It's about 5:30 am. With a laptop on one shoulder and files in a backpack on the other. I head for Starbucks for four hours of writing. I have a small corner there that if I arrive when they open, feels all mine for a few hours.
I never turn the light on when I step out on the second story deck so I can see the stars and the lights rippling on the water from across the lake. Being in a slight hurry, with eyes to the sky, I make the usual sharp turn right for the stairs. Instantly, pain shoots through my leg, Then I am upside down in flight, and banging this and that. With the momentum of body, computer, and backpack I know I am heading down. I grab a white vertical rail and vicariously hold the position. My feet are on the deck, my back is on the second step, heading down. I attempt to breathe and there is not much that doesn't hurt.
The cause of this flying leap was a large plant pot in the corner of the deck. A wind storm the day before had blown it horizontal, and left it blocking the stairs. However, the good news is, I didn't break a bone yet back tendons and muscles took a beating and one leg needed it's dressing changed twice a day for several weeks. All in all, my life came to rather an abrupt halt. Ceiling-watching filled the weeks as the only relatively painless position I could find was lying flat which initially meant: no walking, no sitting, no computer, no writing, no piano playing, and no picking my Grands up at school for a dairy treat.
Now, ceiling-watching wears enormously thin rapidly and does not leave one many active options. It's rather like living in a void, an emptiness -- this waiting to heal, to getting back into life. Thoughts can dull and turn negative if one is not watchful. Thus, after the first couple weeks, when progress seems snail's pace, it is not the physical body but possibly the emotional body that may need some care. Yet, it takes an effort to drag oneself away from the gravitational pull of unhelpful thought.
However, thankfully, ceiling-watching has another partner called Waiting. This non-activity appears to be a passive, tedious exercise. Yet, within waiting is passion. Both words, passive and passion have nominally, the same Latin root. I also discover waiting is like a box of energy which has space and dimension that can be used and worked at if I ask -- what thoughts, emotions will serve my higher self? What does waiting want from me and what do I want from me?
Waiting to hear, I begin to watch differently, think and thus, feel differently. The body does want to heal itself, inside and out. The self and spirit long to expand. A richness, aliveness, and a fresh newness begin to enter body and spirit. At one time or another, adult children, friends, my Ex, a stranger, and Grands occupy the blue chair at the end of the bed. And, I resolve that every face coming through that door will be the most special face in the world and I will love it.
Yes, waiting is a passionate act and has a sophistication when giving oneself over to it. We wait -- to heal, to rejoin life, for a child to be born, and we wait for the beloved. Something is going to happen, some compassionate moment, some Royal visitor. Indeed, as scripture tells us, those who wait on Spirit will renew their strength and rise on Eagle wings...
I am writing now from Tucson, almost three months later, and still doing a little ceiling-watching as I continue to learn that, waiting itself is a sacred act.