Rebirth

A little more than ten years ago I was home for a year recuperating from a life threatening situation. That period of my life forced me to look at the reality of my mortality and experience the vulnerability of my existence here on earth. As the seasons changed, so did I. The transformation was slow and gradual, but long in coming.

I spent the first half of that year in the business of healing my body. It was the first thing I had to do. I provided it with the right nourishment so I could regain my strength, gradually changing my palate as it was introduced to new foods that would better sustain me. I learned, for the first time, the meaning and importance of the word stillness because to have lived otherwise was not an option at that particular time. I urged, pushed and coaxed muscles that had become atrophied to becoming strong once again so they could hold me up and carry my body. I delicately tended to the scar - the only physical reminder of my loss.

The latter half of the year was spent in the healing of my soul. Having now regained some of my strength, it was time to look within myself. Immersed in the stillness of what had become my life, I would take my morning coffee outdoors and with a newfound keen and appreciative eye, witness nature in all its verdant and blooming resplendence. I would read within the gentle caresses of breezes that would come to comfort me. I would go through daily rituals with a different sense of appreciation - the making of beds and noticing for the first time how different textures felt on my hand, some soft and cushiony, others cool and smooth. I found pleasure in the making of a meal. I would go on long walks and pick up rocks and hold them in my hands turning them around, feeling them against my skin, taking note of their texture and composition and finding a certain sense of calmness within. I listened to the sounds of nature, people and life and listened to all that needed to be heard or acknowledged. For the first time, I felt truly alive and awake to this thing called life.

During this time I had little interaction with the outside world. I enclosed myself in a cocoon and sheltered myself from voices, looks of concern, advice and opinions that wanted to be given with sincerety but of which I was not yet ready to hear or accept; I could not look in the mirrored eyes of family members that reminded me once again of another loss. I cut the symbolic umbilical cord so that I could find the door that led to my emotional release by myself.

And something wonderful happens when you are left alone to your own thoughts, your own counsel, your own pain; something remarkable happens when you are forced to deal with the rawness of your life. You learn that you are indeed stronger than you thought you could ever be, you learn that there are very few things in this world to worry about or make yourself unhappy about, and you learn that there are very few fears that are worth your concern.

But a life-threatening illness also gives you some unexpected gifts: you become more grateful of life, things and people around you, you forgive easier and love deeper, you laugh and smile more easily, you learn to treat people with a little more kindness because you realize this little act is the one thing that people need most. But most of all, the best gift you receive is the gift of loving yourself, accepting yourself for who you are and giving yourself the unconditional love that you deserve and finally stopping the voices of judgement and criticism that seem to forever plague you. You realize you do not need to be perfect - you just need to be you.

Yes, the year of my transformation taught me many things. But ten years have passed and now it is time again to reflect on my life and the road I travel. I have slipped a little in the way that too much chattering has invaded my thoughts once again. My mind and body are restless on most occassions; I am straying away from my center of peace.

It is time again for me to take that cup of brew outside and witness life; it is time again for long walks that connects me with nature; it is time again to listen to the silence so that I can once again find me.

© 2007 Rebecca Bush