The Queen of Swords

50th birthday, 5 weeks before I discovered I had a cancerous tumor in my breast.

There is a sweet everlasting droplet of love in every single one of us. It is a very small torn, or so it seems, piece of cloth all frayed at the edges, ragged, because the journey of love is arduous, treacherous, and half the time in darkness, but when in the darkness that tiny bit of cloth becomes a candle flame held protectively in the palms of cupped hands leading us through the dark. This morsel of eternal love might look a bit rough and raspy to the touch, but when you slip passed and the tips of your fingers slide into the center. The cloth, feels like it's been together, a woven thing, forever, since the beginnings of time, weathered and worn to a transparency. If lifted to the eyes, you could see through it like the veil over the face of a goddess bride.

Like right now, take your hands and weave your fingers together and then take a deep breath. Inhale deeply, then pause. Feel your hands clasped and then as you exhale feel the softening of your body all the way through to your fingertips. Feel the velveteen sensation of you holding yourself gently. Lift your arms and place your woven cupped hands over the open eyes and see the streams of light that seep through the creases of a well worn examined life.

I title this entry, The Queen of Swords, because I had told myself a fairytale that once the tumor had been cut out, I would step away from allopathic medicine and heal in the sensical way with good food, good company, good thoughts, nurturing the body, mind, and soul. But I have realized that Cancer is a nonsensical journey and more complex and ruthless than my desire for simple living.

Soooooo, I am considering radiation. It would be the whole month of April with daily visits to the place where they shine that light that penetrates and kills that which wants to kill me. When I say dramatic things like that, my other voice says, 'Oh sweethome, lots of women go through this, lots of people, soo many people going through this, who are you to complain?'

I am learning, though, to respond lovingly and say, 'yes. I am me, a frayed and fragile piece of eternal love that is equally resilient and forever present and vital.'

This story continues and I am grateful for you to stick with me because I need you. It is only an illusion that the cloth, the Fabric of the Universe, is torn to small little pieces that each of us harbor inside the nest of our hearts. When I think of you , when you think of me, The illusion is broken and the cloth of us is woven as it always has been and always will be. It is so.

Such gratitude for all your love and support already. May I reciprocate ten thousand fold someday. Peace, sweethome