"BE the Lurch. FEEL the Lurch. You ARE the LURCH."
(intoned in your best Michael Cain voice from Miss Congeniality)

Oh, I am feeling much better. And I AM better.
By increments. With tons of love, prayer, support, and help from strategic places and people.

This last week. Whh---e---ll-lll...what can I say?
The Universe will get your attention one way or t'other. Ask me if you don't believe it. Or keep doing what you have always done and see what happens.

When you are incapacitated in just about every way and there is nothing you can do about it, you get quiet real fast. And then you stay there. You go crazy on the inside. You feel like you are going to explode...and then you get quiet again. And you start to listen. Deeply. Delicately. In the crevices. In the spaces that are begging for a clearing and blessing and a dance. That is what happened here. Although they will label it any manner of migraine and benign this and vestibular that and noduled-layered neck burl-thing---I don't care. The same episodes brought St. Teresa of Avila into the presence of her Spouse, Her Beloved, Her Source. Now I did not feel particularly close to God when I was lying in my own vomit on the sidewalk doing my own version of the idiots-in-a-hamster-ball-spinning-all-over-and-upside-down-at-the-Puyallup-Fair
-and-they-paid-good-money-for-it-machine dance....but I met Source in the folks who took care of me at Swedish ( from the beginning cheerful voice-"Erin Raney! That you?! (I can't see, womiting up a storm, in every manner of discomfort and can't do a damn thing after a very uncomfortable and going to be expensive ambulance ride and I hear this comfort right off the bat--"This is Michelle Pugel. I am triage nurse here. We are getting you set up. Hang in there." (Michelle was a classmate from my childhood and a damn fine solid soccer midfielder and I always appreciated how she held her own with teachers.) Then, I met God again in the quiet, efficient, always seemed to be near when I was in tears and confusion voice of my Partner. Then in Mary J. reading her book and telling me the story of her mystery. Then in the nurses--all of them--from the one who was trying to make me feel better when I was womiting with every breath for two days straight---holding my hair back and saying "I have this same thing. It feels crappy. You just feel crappy. (over and over again)." (Note to self-if I become a nurse in another life and have the chance to help someone in the same situation, it is not particularly comforting to listen to someone state the obvious over and over even if they mean to make you feel less alone. It did not help. Dumping the bucket and wiping my face off did. Cooing noises and "there, there" in your best Grandma Surridge voice will work just fine.)I experienced God in the respect for my wishes from anyone that wanted to poke me when I insisted on lydacaine (sp?). I know me now. I know what I can take. I also stood up (not literally) but I can even stick up for myself when I am womiting in the er and they want to give me full doses of stuff. I heard snorting when I said I was a redhead and needed less than half for starters on the stuff. I still stuck up for myself and the sensitivity thing is stil true this morning. I have had no meds yet today (except coffee). I will not go cold turkey but I am learning even more how to take care of myself. Sitting under the elderberry on Mother Earth in bare feet and soccer shorts and shirt for this auspicious day will do more for the likes of me than something that comes from a plastic bottle.

I experienced God straight up in a visit from the Fuzz. He brought me a geode and an empty pot. And gave me a way to do my Owl Dance in a way I have yet to pray. My Body is still saying "What the Whooooooo" this morning. And he listened. I listened, too. Ordinary miracles. They are right here. Right now.

There are too many to recount. I get to Live them. I continue with a cunning plan to sell/give away all extraneous furnishings. Don't need 'em. Clearing the table (literally) and giving it away. Looking for a soft, comfy couch that will allow someone to lay full out that will fit through the front door without taking a chunk out of the frame. Looking for a small table and three small chairs for the kitchen. The writing projects are coming. One word at a time. One Breath at a time. One Head turn at a time. One Lurch at a Time. One Bird in the pear tree at a time. One Joyful Recognizing at a Time. I feel like Mary Magdelene in the garden the morning of the Resurrection----"MASTER!" And lunging (lurching actually) for His Knees to Hold Him...and instead of lovingly telling me to not touch, He has actually joined me on the Ground, His Ground, underneath the elderberry, leaning our backs against the Cross, He is caressing my hand and occasionally brushing back my hair off of my forehead. I can feel the Smile in my body without looking at Him sideways. I can feel the Healing. I can feel the Hope. And we both just sit quietly, breathe together, look at the sky, the pear tree leaves, the bird ballet, and Porter peeing on every tall weed in the grass because it all belongs to him and not the damn squirrels.