The last 48 hours have gone by in a blur. Yesterday I awoke to a banging sound at the front door. Fumbling with the alarm clock, turning it one way then another, trying to locate ah! there it is, a quarter past three. Early morning or afternoon, no idea. Sticking my head out the bathroom window I saw two friends standing in my front yard, carrying pillows and a massage table. Time made no sense to me. Disoriented I made my way downstairs. It dawned on me that I’d slept fo 15 hours. My body is recovering from two weeks of pain.
A fragment of a Leonard Cohen poem comes to mind: my body cleans and repairs itself / and all my work goes well. What is this “work”? What, pray, is the purpose of this illness, this pain? In many ways it calls me to wake up to yet another awareness of what matters, what I am to do with the precious days on this earth.
Show me the path where I should go, point out the right road for me to walk. Lead me: teach me. Psalm 25
source: Cohen, L. (1961). “I have not lingered in European monasteries” in The spice-box of earth. Toronto: McClelland Stewart). image: Each pointer a different destination, each in its own way the right one. But which is for me? (Photo taken during a two-week walk across Switzerland.)