The Furious Spinner

What is healing but a shift in perspective? —Mark Doty, Heaven's Coast

Give sorrow words. —William Shakespeare

Wednesday

Some bad days. Crappy nights. I had three or four good days and then yesterday I got sick: trouble breathing, bad headache, bad bad allergy attack, anxiety (shouldn’t wonder). I was so scared I packed up and was ready to head out for Phoenix, where I would at least be near my sister. But I went outside and the clouds had cleared enough for the full moon to come out. The yard was silvery, you know that way strong moonlight makes a place like daylight but not quite, dreamier. I drove out to the end of the drive and a coyote ambled by, not concerned with me at all. I thought, well, maybe it’ll be OK. I drove down the road a couple of miles to a trailhead at Saguaro East. My breathing loosened up a bit. So I went back to the casita.

It was not an easy night, however. Or an easy morning. In and out of sleep and misery. To be sick is one thing. To be alone and sick is another. I bow down to all of you who do it regularly. I’m in awe.

The night before, I was in bliss. The sky was clear, the stars out, the moon full of reflection, the coyotes howling. I danced around the casita to—what else?—”Coyote Dance.” The caretaker came and got me to look at a herd of javelinas in the front yard through the bedroom window. At first I thought I was looking at cactuses, but then the little cactuses scurried away and the big long pig-like cactus moved and I saw his snout. I was so excited. Then I went outside and stood in the light, unable to dance or talk or do anything but be in that spot, buttressed by the beauty of it all.

Then all hell broke loose the next morning. Haven’t a clue why.

Finally got out of bed midday and drove to town to get something to eat. It had been raining off and on all night and day. I filled the tank with gas, then went to this vegetarian restaurant reviewers semi-raved about. It’s been around forever and its menu is at least part vegetarian. I got out of the car feeling dizzy and fragile. Called Mario. “How am I going to get back home?” I asked. “How am I going to stay here for another week? How will I get to Phoenix?” He tried to reassure me, then I went into the restaurant.

The table was sticky, the floor was filthy, the menu dirty. I ordered anyway, since I was feeling so shaky. I went outside to get the paper and they locked me out. I couldn’t believe it. They were supposed to be open until 10 p.m. Finally after I banged on the door a few times (only because I’d left my book inside), a man opened the door and said, “Ma’am, we closed at 2:00 p.m. today.” I said, “I’ve got an order in.” He reluctantly let me back in. I sat at the table looking around and felt more and more uncomfortable. So I got up and left.

It occurred to me as I was banging on the restaurant door to get in that during this trip issues with keys have come up again and again. Keys and locks and doors. The rental car does not have a place to unlock it with a key on the passenger side. In fact you can’t unlock it except from the driver’s side, which is strange and not at all convenient. None of the locks in my parents’ townhouse worked easily, and I ended up hurting my hand trying to get in. The locks on the casita don’t work well either, and I’m constantly having trouble getting in or out. The license plate on the car is: kys.

What is the key to all of this? What is the key to my healing? Or what is the key to acceptance?

I decided to go to the Guatemalan restaurant and thought I knew what I was doing but I ended up driving around for a half ‘n hour, quite lost. Somehow I managed to find the restaurant. I read the paper and ate, then went to Antigone, the great feminist bookstore down the street from the restaurant, to get a book I’d ordered, but it wasn’t in yet. I shopped at the co-op across the street. A homeless man asked if he could help with the groceries. I said, “That’s really sweet, but I need to work on my upper body strength.” It occurred to me after that he needed some money. I could have used his help, actually, since I was lugging water. I really do need to work on my strength. I know this sounds like a grocery list of “things Kim did today,” and it is, but it’s extraordinary, too, because I don’t do a lot of these ordinary kind of things at home, especially not after being so sick. I was pleased I could do them all.

It was sprinkling when I got back to the casita. I saw the caretaker and dog, but I was shaky and shy, often a reaction I get after being sick. Normal interactions are difficult. You know how you feel when you’ve been in the dark and then you come into the light and the light hurts? It’s like that.

I decided to take a walk out into the desert despite the rain. It was nearly sunset, but I went up a trail in Saguaro East. It was so quiet, still. The sand was red mud in some places. Drops of water hung from some of the cholla, completely still, as if they were part of the cactus. I heard and saw several Gila woodpeckers, noisy little creatures on top of the saguaros. On the ground was a prickly pear pad, partially shriveled, shaped now like a shell; in the “shell” part was a tiny pool of water with sand in it, just like a shell at the beach, a reminder once again that this had all once been an ocean.

My how the times they are a-changin’

Thursday

Better night but still not up to par. Feel all wrung out. Allergies really bad and scary. Someone better suited should have been given this job...

Spent much of last night trying to figure out how to get home. Did you know the train tracks north of LA have been washed away? Well, actually the land underneath the tracks has washed away, as a good-humored agent explained to me. I talked to many different Amtrak agents. Most were not good humored; they were automatons. I hate that. You can be a human being. I’ve worked in public service all my adult life. If people can’t be human, they should get a job where they don’t have to be human. Whatever that is. I thought about flying home or driving. But I guess I’ll stay with the train, even though that means I’ll be in a bus for half the day. Bleck.

When I spent the summer backpacking throughout Europe when I was eighteen, public transit was so easy. Their trains were great; their buses were great. None of them had that chemical smell/taste that our public transit often does. They were roomy, comfortable, on time. And they went everywhere. Amtrak doesn’t go to Phoenix, Arizona, one of the biggest cities in the United States. Of course, it doesn’t go to San Francisco, either. Or Santa Fe. You have to get off the train and onto a bus to get to any of these places. Sorry, I don’t mean to whine. It's just a dodge. Really, I'm just feeling sorrowful. Sorrowful at my own failures as a human being. I think because I don't know what triggers these episodes—was I exposed to pesticides, did I eat something I shouldn't have, did I come in contact with some chemical, is it the phase of the moon, did I think something I shouldn't have, did I not jump over the crack and break my mother's back, what the fuck happened?—I feel as though I've been assaulted. I know that sounds extreme, but I have been physically assaulted before, so I do know how that feels. I have said for years that what this illness has done is to make me punch drunk. I keep getting knocked down and I get up to be punched again. But I've written about this at length before; perhaps I need a different image for this thing that happens/is happening to my body.

I’m going to try and go for a walk. The sun looks like it’s trying to come out. I will try to Walk in Beauty. I keep hoping that’s the key but so far..

Before me, next to me, behind me, above and below me. Beauty, beauty, beauty...Unfortunately she’s got bags under her eyes, her feet are sore, her nose is running, and her heart is aching. In all directions.

Blessed be.

Labels: Arizona, healing

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