Maybe it’s the chicken that Kwami makes and I pop into my chicken soup. Maybe it’s all of the applesauce of the past few days. This last week (much to the opposite of the beginning fog of the last chemo cycle) has been a space of rapid fire ideas, motion, and clarity. It is echoed by many of the writings that pop into my inbox. There is transformation in the air, in the ethers.
I have bigger images of what the world can do, yet, there are tweaks and goals for me on the smallest of scales. Sort the drawers. Take a class (or three, I think I have three). Remember food, and journaling, and the blog, and the people around me, and…
It’s movement. It is like the chemotherapy, the partner to my body, moving through it and making changes. I can tune in and feel it. It’s like swirling, tiny bubbles, moving around in specific spaces. Nausea is how it might be defined by someone who is unable to separate from the experience, but it isn’t that. It is very intentional, very interactive.
Maybe people can resonate with the nausea on the political front. The tension, upset, and uncertainty. Moving us… forward? Hopefully forward.
I’m pulling the dead plants from the yard, trimming the ivy. The hoses are put away, another load ventured to the dump. We are in motion. All of us are being swept along with the tide.