Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Inside the Surf

After two days in bed, too sick to shower, change clothes, or even brush my hair, I was up early this morning and immensely relieved to have finally accomplished all of those things successfully.  It feels great to be clean and ambulatory again.  Yesterday, even sitting up made me pretty dizzy a few times.  I have to remind myself, as usual, to not work myself into a fever from pushing myself too hard.

It's so quiet here with the kids all finally back at school.  I love the peace and tranquility, although they were very sweet over this long weekend.  They're genuinely wonderful children, and their love for me is deep.

Have you ever been playing in the ocean and been knocked under by a wave?  As it crashes and roars and bubbles around you, your whole body is battered while it tumbles around wildly in the swirling currents. (Wear a well-fitting swimsuit!)  Within a fraction of a second, you have utterly no clue which direction the sun is in and which direction the deep sea is in, nor where the sand right beneath you is.  It's kind of frightening, since your ability to inhale ever again relies entirely on your ability to figure out where the air is. 


Sometimes life does that to you.  You aren't exactly suffocating (yet), but you're entirely disoriented and you aren't sure whether to laugh or panic.  Perhaps you've simply been bombarded with far too many happenings, which can make you feel like a piece of flotsam in a pounding surf.  It takes a lot of strength to stand your ground, an act that is literally impossible until you can determine where the ground is.  Sometimes, you get it right and rise up, laughing and tossing your dripping hair back.  Sometimes, you are too dizzy to get anything right, and the waves wash you up on the beach like seaweed, leaving you there to shiver in the cold breeze as the earth spins far too quickly.  Sometimes, very occasionally, you can't get out until someone jumps in and rescues you.  

I guess I'm still underwater.  In some of my dreams, I can breathe down there (I've read and adored too much Percy Jackson), so let's just hope that's the case.  I'm not a strong swimmer in real life, and I can only hold my breath for a terribly short amount of time.  Blame it on Central Valley Asthma, which nearly everyone who has lived here as long as I have is blessed with.  At any rate, I think the sun is shining somewhere above the confusion, and the water is sparkling and beautiful, despite my complete inability to figure out where, precisely, I am.  Too much is going on.

Please, Father in Heaven, grant me strength and breath and clarity.  Because I'm dizzy under here.

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