It’s been a long and difficult journey from diagnosis, treatment
and post-cancer recovery, a road trip laden with bad things-a sudden life-threatening
sickness, strange foreign places and people, unfamiliar beds and that painful
longing for home.
Blog-wise, it’s been a period of total absence of creativity
and passion. My torn hamstring had me hamstrung
(ha!) as did the subsequent tear to the front leg muscle. Walking, bending,
stretching, sitting – all of it, for the past 2 months, has been painful,
difficult or impossible, and frustrating.
So, imagine my wonder this week at the inexplicable return
of my Mojo. It’s just...back. I feel strong, capable, mentally with it for the
first time in, well...years. It’s hard to describe it really.
That bitch has been gone a long time and as bitches are wont
to do, quit that shit when I needed her most. Left me alone in that ruin of
poison, scars and burning, financial chaos, uncertainty and complete destruction
of life as I knew it. She’s spirit mostly, but her powers are tangible and legendary.
She’s all white light and pure, healing protection. We’ve been through so much
together. Always, she saves me. Her absence leaves an oily, seductive void
which never stops pulling. In my damaged shell-shocked state, I rage. Where did
she go?
My mother used to have one of those dime-store pictures on
the kitchen wall. It hung beside the 70’s green behemoth of a fridge, on the
wall beside the jalousie windows. You know the one – it’s still popular and
sold at any Dollar Tree. Footprints.
In 1977, though too young to know what a platitude is, I
still resent that picture. It seemed silly that some poor soul survived
whatever horrors only because a divine power was really there, carrying them
through the very worst parts.
Now, and maybe for the first time, I understand that stupid
picture.
