I have been at Mass General Hospital in Boston for a surgery to replace my hip, then several days afterward in a rehab facility. For me, these are all one hospital experience.
Time has stopped. It moves back and forth, stuck in a groove without progressing. Overhead fluorescent lights flip on, blanching the close corners of a room that is better left in shadow. Weary dusky rose walls, linoleum floors, and acoustic tile ceilings. Stuck time, stuck time, stuck time, stuck time, stuck time…is stagnant. Read more
Someone has moved all the living room furniture to prepare for the lecture. I say no, put it back. They refuse so I must put it back myself. I go to move the red chair; its arm is broken; a tattered Indian throw covers grimy brocade upholstery. The stained blue love seat verges on collapse. The paintings are not paintings at all but cheesy magazine pages pasted onto thin, rumpled cardboard and put in a flimsy dime-store frame. Rather than a charming installation of venerable, valuable antiques, the room has been a farce. It should all be thrown out. Read more
Soon I will get detailed about this condition and operation but today it’s about meeting my surgeon.
I pass through the revolving doors of the Yawkey Center at Massachusetts General Hospital, between the glass walls then the brushed titanium elevator doors that whisper shut with efficient deference. The folks at Reception hand me an iPad with survey questions about my pain levels and can I walk 0-2 blocks, 2-5 blocks etc. etc, that feed right into their database. Next I hit Radiology with technicians who x-ray every angle, and now, in the small, tidy, dim examination room an intern yanks my legs too fast and far, like all the previous doctors in the diagnostic process. Seeing me wince appears to be an essential data point. At last Ric and I sit quietly, waiting. So much depends on the next person we see.
I feel the air push toward me. The door opens halfway. Dr. Young-Min Kwon moves through with exactitude Read more
I lean forward, my feet tucked under me, slightly suspended as my arms press down on the armchair arms. My iliotibial band glows gold with streaks of iridescent peacock blue. The chair bottom falls away. I hang over a chasm. A river crashes through the gorge far below, its roar faint I am so far up. I grip my legs to me but they grow heavy and slowly unfold, and hang down, and now I know that they hang by the merest thread from the sockets. The threads will break soon. My legs will fall and smash on the rocks jagging up through the churning white water. Read more
Move with Me: Basic Practices is back!
June 7 through July 10th
The human journey of self-knowledge requires awareness of our body. We move in this rich doorway to come home to our eternal, unmoving Self and discover solace, perception, attunement, and joy. By popular demand, I am re-issuing the first Move with Me: Basic Practices course from 2013. Read more
In the MRI tube, “Fire and Rain” pulses through headphones amidst the insistent rhythmic imaging racket. The music takes me back to 1970 walking along Main Street in Falmouth, MA. I went into the little record store two doors down from what is now the Pickle Jar Cafe but was Loreen’s back then and purchased my first LP—’Sweet Baby James’ by James Taylor. I hadn’t has sex yet. I hadn’t smoked dope yet. Read more
The retreat in Mexico is complete. I sit under the canopy lunching on greasy, soft pork ribs with Claudio Naranjo and Cynthia Merchant. Sparrows dart in and out of the bougainvillea, calling sharply, insistently, joyfully to one another. We watch them meet and tussle face to face, wings whirring in their mating. They carve little hollows to nest in the rush roof over our heads, then gather fallen feathers to upholster their birthing chambers.
I said, “I have a new life.” My heart felt soft. Read more
My hips have made it clear; they want to stay.
And I want my hips.
Last week I spent a morning with Dance and Sports Medicine specialists looking at my hips and films of my hips, getting the docs’ opinion on what to do with my pain. It took some time to digest their words, to even hear their words. At some point I’ll pick apart their information, make choices, and set out plans, but first, where is my deep feeling? Read more