religion, another's form of closure

When I was finally told by a team of physicians that I was terminally ill, I felt nothingness. I did not cry, but listened intently all while I know that my mind had already begun the process of compartmentalizing. Each fragment had its place as did every analogy, oxymoron, simile, metaphor...

I never planned it, the compartmentalizing. It happened and possibly it was my way, the only way, that kept me from falling over and realising the impact, the life changing everything that had already begun as soon as I heard the word T E R M I N A L.

I bring this up only because I had a compartment for my spirituality and a place for religion, just never one for every other's faith, viewpoint and the numerous thoughts and literature I have been handed showing me the way. Me knowing so long ago it was not MY way, it was their way. A way that brought them some type of understanding under their G-D that I would be a part of the afterlife.

So today, when more literature and another article 'showing me the way' was placed in the mailbox, addressed personally to me and notes adorning several pages, highlighting their comments and their for seen importance of what I was reading, I stopped.

I thought for a moment over a cigarette that this was their way of accepting my death, and their own mortality. It is an unspoken but obviously important rule that if my beliefs match the beliefs of the, on this occasion I am betting on a Fundamentalist Christian providing me the information, then they personally can rest and find peace at a time when instead of forwarding religious jargon that has its place with my bleeding stomach lining (sender still a mystery)...

...I would much rather sit down with a cup of green tea and a chocolate brownie, pop a couple Narco's and a Marinol and talk about how shitty some of this life 'stuff' can actually be.

monday 26.02

I have begun to rise early again for reasons I am not too sure, however; knowing I can feel my intestines from the inside out narrows down the possibilities of my once again found and for lack of anything better, accepted, insomnia.

I spent some quality time with friends this weekend as a neighbor celebrated a 'milestone' birthday and we all had the chance to get together and eat and drink and converse, which led to laughter, an emotion that I found myself feeding off of by night's end, needing and wanting more as the energy I have received from the joy of others thoughts, their wit and sometimes their sheer stupidity helps to calm most aches that follow me to such an affair.

Its good to get out and socialize and the more often I have the ability, the more often I will accept the sometimes challenging task of spending quality times with several I have come to know well on my journey to Dallas. And since it has been awhile by any one's standards since we have taken the time to celebrate together, it remains a good thing.

By my standards I understand the true magnitude that often eludes me as I am forced to cancel or postpone with a body composition that , more often than not, has prevented me from enjoying that which I enjoy. As I sit and understand the importance of rest and my opening lack of it, I also understand that the amount of resting I almost require again reminds me of the general meltdown, the malaise, that represents so much of what my body has become.

So as I reflect, I leave it as my own to view from a close distance and from a far and call it a memory that I will claim to own as mine, feeling several more in the future but certainly many less than I ever even a month or two ago.