Ancient dawn chorus, calls me into another ... day in paradise
My head in your lap and the hot tears roll silent soothing into peace.
Sweet mystery: I am ready. I want no more from you now: not an immortal soul not a promised land not a sacred goal not your guiding hand not to remain not a transcendent view not to come again in the morning dew not an absolute confess in a cleansing rain not your forgiveness not an end to pain nor to fear, nor strife not an impregnable peace not a bargain for life not a joyful release not a brand new start not to merge with you or know we were never apart not to understand you neither an end, nor no end not any thing, or no thing ... I am ready. Awake. I take off my clothes and prostrate myself flat to the ground with no agenda and in full surrender: worshipfully, gratefully.
A few months ago following a routine blood test I was diagnosed with moderately aggressive prostate cancer. It appears to be contained within the gland. Or so they think. I am currently getting ‘treatment’ – 6 months of hormones with 20 days of radiation in the middle. This might or might not ‘get rid’ of the cancer – which might or might not ‘return’ if it does.
There’s no certainty in this game, but when was there ever?
The bottom line is that if I live long enough, and I could still have more than a decade, I will probably die of prostate cancer. Hundreds of thousands of men do. Indeed I think it is the second highest cause of death by cancer for men in the west. Meanwhile the ‘treatment’ will definitely make me spermless and possibly also impotent and incontinent.
All this has been, and is, of course, hard to let in and I have experienced many waves of nostalgia, grief and terror.
But the process of ‘letting it in’ has also been, in some ways, wonderful. An injection of mortality awareness has its compensations. Here is a metaphor which expresses how I feel:
I’m a fish with a hook in its mouth. There’s a line attached to the hook which someone on the shore is holding firmly. Most of the time I am still able to swim freely, though I am pretty much always aware of the line. Sometimes I feel a tug from the shore and am reminded, with a shudder of that place of suffocation on the smelly quayside. Sometimes I wish I could pretend to be free again, like I used to, but the line across my back is relentless, strong and hopeless. I can even sense it in my sleep. There’s no escape.
Fortunately the line also has its compensations…
It whispers: “Time is short. This isnt a dress rehearsal”. It calls me to savour each moment in a way I rarely did before … to notice how sunshine rays sparkle the water and the beautiful patterns on the sand gleaming up from below. It invites me to enter into the sounds and colours, to inhabit tastes and smells, to caress my scales with the glide of water and to become porous to all around me. At night it invites me to lose myself in exquisite stars brightened by the black. Moment by moment I am offered sightings of divine beauty and mystery, I am beckoned to let go into trust and to soften my heart.
And best of all the line invites me to dive down deep. It is less busy towards the bottom but I like it that way. For here in the calm still water I can access my gratitude.
I am grateful to have been alive at all and to the awesome fact of existence. I am grateful to have been conscious and to be conscious still. I am grateful to be able to see and have seen the beauty. I am grateful for countless mercies, for sweet friends and dear family, for love received and given. I am grateful for the blessing of each new moment and the fresh opportunities it offers. I’m grateful to love this awesome sea of which I am a part.
Realising how grateful I am, I am filled with a sweet joy, ripened in sadness.
All about me there are other fish, some frequent the bottom, others swim near the surface. All are resplendent in their own way. Our colours are superb. We are sharing a fragile coral reef.
The other fish also have hooks in their mouths.
But some of them dont seem to be aware of this.