Two koans are working on me today.
Yesterday a friend sent me an e-mail saying that I seemed very cherry throughout this process, & was glad to see that.
I am glad also, and wordlessly beholding all the myriad, kaleidoscope ways that humans stand in fear instead of simply witnessing what is.
Well, of course it is the stories, mantras of remembrance or projection, resistance or hallucination, that we stand in fear of. The witnessing is bare, simple and clean.
Thank the forces of All that I have steam-cleaned,, power-washed and polished my gunk all along the way, so that witnessing was possible once the die rolled this way...
I really had no dialogue cued up in my head/ heart/ cells ready to mambo across my mind.
Not because I am a natural yogini.
No, because I have been elbow deep in the greasy kitchen sink of my mind for years.
(*cue the Wizard of Oz song, as the green lovelies polish the Tin Man to meet The Great and Powerful.)*
The second koan is similar.
Every time I undress and see this new formulation of breast, I stop and stare. In wonder.
It is so new and strange and beautiful in its uniqueness; the partial fill, breast-like shape that in clothes, actually, does not even draw your eye toward it, yet the long line of stitches that cross from underneath to almost two-thirds of its span.
Nippleless and what will obviously be a "great" scar (as in not Frankensteinian)
And I stare at the spare beauty of it, like a railroad track bisecting the frozen Siberian tundra, wondering how could a woman look in the mirror and bewail herself as misshapen, horrible, less than?
But I know that so many do...
I wish for us all the silence of acceptance, the cheerfulness of each sweet and normal day, and, whether scarred by surgery or just deeply kissed by Gravity, the smile in the mirror when we see that Ah!
This, then, is how it goes for me!