This Too Is the Journey

And so it goes, or rather comes and goes.  Much of my time in the last while has been spent with a friend (in her eighties), who is sometimes panicking as her formerly active lifestyle undergoes a seachange and occasionally seems to be vanishing like smoke.

An artist by birth and by calling, my friend is a wild, fierce and goddessy woman with a sharp tongue, a passionate regard for art, travel, poetry, mythology, photography and just plain old watching the world go by.  Now, she is losing her eyesight, her physical equilibrium, her ability to paddle a kayak or drive a motorcycle (a Harley-Davidson Night Rod no less), to pilot an aircraft or simply (as she puts it) go places and do interesting stuff.  It hurts, and there are times when she is frightened, but she is a warrior, and she is working things out.

The lady rocks, and she has always been a mentor and an inspiration. We used to go off on photography expeditions together, climb bluffs and wave our canoe paddles around with abandon.  My own deadlines slip away now, meals are forgotten or charred beyond recognition, television documentaries are missed when she calls, and I roar off to see her, take her hand for a while, tell her stories about my mundane and not-so-mundane potterings, laugh together and rummage through her music collection for a little Mozart, Vivaldi, Miles Davis or Bonnie Raitt.  We probably don't have much time left to journey on together, and I want to be there when she needs me.

"I remember everything", she says, "and behind my eyelids, the colors of the world are dancing like bokeh, like sunlight on the water, summer fireflies or tumbling snowflakes".  In these sweet, poignant and fleeting days, I seldom think of my own health issues except when I must, or when, like a vigilant Zen priest with a Kyosaku stick, a certain one gives me a sharp physical reminder of its presence - something the crab is very good at doing. It too is a right fine teacher.