"Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood God."
For me, the Steps aren't like stairsteps. No, I don't ascend. I move horizontally. I like to think of the Steps as a path that I walk along, stones that I'm familiar with. In my mind's eye, these well-worn markers are cobbled, put together roughly but worn smooth from the many times I've paced over them, sometimes backing up to retrace my way before I can move on. Even though I've seen each one countless times, lately I've learned to stop and study where my feet are falling. I'm only now beginning to appreciate the journey rather than look forward to the destination.
Today, once again, I returned to the third step. I turned it over. "It" being - everything.
I'd fallen into that old habit (pattern/need/drive) to know (control/hold) - everything.
How can I possibly? I am living in a world of uncertainty. Even typing the previous sentence makes me realize how much I crave "settled". Recognizing this and wanting to turn it over gives me some comfort, but also allows me to see something different in this Step. I need to linger here awhile. I need to spend some time with myself here, in the quiet, on this path. There is a reason for me to return to this place at this time. I stand here in gratitude.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Indentation
Circle wound down,
shaving off years of essence.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Cover those scars
with gold and don't you worry.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Summer will come
and life will look the same.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Circle wound down,
shaving off years of essence.
shaving off years of essence.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Cover those scars
with gold and don't you worry.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Summer will come
and life will look the same.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Shackles are hard to shake.
Circle wound down,
shaving off years of essence.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Picnic
Sometimes it's enough
to stretch out on a
pink blanket
and gaze past the
live oak canopy,
pondering the depth
of skyblue as we
rest against our words.
After all,
the words will keep longer
than the potato salad
or the roast beef
and how often do we get
this
chance?
If we tire or thirst,
there is always iced tea.
to stretch out on a
pink blanket
and gaze past the
live oak canopy,
pondering the depth
of skyblue as we
rest against our words.
After all,
the words will keep longer
than the potato salad
or the roast beef
and how often do we get
this
chance?
If we tire or thirst,
there is always iced tea.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
My Vantage Point
I spend a great deal of time looking into people's faces. No, I mean really looking into their faces. My job gives me the opportunity to assist in cancer surgery which requires opening the face to reach back into the base of the skull to remove tumors. When I first started my odyssey of learning head and neck surgery, I felt lost within the cavernous depths of the human face. Once the skin is pulled back to expose what lies beneath, there is an incredible amount of intricacy. Happily, I was able to reinforce the anatomy lessons I'd previously committed to memory and I've become familiar with the muscles, nerves and vessels. I rarely feel lost within the tissues, and if I do, there are landmarks that quickly point me to certainty.
The interesting thing about my daily work is that I spend most of my surgical day looking at my patients upside down. We rotate the bed a hundred and eighty degrees so that the feet are away from us. This allows us full access to our surgical field. I stand at the crown of the head and look down and over the face. I get used to up being down and down being up. It's become second nature to me. When I was in surgical training, I can remember how I struggled with this concept when learning to guide endoscopic instruments. It seemed counterintuitive to move left to see right and vice-versa. I never thought I'd be able to run a camera properly.
Similarly, when looking at radiologic studies, right is left and left is right. I don't even think twice about it. I realize now that when I'm standing face to face with someone that I'm examining clinically, I transpose their MRI or CT scan onto their face, switching the study to fit their actual, physical presence without even considering the steps I've taken in my mind to do so.
Lately I've questioned my decision to remain in clinical medicine. The hours are getting longer, the pay certainly won't get much higher, and the rewards are becoming more and more difficult to define in my own mind. I've considered moving back into Psychiatry or hospice care. The thing I need to consider is that it's taken me several years to develop this sense of knowing, this being able to look into the face of my patients and grasp my place. This is a comfort level that I don't want to take for granted, but neither do I want to throw it away because I am aware that it has taken me so very long to get here.
The interesting thing about my daily work is that I spend most of my surgical day looking at my patients upside down. We rotate the bed a hundred and eighty degrees so that the feet are away from us. This allows us full access to our surgical field. I stand at the crown of the head and look down and over the face. I get used to up being down and down being up. It's become second nature to me. When I was in surgical training, I can remember how I struggled with this concept when learning to guide endoscopic instruments. It seemed counterintuitive to move left to see right and vice-versa. I never thought I'd be able to run a camera properly.
Similarly, when looking at radiologic studies, right is left and left is right. I don't even think twice about it. I realize now that when I'm standing face to face with someone that I'm examining clinically, I transpose their MRI or CT scan onto their face, switching the study to fit their actual, physical presence without even considering the steps I've taken in my mind to do so.
Lately I've questioned my decision to remain in clinical medicine. The hours are getting longer, the pay certainly won't get much higher, and the rewards are becoming more and more difficult to define in my own mind. I've considered moving back into Psychiatry or hospice care. The thing I need to consider is that it's taken me several years to develop this sense of knowing, this being able to look into the face of my patients and grasp my place. This is a comfort level that I don't want to take for granted, but neither do I want to throw it away because I am aware that it has taken me so very long to get here.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Conversation With a Naysayer
She turned onto Sunset Boulevard before sunrise, forgetting that she couldn’t get into the stadium parking lot from the south because of one-way streets. She wound her way around the gated lot and back through the quiet streets until she found the single unbarricaded entry. She pushed the gearshift into park. Stepping into the darkness, she coughed as her lungs reacted to the temperature difference between her vehicle and the morning air.
“This could be asthma. You know it.”
“It’s just cold, I’ll adjust.”
“It’s not safe out here; it’s not even six yet. What are you thinking? Women have been raped out here.”
“The sun will be up soon. I need this.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Life is dangerous.”
She left her MP3 player in the car, tucked under her grocery bags. She didn’t really think it would keep a dedicated thief from breaking in, but if it wasn’t on the seat, maybe criminals wouldn’t be so tempted. She stepped onto the path and ran.
“It’s so dark. You can’t see.”
“I can see. I can see just fine.”
“You won’t be able to see if someone jumps out from behind one of these bushes and grabs you. Don’t trip. You don’t want to break a hip.”
She ran faster. She hit her stride at a mile. The air was no longer cold in her lungs. Her breathing was without labor. No music, only the sound of her feet hitting the gravel. She wasn’t counting her steps. She’d stopped that habit when she’d stopped training for races. No music, it was so quiet. She’d never had this entire stretch to herself before. She was completely alone.
“He might not keep his word.”
“He has to keep his word. That’s what it is, a promise.”
“You’ve had promises made to you before, what are you thinking?”
“This is called faith, this is called belief. Shut the hell up. I should have brought my music. I need to concentrate.”
“The last thing you need to do is concentrate. Every time you concentrate you get in trouble. You need distraction.”
She turned the corner and set her sights on the blinking lights atop the twin towers that she’d used so many times before as a guide when she’d been lost, or disoriented in the city. She set her steps in time with the blink-blink-blink. In the distance the lions at the zoo began to roar, low hollow roars. She ran on.
3 miles and 25 minutes later she arrived back at her car. It was still dark. She’d only seen 2 other runners when she would usually see 200 on the same path.
“That was dangerous.”
“Life is dangerous. I’ve had injuries the last year; a heel, a rib, and I guess now my heart. I haven’t run a race in a year. Life is dangerous. If you’re going to run with me you need to shut the hell up.”
“So bring your music next time. “
“This could be asthma. You know it.”
“It’s just cold, I’ll adjust.”
“It’s not safe out here; it’s not even six yet. What are you thinking? Women have been raped out here.”
“The sun will be up soon. I need this.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“Life is dangerous.”
She left her MP3 player in the car, tucked under her grocery bags. She didn’t really think it would keep a dedicated thief from breaking in, but if it wasn’t on the seat, maybe criminals wouldn’t be so tempted. She stepped onto the path and ran.
“It’s so dark. You can’t see.”
“I can see. I can see just fine.”
“You won’t be able to see if someone jumps out from behind one of these bushes and grabs you. Don’t trip. You don’t want to break a hip.”
She ran faster. She hit her stride at a mile. The air was no longer cold in her lungs. Her breathing was without labor. No music, only the sound of her feet hitting the gravel. She wasn’t counting her steps. She’d stopped that habit when she’d stopped training for races. No music, it was so quiet. She’d never had this entire stretch to herself before. She was completely alone.
“He might not keep his word.”
“He has to keep his word. That’s what it is, a promise.”
“You’ve had promises made to you before, what are you thinking?”
“This is called faith, this is called belief. Shut the hell up. I should have brought my music. I need to concentrate.”
“The last thing you need to do is concentrate. Every time you concentrate you get in trouble. You need distraction.”
She turned the corner and set her sights on the blinking lights atop the twin towers that she’d used so many times before as a guide when she’d been lost, or disoriented in the city. She set her steps in time with the blink-blink-blink. In the distance the lions at the zoo began to roar, low hollow roars. She ran on.
3 miles and 25 minutes later she arrived back at her car. It was still dark. She’d only seen 2 other runners when she would usually see 200 on the same path.
“That was dangerous.”
“Life is dangerous. I’ve had injuries the last year; a heel, a rib, and I guess now my heart. I haven’t run a race in a year. Life is dangerous. If you’re going to run with me you need to shut the hell up.”
“So bring your music next time. “
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Winner
(This was prompted by two events: I joined a new writing site and a challenge was issued to write something that fit with a painting by Dali. I viewed the subject of the painting to be a fractured young girl. The other event was a conversation I had that found me explaining how distant I am from a certain family member - my maternal uncle. I have virtually no relationship with him. I've been thinking a lot about that non-relationship, how important he was to me as a child, and how the little girl in me was let down by him. I don't hold those hurts any more, but I know they changed me, I know I held him up to be something/someone he couldn't be. The adult in me realizes this and knows that I was shaped by that experience.)
Winner
Unaware of observation,
he didn’t choose Hero’s stance.
With deft motion he reached down
and moved a lock
from eyes that sought
Source
from mother’s brother.
He only stood where
life placed him.
Opportunity came but once
to shape, to mold
and fill the
G A P
left by father figure’d
O U T.
No time, no patience,
and no clatter heard when the
pedestal upon which he was placed
tipped over with life’s energies -
pulsing and pressing
as his sister’s child
watched the
Man of The Year
shake the dust from his
suitcoat and
move on to the
next Big Thing.
Winner
Unaware of observation,
he didn’t choose Hero’s stance.
With deft motion he reached down
and moved a lock
from eyes that sought
Source
from mother’s brother.
He only stood where
life placed him.
Opportunity came but once
to shape, to mold
and fill the
G A P
left by father figure’d
O U T.
No time, no patience,
and no clatter heard when the
pedestal upon which he was placed
tipped over with life’s energies -
pulsing and pressing
as his sister’s child
watched the
Man of The Year
shake the dust from his
suitcoat and
move on to the
next Big Thing.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Two
A most surprising vex,
this concern,
this caring.
You wend your way
over the stones that
lead to me,
seeking purchase
at such precarious points.
You are my tightrope walker;
my mountain climber;
my Champion.
I marvel at your tenacity.
After this swirl of adrenaline,
I nestle into
the comfort of your gaze
and we round out the day
listening to
soulful
singers
while we lounge on
the Persian rug
and wait for the kettle.
M. Scofield 3/12/2009
this concern,
this caring.
You wend your way
over the stones that
lead to me,
seeking purchase
at such precarious points.
You are my tightrope walker;
my mountain climber;
my Champion.
I marvel at your tenacity.
After this swirl of adrenaline,
I nestle into
the comfort of your gaze
and we round out the day
listening to
soulful
singers
while we lounge on
the Persian rug
and wait for the kettle.
M. Scofield 3/12/2009
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