Did you ever believe you could stop a thing by the sheer will of believing it would not happen? Lying in twilight between dream and reality where things happen in slow motion and with great clarity and feeling, I know in my heart that this disease will go away - for good, or at least until there is a treatment that will allow me to die of something else. In that spot, I am positive this is the outcome. In that spot, I am at peace. In that spot, I live and dream of my future 20 years from now. And then the appearance of reality seeps in like ink spilt across a beautiful drawing - and all I can do is watch as the drawing is slowly obscured by the black of doubt and fear. Try to memorize every detail, try to hold on to that feeling, try to protect that memory of faith. I need that faith - I know this somehow. I NEED it.
Not that five years ago, it wouldn't have been a different story. I mean, come on - all that hocus-pocus, mental gyrations wasted good brain energy. There were far too many "serious" things to occupy my over-analytical mind. Like... streamlining a training process at work or finding a more efficient way to work up and package a file. Assigning any credibility to faith was a crutch for under achievers: a pacification created by "wishing" for a bright future around the corner that did not necessitate an effort on their part. Ok, maybe that is a harsh over simplification of my feelings then - but you get the idea. Yet I remember a time in my youth that life was a very intuitive journey. Events didn't just happen, I participated in some way and I knew they were suppose to happen that way. I seemed to have an intuition - about the good and the bad. I felt more "tuned in". The phone would ring, and I knew the caller was telling my Mom that a relative had just passed away. Or suddenly, I would no longer be in a rush to continue dressing - because I knew something was going to happen that precluded me from the activity for which I was preparing. Or maybe it is all my imagination - I only remember things this way because I want to remember them this way. It gets way to deep for my brain these days. Truth is I don't know what feeling to trust: which is more real, the drawing or the ink or some combination of both? All I can do is take the days as they come, remember to not beat up on myself for failing to make the "absolute most" of everyday, and keep reminding myself of that spot and the beauty I feel when I am in it.
