing time, on the other hand, we all need to follow a calendar or schedule at times.  Learning what to do with the time we have been given becomes paramount for managing time.  This recent process I have gone through has helped expose the relatively obvious nature of time, especially since clocks keep the measure fairly accurate.

With this in mind, I somehow allowed the blog to slip through the imaginary cracks of time.  Its always so much harder to begin an update once so much time has passed, as I never know where to start.  It is a bit like jumping in a mountain lake, when hesitation attempts to outdo freedom.

And the update:  I am doing extremely well.  Movement is something that is no longer a foreign concept, rather, its like an old friend who sits down for tea and conversation.  I have begun to perform gentle yoga poses as a result of my old buddy coming back, in addition to going out for dinner, as well as, traveling to hot springs, and even working a grill shift at the Restaurant.  The latter was out of necessity, see below (rule #1 compliance) for photo:

It felt amazing to be back in the kitchen again.  I realized how much I enjoy cooking and just being on line again.   Despite the incredible challenge of maneuvering, it was a refreshing experience to be where I am most comfortable- inside the realm of passion.  It was also good therapy to be moving in so many directions; even though, at times,  it felt like a roller coaster ride inside a boxing ring.

Speaking of comfort, memory foam mattress pads are the way to go.  Its like sleeping on a dream, a really good dream full of happy endings (that came out all wrong, no double pun intended :]).  I spend most of the time in my wheelchair, but when I'm not on wheels I'm all over the memory foam pad.  I'll never go back to a regular mattress again.

Yesterday while soaking in hot springs a rainbow arched over the horizon.  Being immersed in water for the first time in months was beyond description.  I practically melted into the hot water as my body became what felt like a pile of minerals.  Moving around in the water was equally joyful as my body danced with the delight of motion, submerged in the healing springs, returning to a movement that is now a new beginning.

The car ride to and from the hot springs was a test of endurance.  Its about an hour and a half each way from my house to the springs, and my ass felt every minute of it.  Somehow I've lost any sort of body weight in between my bones and whatever I sit on, so I'm learning more how to address the discomfort.  I sit on a very expensive pad throughout the day while I am in the wheelchair, so my ass is supported in a pleasurable way, so to speak; however, once this skeleton rests on a car seat, the game begins.  I am planning on driving to Seattle this weekend for a workshop with Paul Muller-Ortega, and its a little over 9 hours each way.  I have some friends joining me for the trip, so I'll be in good hands.

It looks like I will be in the wheelchair for another few weeks before I get the go ahead to start crutches or other various forms of mobility.  I have been getting out fairly regularly now, I've been to out to eat several times as well as joining friends for dinner at their houses.  I've also had a decent amount of company here at the house, all combining to ensure I am feeling stimulated and alive.  It also reminds me of how I am not alone on this journey, that all of us are experiencing similar emotions, feelings, trials, tribulations, and challenges.  I take great comfort in knowing that we are able to assist each other just by showing some warmth and gratitude through our friend and kinship for one another.  So much incredible energy has been shared with me throughout all of my interactions with others, I am overwhelmed with gratitude for the outpouring of love and support.  Once again it has kept me in the skies of contentment, flying high above the depths of despair.

Old habits came knocking on the door recently, I noticed their arrival shortly after I went to the doctors appointment on Mar 17.  These habits are like friends you don't necessarily associate with anymore, yet they want to hang out because they are like that, and its hard to kick them out even though they are barnacles hanging onto the bottom of the boat.  I ditched them like a high school geometry class.  It was easy to see how they arrived though.  I go to the doc expecting amazing news about how quickly I have been healing, how I'm ready to start walking any moment now, and how he can't believe how great my recovery has been.  What I got was a business as usual, come back in three weeks, keep doing what your doing spill.  This brought me back to reality fairly quickly and reminded me that I've got a long way to go.

And so it goes on and on.  The fabric of time is threaded with water.  Please don't forget to stay hydrated out there.  Now that this time business is handled, I'll write again before I leave for Seattle.

In love and light
andy

Ordinary? Nah, more like Extraordinary!

This title makes me smile.  So does the reminder that my accident happened exactly 4 weeks ago today.  Time has a way of moving quickly, especially the busier we get; the importance of taking time to reflect comes to mind.  For with each reflection I have come to notice that time begins to slow down, the same way we watch an hourglass slowly distribute sand, grain by grain.  Isn't it interesting that if we actually pay attention to the time we have, time then allows us to accomplish more of what we want, instead of time owning us like a schedule, dictating our lives and our next moves, sometimes without our conscious knowledge.

Here I sit reflecting on my memories of what I have gone through over the last four weeks.  As I ponder the recent memories an even bigger and broader scope appears, a scope of my entire life.  The word that comes to mind, without a doubt, in the context of this scope, is extraordinary.  My life has been extraordinary.  I feel I wear these colors, like a rainbow, in the way I cook, communicate, and connect with others.  Its so much a part of who I have become, and what makes my smile so large. 

A quick glance into a realm I consider extraordinary:  Climbing above 16,000 feet on a glacier, the last 500 feet solo on ice, with ice axe and crampons, no ropes, only to slip and fall on the way down and nearly not stop, with crevaces deeper than an imagination trying to swallow me, all for a glimpse of one of the most beautiful mountains in the world- Alpamayo, located in the Andes Range, Cordillera Blanca, Peru.  I remember considering how much my life meant to me then.  I felt like I could see forever, yet the end was staring me in the face.  Thankfully I made it to safety and the experience taught me a great deal about how to appreciate life, not to mention the serenity that accompanied the phenomenal views. 

The first distinct view of Alpamayo.

 

Alpamayo's most famous view

The third and final view.  Notice how each face is completely different.

Surfing the Mentawaii Islands, off the coast of Indonesia, while living on a boat for 10 days and exploring reef breaks of epic proportions also comes to mind.  I remember one afternoon at PB+J's (name of a break) and these giant sets were coming through.  There was no hope duck diving, so we would just ditch our boards, swim deep, and hope for the best.  About the best we got was the feeling of being a sock in a washing machine, except imagine the motor is broken because the cycle is going about 20 times as fast as it should, so the sock is flopping around helplessly.  Meanwhile we are getting pushed into a razor sharp reef known to slice open flesh with the slightest touch.  The questions about life begin to arise yet again. 

The smell of the morning dew and the natural aroma of the Sacred Valley with Urabamba river below, at dawn, as the clouds break and reveal a timeless treasure in Machu Picchu.  Still the most beautiful site I have ever laid eyes on, a masterpiece of human ingenuity, a treasure of brilliance, the wonder of the human mind landscaped on a steep and dangerous hillside.  Climbing to the top of Wayna Picchu (the large rock hill attached to Macchu Picchu) revealed the setting from a whole different perspective, just like meditation can do with our lives.  The way up and the way down is incredibly steep, and so it goes with our paths toward realization.

Aside from these monumental adventures, there is so much to mention, such as:  surfing perfect waves in Bali just two weeks after a large bombing.. traveling solo for a week in France not being able to speak a lick of French.. a quick trip to Spain where I feel in love with Barcelona.. the countrysides of Italy and the delightful food and wine that adorns the culture.. the rental cars, Foosball games, epic waves, and all around good times/romances in Costa Rica..  that three day greyhound bus trip, round trip, from Whitefish, MT to NYC..  attending 14 years of the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, seeing 77 Phish shows, including the travels to and from, full of wonderful people and stories..  the lady boys in Singapore that nearly fooled us into thinking they were, well, you know.. 

So these are a few examples of this extraordinary state I am contemplating.  Obviously there are many travels mentioned above, yet as I think of my career I hold the same amazement at what I have been able to accomplish.  Its literally quite fascinating that I am flooded with these fruitful memories of my life. I am delighted to be able to look back with a deep contentment of many of the choices I have made.  Its not all chocolate and roses though, such is life, I have sour memories of mistakes I've made over the years.  One of my favorite things about sour thoughts is that, over time, the sour-ness breaks down, the memories become sweeter as we accept them for what they are, as necessary occurrences for us to become who we are today.

My first experience with Acupuncture was tonight.  I can't believe its taken me this long to actually try out this ancient healing technique.  The feeling I had was that my body was a harp, each needle was playing a string in my body, and the chi in my body was the sound of the music.  For the first time since the accident I could actually detect and feel the injury in my body, as if I had a cat-scan delivered to my brain and nervous system explaining what exactly was wrong.  It was bizarre to be able to isolate the injury and have the feeling be amplified, while at the same time energy was moving throughout the rest of my body.

Speaking of needles, I've gotten really darn good at giving myself the shot in the stomach.  I've found that I can go with a slow, steady piercing and a nice even press of the liquid.  I am so proud of my new skills that I've tried to show them off to a few people, for some reason nobody is interested in watching me do this.  I figure I might as well entertain others if I have to do it anyway. 

I am now spending the majority of my day out of bed and either in the wheelchair or sitting on the couch.  A week ago I was definitely not ready to spend any more than a few hours out of bed.  I feel like progress is going well, as each day there is improvement with my condition.  I'm happy to report I am almost free of eating Norco (Lortab/Tylenol mix), and Robaxin (muscle relaxer).  My pain management has become a lot more balanced, specifically with some of the natural medication taking the place of the pills. 

One of my big challenges of the day is to not sneeze.  While I was in the hospital even if my body felt the urge to sneeze, my body would not allow me to sneeze.  Whats the big deal with sneezing you may ask?  Well, I can feel the damaged areas of my body, its as if an x-ray camera just flashed while I sneezed and highlighted where the pain exists, the image then reveals a wave of pain.  Normally I welcome a sneeze and get myself really psyched up for it, as a good sneeze can feel incredibly relieving.  Now, however, as soon as I feel a sneeze coming on I begin to try and suppress it, sometimes I even plead with the sneeze.  There is a technique where I can squeeze a pillow really tight with my arms, then lean my head down and sneeze into the pillow.  The pillow is supposed to keep the body from moving or jolting during the sneeze.  Problem is I'm not always carrying a pillow, in fact I hardly ever have one accessible.

Most people that visit me remark how thin I look.  It seems I have lost a little weight, mostly I think I have lost muscle mass.  I have initiated a personal cause to eat large amounts of food, in part because I am trying to regain some weight.  This is also due to the reality that everyone who visits either cooks food or brings some with them to cook.  This is fantastic!  I've been devouring sushi, pork stews, well cooked breakfasts, quinoa w/veggies, pork tenderloin with cauliflower and artichokes, shrimp and calamari pasta, just a few of the latest dishes that I've been enjoying.  Leftovers are common and I am eating like a madman to keep up.  Its fun to eat a lot.  My body is really enjoying it and my metabolism continues to work overtime- much like my ambition and my drive.

The Restaurant is going well.  Tonight we hosted a seven course wine dinner.  Here is the menu:

*Tuna Tartare, Oscetra Caviar, Lemongrass, Bottarga, Quail Egg, Saffron
*Poached Salt Prawns, Heirloom Tomato Water, Basil Mayonnaise, Crisp Brussels
*Roast Foie Gras, Preserved Kumquats, Vanilla-Maple Foie Emulsion, Spiced Brioche, Microgreens
*Cured Elk Tenderloin, Celery Root, Apple, Crisp Prosciutto, Collard Greens
*Braised Lamb Scalopini, Roast Garlic, Rosemary-Burnt Tomato Creme, Truffle Whipped Yukons
*Kobe Beef Ribeye, Black Trumpet Mushrooms, Heirloom Tomato Oil, Spinach, White Balsamic, Brabants
*Ginger-Carrot and Cream Cheese Cake, Fresh Wasabi

This required a good deal of time and energy from me.  It was also a tremendous building exercise for the back of the house crew to execute a menu that they are far from used to.  I felt as if I was operating from a satellite location, giving instructions, discussing techniques, still orchestrating the event.  There is only so much I can do, and I am so proud of my staff for being able to pull off the dinner with flying colors.  

I suppose I will not have to ever return to work, since my staff has been able to handle my absence.  It looks like another Phish tour may be on the horizon, or at least some extravagant trip to somewhere exotic where I might be able to burn a few more of the nine lives I have.  I probably only have a couple left.  On second thought, maybe I will save those for a later date.  Surely there are plenty of other extraordinary experiences to immerse in.

In light,
andino 

Home sweet home

21 days I spent in a hospital before arriving home on Wednesday afternoon.  It had been 11 days since I had breathed any outside air.  The feeling of wheeling out of the hospital, as I took one last look down the long hallways I had come to love cruising up and down, was beyond words.  I'll attempt to describe it in the only way I know how, through my experience.

There was a bittersweet essence that pervaded my mind as I took the final glimpse at the hospital walls before pushing through the two automatic doors.  I knew in that moment there was a part of me that was going to miss being at North Valley, although another part of me felt as if I had just been released from prison or a tuberculosis ward.  This bears no reflection on the hospital, nor my care, as my time spent there I still hold in high regard.  Rather this speaks about the freedom I experienced as the cold air kissed my skin, igniting a series of chills, with a rush of delight that permeating my being.  The air smelled clean, fresh, and alive.  Meanwhile the surrounding mountains appeared to be airbrushed with a thin layer of clouds, just enough to see through like a transparent veil, revealing a panorama reminding me I was home.  An overall feeling of contentment and satisfaction paralleled the incredible chills, while a great smile widened across my face.  The sounds of the outside world followed and the reality of the moment set in.  I was finally heading home!

I will not bore you with the details of making phone calls, picking up prescriptions, checking in with a doctors office, stopping by the post office, or any of the other various tasks that subsequently happened immediately after my discharge.  That didn't hold back the gorgeous winter wonderland that accompanied my ride through Whitefish and then along the lake.  Arriving at my house was like returning home, literally.  How profound!  Honestly speaking, the aroma of my house was the first thing I noticed.  A familiar sensory experience with all five senses participating in a confirmation that I was finally home.  These five instruments each played a tune, like a melody, that struck a chord within me, returning me to a place of peace. 

So, yeah, its great to be home, there really is no place like it.  The comfort of home can not be overstated, I am filled with joy being here.  That is not to say things will be any easier now that I'm here, in all actuality there are new challenges to yield to daily.  I no longer have a button to press in order to get assistance, nor do I have a phone to pickup and order food or drinks to be delivered to my bed.  There is no nurse to administer the shot I must give myself each night.  I have to think a few moves ahead now, as everything I do takes more time now that I am in a wheelchair.  Just to get a glass of water requires several steps, as does many other simple tasks.  Yet I am in control now with everything: from communication, managing my schedule, my noise level, my choices, my life, its all in my hands now.  And it feels good to have this power once again.

There were times when I felt vulnerable being in the hospital, being exposed, feeling lonely, seeking freedom of choice.  Even though I had continuous visits from nurses and nursing assistants, doctors, physical therapists, friends, etc., the fact that I was living in a foreign setting made me feel isolated from my self.  Now I feel connected to who I truly am, once again, in the comfort of my home.

The final few days and nights of being in the hospital were actually quite rewarding.  I was anxious to get out of there, especially once my discharge date was set.  My neighbor for the last two nights was a great friend and frequent patron of the restaurant.  Her husband brought in wine each night, offering me a glass.  I gladly accepted his offer, knowing that his wine cellar is the size of a super-model's closet.  The first night was a glass of 03' Dumol, Pinot Noir, from Russian River.  How wonderful to be enjoying some of California's finest Pinot Noir, aged for 8 years, while in the hospital.  I savored every sip as if it were my last.  The next night was a 87' Jordan, Cabernet Sauvignon, from Napa.  If the Pinot was elegant, the Jordan was powerful.  I allowed it to breathe for almost an hour before truly enjoying the complexity of top shelf napa cab that had been confined to a bottle for 20 plus years.  I did get in a small amount of trouble with the first glass considering I was in a hospital after all, drinking is not something they encourage.  Discovering that all I needed was a "order" from the doctor to allow me to consume a glass of wine became the ticket to drinking the Jordan with full clearance.

Its amazing to think that three weeks ago I was laying in the E.R. barking instructions to my sous chef about how the dishes for the wine dinner would be executed that evening; while doctors and nurses are urging me to hang up the phone.  Now I sit with my road to recovery all in my hands.  The fluctuations of progress are still the greatest challenge for me.  Add to it the balance of managing pain and comfort, without indulging in "opiate ville", and constant attention is required to monitor my body's condition.  Speaking of challenges, each night I must administer a shot, in my stomach, where virtually no fat exists, and I am expected to insert a needle and inject anti-blood clotting solution.  I am going to go ahead and do it right now, so I can give you the play-by-play.

To begin, pulling the needle out of the package is not fun, nor is pulling the plastic cap off revealing the really sharp pointy thing that I am about to stick into my body!  Wiping the spot with alcohol is like taking your pet to the vet, somehow they just know something is going on.  Then I have to spread my thumb and forefinger about three inches to squeeze my belly, so I have some flesh to work with.  Now I am jamming the needle into the flesh and slowly introducing the solution to the body, feeling the burning sensation that this non-coagulant solution provides.  Resembling a fire ant or a bee sting, at least for a few minutes, this solution is not a pleasant feeling.  There have been varying degrees of success with my efforts in putting a needle in my belly.  Occasionally there will not be enough force and the skin does not get penetrated; or the needle will go in so fast that I pull it right back out.  To top it all off, each shot costs $32.  I'll be doing this for another two weeks.  Its necessary to prevent blood clots, so they say, which can be incredibly dangerous.  I guess its more like insurance for me.  And thankfully, my insurance policy covers the cost of this (after the deductible is met of course). 

Then there is my porch.  While still in the hospital I dreamed of sitting on my porch. The last few days I have been basking in the sunlight and the beauty of my porch once again.  This experience brought about tears of joy as it was a monumental feeling.  Watching the snow melt off the trees, with the angle of the sunlight creating a spectrum, reminded me of the dangers of attachment.  I imagined we are like the snow, clinging to the tree, holding on to what we have.  Then the sunlight speaks to us, as if consciousness is saying its time to let go.  If one tries to hold on too much, the sunlight will melt the attachment, returning us to the ground, the source of life.  We are then able to rely on our roots for support and direction.

The whole care calendar thing is working incredibly well.  It is always a nice surprise to see who signs up for each slot.  Yesterday an incredibly distinguished visitor, Debra Sykes, stopped by for an evening visit.  My vibration is still humming from her wonderful presence.  It was refreshing to be around someone who is so knowledgeable regarding yoga, therapeutics, and life itself.  We worked on several positions that would help me remain in alignment since I am spending so much time in a wheelchair and a bed.  She also shared some props and a few instructions to open my body up to the shakti (energy).  These adjustments should help expedite my healing process, since my body will be in proper alignment.  Debra also shared her experience of my recurring vision (see previous blog post for details about my vision).  She felt that sometimes God sends us a message, and her thoughts were that perhaps God was telling me to "get on with it", since I may have been "moving a little slow", so God took a sledgehammer and gave me a good whack in my lower back/pelvis area, just to move things along.  I support this notion and it actually feels like there is some truth to it.

Its so fascinating to me that posture and breath are so important to our daily lives.  The asanas in yoga are directly related to posture and breath, and the practice of yoga is to train the body and mind to remain in alignment.  This got me thinking a little deeper, and I wondered- How many of us take time for ourselves to breathe consciously each day?  How much time is devoted to this?  And how much of our day is focused on healing?  It could be healing a wounded relationship before a scar appears, or healing the past, healing a mind drenched in negativity, or healing a body that needs some attention.  With all of this in mind, how much time do you devote to healing?  Of course, most recently, I have been devoting a lot of time to healing; although before the accident my answer would have been very little.  Another interesting question, to me, is- How many of us allow ourselves to relax?  I don't mean sitting on the couch and watching TV to relax, I mean fully connecting to our breath and just allowing our body to be calm, reaching a state of peace.  For instance, yesterday I was practicing laying on my stomach.  Its something that physical therapy suggested doing in order to allow my body to move in a slightly different position, particularly for blood flow and circulation.  I was very tense as I rolled over onto my stomach, my breath was disjointed and fear was present until I remembered to breathe.  What followed was a softening of my whole body, as if the breath melted away the fear and turned it into love.  I even was able to practice some mini-cobras, without lifting my chest off the bed, strengthening my upper body and stretching my shoulders.  The feeling this posture gave me was out of this world, I felt as if I could conquer anything in that moment.

One thing I have noticed is that I am more sensitive more in tune with my body than ever before.   As I worked with Debra on inner/outer spiral, I could actually feel the mechanics of my body with precision.  Following techniques of Anusara had been difficult in the past, as my mind would often yield to confusion, yet this time I could initiate the flow of energy with relative ease. This gives me hope that I will heal fully and be back living a fruitful life with even more abundance than before.

Its funny to be working with so many different physical therapists, since they all bring their own ideas to the table.  The last one who visited me suggested I take everything really slow.  I agree with this concept, although I understand the notion a little differently.  What I hear, or what I think he means, is pay close attention to what your body is telling you in relation to the healing process.

This morning, I decided to relax after all of the movement yesterday.  It feels good to honor what my body and mind need, or what they speak to me.  That is what I will be up to.  Come by and participate, when you can.

Lastly I will say that offering someone a piece of yourself is, quite simply, the greatest gift you can offer somebody else.  So many of you have offered your thoughts, your time, your energy, gifts, and your love.  For this I am eternally grateful.  Thank you for sharing a part of yourself with me.  It means the world to me.

In light and love,
andy

Here is the calendar and the link once again: 

http://www.carecalendar.org/logon/67241

Password is 4479

Visions of Johanna

"Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin to be so quiet.  We sit here stranded, but we all do our best to deny it"  Bob Dylan, Visions of Johanna, 1966

An appropriately themed title, as usual, to begin the blog.  I'd go so far as to say that this was Dylan's best song, over and above any other work, in my humble and honest opinion.  What I love about this song is how it exposes each side of positive and negative, with the lyrics dancing between the defining realm of perception and undeniable aspect of feeling, yet somehow achieving a remarkable story throughout the rhyming sonnet and the delicate sequence.

And so this song comes to mind as I near the end of my hospital stay here at North Valley.  I have been here for 14 days.  That equates to more than 336 hours I have lived here in this hospital.  If I count Spokane (which, of course I'd rather forget), the number would be even larger.  The visions that are coming to mind, as the time melts into the future, are results of the present moments, such as the fact that I am in a wheelchair now.  Another vision which has begun haunting me is the traumatic scene of my body smashing into that tree and the cries of agony that accompanied the moments just after impact.  I actually have incredibly vivid visions of my body, from above none-the-less, as if I am out of my body and watching my shoulders being thrust back as the impact happens.  Its funny to me that the shoulders are what stand out the most.  I believe this has to do with the way my back immediately curved around the shape of the base of that tree, prompting my shoulders to slide onto my back, the way one might initiate a backbend in yoga.  Imagine your back being compressed and your shoulders opening as your heart moves forward.  This is the image that haunts me.

Although its not all that horrifying.  In fact its quite the opposite.  I see it as my heart bursting open to the world, and it took the destruction of my pelvis and lower back to break the seams that were binding my ability to open towards grace (an Anusara yoga term).  Obviously I'm getting a little esoteric here, but it is a direct result of what I am experiencing from this vision that remains.  Another recurring theme is the reality of my situation.  I guess between the drugs, the novelty of my situation, and the gratitude for my condition not being worse, I have yet to fully process or digest what has happened to me.  I have had these moments, almost like an epiphany, where I suddenly realize I can't physically move certain parts of my body yet.  Its difficult because I feel so "normal" again; however, I am reminded of the reality of my situation.  Awaking to the reality that I am in a wheelchair, albeit temporarily, is a frightening thought.  I never imagined I would be in a wheelchair, unable to stand and walk.  Even to type this, it brings about feelings of sadness.

And yet the wheelchair still remains the highlight of my day.  Wheeling around the halls inspires a new found sense of freedom and discovery.  Its like I am conquering the frightening part of being in a wheelchair, while accepting that my current condition is exactly what it is and how it is supposed to be.  Rest assured, I am having fun with it all.  In fact, I am now concerned that I don't have long hallways to breeze through at home.  Where can I go to get a nice wheelchair cruise?  These are also some of the thoughts that are beginning to infiltrate now that my time here is almost done.  Another thought I have is how nice it will be to feel the outside air again.  I haven't been outside for more than 10 days.  Imagine not a breath of fresh, outside air in that amount of time.  Its weird to feel this way.  I look forward to the opportunity to sit on my porch and watch the sky do what it does and breathe in the cool, crisp, clean Montana air.  What I hope all of you will do, for me, is take a big deep breath and give thanks for whatever you are grateful for in your life, the next time you step outside.

 
While I am on the topic of realizations I also discovered another well known fact about hospitals (with special thanks to my favorite nurse); people are not only born here, they come here to die too.   This hit me rather strangely, as the obvious nature of the nurses comment combined with the idea of death was so unexpected to me.  Here I am so focused on healing and getting well, then I am reminded of the very building I am living in.  Both processes are beautiful and something we all experience in our lifetime, as we all were born and we all will die.  This is about as obvious as the idea that if you jump into water, you will get wet.  But how often do we stop and recognize this process for what it is?  Most of us likely consider the consequences of the temperature of the outside air and the water prior to actually getting wet; on the other hand, how many of us can think of birth and death in the same realm?  Do we actually consider what our lives will be like if we look back with regret in our heart while facing our last breath?  How wonderful it must be to see life come into this world.  On the same hand, how amazing it must be to watch someone peacefully pass away to the unknown.  Birth can be tragic and painful, as can death, yet in our culture only one is really celebrated, that which is life.  If we could all see death as a celebration, we would likely have more examples of compassion, dignity, and community in America as opposed to the greediness, fear, and separateness that keeps many of us from being happy and living harmoniously.  Because after all death is life, as much as life is death.  Some of us are busy living, and some of us are busy dying.   (Thanks to Captain Obvious for his contribution to the above paragraph)

And so it goes my mind wanders about the life and death of beings, while I reflect on what I am grateful for and what I want to do with the time ahead of me.  There is no doubt this accident has had a a profound effect on me.  If it were any less, I'd expect you all to be concerned about me.  I have never felt a deeper appreciation for the people who are in my life, specifically those of you who have taken time to communicate or reach out to me, visit with me, and to share your love and energy with me throughout this healing process.  This means more than anything else to me right now.  You know who you are and I thank you with love and gratitude.  For without you I'd be climbing through the caves of despair, without a light or a sense of direction, lost inside the loneliness of illusion.

So now, dear friends and family, is your chance to share a little time with me.  I have created a care calendar, so that you may reserve a time to help me with some of my basic needs.  The link is here:  http://www.carecalendar.org/logon/67241
The password is 4479. 

The way the calendar works is you sign up for a AM or PM visit.  The AM hours are from 10:30am-2:00pm, and the PM hours are 4:30-7:00pm.  Exact times are not important, its a loose idea of when people could sign up and visit with me.  Some basic tasks will be performed, perhaps a little cooking, maybe assistance with running errands, or just spending some time with me and drinking tea.  Directions to my house are on the site.  I encourage you to find some time you could help me.  I am grateful for any and all assistance you may be able to provide.  Please do not hesitate to contact me if you have any questions. 

And I will leave you with the calendar, as well as some more quotes from "Visions of Johanna", as I bid adieu.  Sometimes, the lyrics read like a zen koan.

Much love,
Ande


"Little boy lost, he takes himself so seriously....   He sure got a lot of gall, to be so useless and all, muttering small talk at the wall, while I'm in the hall.  Oh how can I explain, its so hard to get on; and these Visions of Johanna, they kept me up past the dawn."

"Inside the museums, infinity's going up on trial.  Voices echo this is what salvation must be like after a while.  But Mona Lisa must have had those highway blues you can tell by the way she smiles."