The Two Lists

Back to my kitchen table for writing after one week in bed, or closely-so – or mostly-so. It was a necessary time after holiday frenzy to get sick and then to regroup, replan, refantasize, review and revise . . . not the way I usually do, or like to do – which is to compose my New Year’s list by careful thought and pen, and in upright position. It was a different kind of list-making this year, different kinds of resolutions – taking place in the heart this time, not so much in the brain, but in the heart . . .

I lay in bed with the flu virus circulating through the brain cells and spinal fluids, even into the bone marrow, keeping my body down and in a death grip – that’s how it felt – like two burly monsters, one on either side, holding me down -- in a death grip. There was something heavy on top of me too – Presence, I called it when trying to explain the feeling to my daughters this week – it was Presence that sat upon me and spoke while the burly guys did the heavy handed work of holding me there – held me till I said . . . what? . . . I said nothing; they did all the talking this time, and not by words. Presence sat upon me till by some osmosis of weight and stealth and time, she made me listen – not with ears and mind, but with heart. The heart gives way, relaxes under such weight; it melts under degrees of heat; it capitulates by force of silence.

I recall a thing that came to me late one night as a bit of consciousness bubbled to the surface: the concept of Two Lists. In my delirium, I thought of lists – the categorization of things, plans, and circumstances, and of how I loved (in my previously healthy lifestyle) to organize my life and daily plans by such visual prompts. But in this case, as illness seared my body, I saw in my mind two lists -- one was titled Serenity, and the other Courage . . .

. . . and I thought of how many things I edged against in my life – and for how many years – things that were not meant to be etched there under Courage for they took only cheap stubbornness and anger to be there – and so I saw them extricated to that other side, Serenity. This is a place I’d have to start visiting in 2011 in order to make peace there; I‘ll have to sit beneath those things as I did beneath those two burly flu virus guys – I’ll have to make my peace with them, relax under their weight, just see by experience if I can still breathe once the peace is made – or not.

And so I started the mental work of moving things over to Serenity – actually, saw them being moved over – all those things that it hadn’t worked to rail against, no matter how long I tried . . .

This all took place in the dark aspects of night – 2:20, 3:36, 4:03 – these are a.m. hours – and each time I was raised into conscious thought I saw the lists had been redrawn or recharted for me. It was a thing going on betwixt the two burly guys as they fought it out over me, wrestled for the heart that still pumped itself feebly in between.  She, Presence, remained calm and on top of me.

I remember one time waking into conscious thought, a profuse sweat and rapid heartbeat enveloping me, and seeing how long and profound that first list had become – Serenity – and how squat and short was the Courage one.

I came out with three gems for the New Year – and those three things I remember – because when I woke to get out of bed sometime in the next day or two, I saw a notecard on which some words had been jotted down in delirious handwriting, a word or two to represent each thought – and I’m glad I found the notecard or I wouldn’t have remembered this experience (a reason to love lists) – they were a surprise to see at all – old friends, a tangible reminder of the two burly guys and Presence who paid me a visit on the cusp of 2011, left a few words – then freed me to go.