The Furious Spinner

Went for my MRI on Sunday. The technician opened up a kind of tiny safe in the little dressing room where I could leave my purse and any valuables. I shoved my purse inside. I didn't have a stitch of metal on me. She made certain Mario didn't have any either, besides the zipper on his jeans. Then she told me they were going to inject me with dye for some reason I didn't understand. I said no one had told me that, and I had so many allergies. Why did they need dye? She went and talked to the radiologist, and they decided to try it without. She gave Mario and me each a set of orange earplugs.

Soon I was prone with my head headed for the enclosed space. I didn't really look around very much because I was a bit freaked out at that point. She put something on each side of my head to keep it still and then dropped a white cloth over my eyes. At first this was unsettling, but then it felt nice. Calming. She squeezed my hand to ask me if I was OK and I held onto her fingers and started to cry. Weird, weird, weird. She asked me if I wanted Mario to touch my legs, and I said yes. Then she left the room and told me through speakers near my head that I would hear a series of clicks and then the MRI would start. The first scan would take about a minute. I could feel Mario's hands on my right leg. Then I heard the clicks. And the MRI started. Sounded a bit like a computerized jack hammer. "Dotdotdotdotdotdot." Then it would stop. Click, click, click. More scans. These took about three minutes each.

I had my mala in my hands, and I could feel the wood between my fingers. I began chanting to myself a form of a "boast" by the ancient Irish poet Amergin, only I made it my own—since I couldn't remember exactly how it went (from Tom Cowan's book Yearning for the Wind).

I am the wind across the sea.
I am the roar of the ocean waves.
I am the hawk on the cliff.
I am the raven above the fields.
I am the stag of seven battles.
I am a tree in the forest.
I am the bear on the trail.
I am the salmon in the river.
I am the cougar searching for prey.
I am the sharp edge of a sword.
I am a hill of poetry.
I am a shapeshifting god.



I chanted this over and over. Each time I chanted I felt as though I was present in the room getting the MRI, but I was also the wind, a wave, a hawk, a tree. It was beautiful and moving in a way I cannot fully explain or understand. All of it—even the MRI. As though I had walked into myself. So that's where you've been.

It lasted about thirty minutes. About twice as long as I had anticipated, but it wasn't difficult. On Saturday I had practiced by putting my head in a box and being still and prone for fifteen minutes. Mario came home from work to find me on the floor of my study, my head in the box where normally my dictionary and a few other goodies went, beneath the peace lily.

After the MRI, the woman told me we didn't need the dye. My brain and my polyps were very differentiated. I was glad for that. When they did Bill's mother's sinus surgery, they lopped off a bit of her brain, putting her in a vegetative state.



I thanked the woman for being kind, and then Mario and I drove up to OHSU to try and drop off the CD of the MRI and CAT scans. Strange but true. I had asked them to burn CDs so I could give them to the doctor (the new one). I wanted her to be able to see them before we met again on Tuesday. It was still an impressive and frightening place but not so alien as it had been last week. I even went into the hospital and asked the receptionist what she thought I should do with the CDs. She said that my doctor was supposed to be in the hospital so she would text-message her. We waited in the lobby. I thought how strange this all was. It appeared as though my fears about these places was going away, or at least getting better.

The doctor never appeared (turned out she wasn't there), so we left and went to Tao of Tea. This time I tried White Rain tea. It was beautifully presented: on a square glass plate, little clay pot, two tiny blue dishes—one for the cup, one for extra tea leaves. I had a yam with lime and salt as well as my usual dal and rice.

It was all very fine.



Night. I was unable to fall to sleep right away and I lay in bed for about two hours going into and out of in that hypnogogic state one falls into just before sleep. I had all these thoughts and feelings about healing. Many of them too personal and new and old to share. Some numinous so words cannot describe them—at least not adequately. In one sequence I saw me drawing out Linda's pain and putting it in a basket. A particular basket. How often I want to put my hands on people, draw away the pain. Pain out, love in. Love, love, love. As I tried to sleep, I put my fingers on my husband's skin, as I often do in the night. And the day. Breath in, breath out. Love in, love out. I finally fell to sleep and dreamed and dreamed and dreamed.



In the morning we went to Falling Creek for the first time in weeks. (I put the basket from my waking dream in the car.) It was so great to be on the trail. Water everywhere. The place throbbed with water. The sound came from all directions. After three weeks of rain, the creek was overflowing. The First Falls and the waterfalls by the Pika Apartments had returned. The major falls, Falling Creek falls were almost at Spring volume. As though a water being stands at the rocks, her arms outstretched. I walked down to get closer to the falls, was mesmerized and surrounded by the movement, the sounds, the mist.

I stayed a long time.



Then we drove to Linda's house. I took the basket into the house, and Mario took the dogs for a walk. Linda and I did some healing work together. I put my hands on her and whispered. Sometimes life seems about filling up with love. True love. Pure love. Loving love. Billions of cells filling with love.

She said, "Funny love."

"Absolutely," I said. "It has to be funny. There's a bear dancing over by the door."

"I was just thinking about a dancing bear the other day," she said, "and it made me laugh."

"See," I said. And I wrapped my arms around her.

And bears danced, coyotes howled, and humans giggled.

Later Mario took a photograph of us together. She leaned against me and did not want to let go, snuggling into that part of my body—everyone's body—that is pure love. The spot where I rest my head on Mario's body and say it is my favorite place in the world. Love you.




May You Dream and Love in Beauty!

Photos outdoors from Falling Creek, taken by Mario or Kim. Linda & Kim in Linda's house, taken by Mario. All photographs taken today. 1 comments

1 Comments:

You do not know mw but I wanted to say You are very beautiful and I am not speaking solely in the physical sense.Your words are beautiful.

Much peace to you -a vagabond

By  CrimsonStar, at 8:29 PM  

Post a Comment

All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.