Sit very, very still with Slumpy

"He moves nice. It’s his stillness that’s not right.” – Marilyn Whirlwind

Years ago, I was on I-40, driving from Greensboro, North Carolina, to a small town several hours west of there, when I heard a loud bang, an explosion, then a deafening sharp scary ongoing thump, thump, bang, thump. I started to lose control of the car. And as I watched in horror, the black rubber from the rear tire of my happy Oldsmobile 88 started spinning up into the atmosphere, pieces hitting like gunshots against the rim and wheel of the car, then spinning, twirling, perfect little eddies of centrifugal force, away from the car, off of the tire they were supposed to support, large hunks of rubber getting smaller, smaller, then gone. I veered wildly to the side of the road; the tire was essentially gone. I could imagine it wheeling its way into space, tiny bits of rubber spiraling upward.

It feels as if the same thing has been happening over the past few weeks; the pieces that are flinging into the universe are not tire rubber, but something else, like life caught in the whirling of an old-fashioned metal fan, the kind without a child guard, with slats wide enough for whole bodies to go through into that whirling dervish of metal and wind, the kind we used before we decided to make everyone else responsible for our own safety. First, my beautiful 18-month Moleskine date book on which my entire life is written and catalogued, all those due dates and appointments and trips and to-do’s and fabulous ideas for future essays, gone. Twirled off into the universe like a comet burning itself out. This last loss of my calendar was one of three such losses and re-finds over the past few months. “I wonder what that means,” my wise acupuncturist said last week. “That you keep losing your calendar. Any idea what that means?” she asked in that voice that indicates for all the world to hear that she knows what it means. This, you might remember, is the same woman who shocked me a few weeks ago with the question, “what are the opportunities for stillness in your life?”

Then my camera. My beautiful, fast, wonderful, new, beloved Canon Digital Elph PowerShot SD600 digital camera. Gone. On the desk, then gone. Did I lose it on a trip? Did Tess throw it away? Did it fling itself into the universe to find my Moleskine? I can’t afford to replace it now, so I suppose I am left to actually look at the world myself, remember it myself, not rely on a camera’s eye. That’s a lesson I’d prefer to read about, thank you, than experience.

And so, over the past few weeks, this centrifugal force has been flinging things away from me at an alarming pace, things I thought vital to my existence. But, as Elizabeth Kübler Ross said of her house burning down, I could either see the loss as completely paralyzing or as completely liberating, and I’ve chosen the later.

If I have an appointment with you, I don’t know it. If I’m supposed to be somewhere at a certain time, I have no clue about that. I am free, blissfully ignorant of the frenetic pace to which I had committed my Self, my days unencumbered by little one-hour time blocks. I hate being late, which makes this latest loss significant, and when added to my recent denial of watches (with apologies to the nice man named David who I met on a flight recently and who owns a watch company), time consciousness has been brought to a whole new level.

I am, essentially, out of the Everydayathon.

But evidently, even after the date book and camera, I still had some learning to do.

On Thursday night in Albuquerque, I fell. And I fell hard. I’ll let you choose the story you like best: 1) I was saving a child from a burning building; 2) I was dancing the tango with an aging interculturalist at a conference of aging interculturalists like me; or 3) I fell off a curb I did not see. There was no stumble, no hesitation, no trying to stop the fall—I did not anticipate the impact because I didn’t see it coming. I just went down, hard and fast, to the ground, landing on my left knee and the heels of my palms. My business partner, David, and I were in Albuquerque to conduct a workshop the next morning at a conference; he rushed to my side when he heard the impact. The pain immediately made me nauseous as I struggled to get in the car. He drove. Being the polite accident victim I am, I focused on not vomiting from the pain.

We finally found a hospital. Eight hours and a lot of swelling later, we emerged at 3:30am with a lot of emergency room stories and characters, a prescription for painkillers (not the painkillers themselves, mind you), a splint, and the best wishes of Dr. Victory, a sleep-deprived intern with a penchant for repetitive, seemingly irrelevant questions and long, unexplained absences. After a futile search for an all-night pharmacy, we arrived back at the hotel at 4 a.m. Ibuprofen would have to do until morning came. It’s the first time I’ve ever arrived in my hotel room after they put the bill under the door. Our wake-up calls were at 6:30am to present our session.

That was a short night.

Turns out, Yeats was right—things do fall apart, the center cannot hold.

The outcome? I have many opportunities for stillness in my life right now. In fact, my life is One Big Opportunity For Stillness. With no calendar and no way to walk, Stillness Looms. Nothing But Stillness. All Stillness, All the Time.

After our session, we drove north of Albuquerque to work, my club of a foot on the dashboard in its brace and conspicuous orthopedic white sock, held up by hope that the swelling wouldn’t cause the skin to burst, and buoyed--finally--by Vicadin.

An hour into our trip, suddenly, a loud gunshot rang out, glass shards peppered our clothing, a projectile forced its way toward us, through the glass. We swerved, then righted ourselves, shaken, looking at each other and trying to figure out what had just happened. A large rock had hit the windshield of the rental car, sending glass into our laps. Okay, enough messages from the universe. I give up. Stillness, it is.

In the absence of my very favorite nurse (the Wonderful Big John, my very own Mr Brilliant), my business partner David did an admirable job of applying ice packs, bringing food objects, and wagging a crooked finger at me to keep my leg elevated. The leg kept me still, the lack of internet access and the canyon-induced cell phone outage provided the total disconnect. Just the trees.

After a day of reclining on a couch in gorgeous Jemez Springs, New Mexico, with golden cottonwood trees blowing in the breeze outside, napping in and out of a Vicadin haze, and watching my ankle swell to the size of my head, I traveled home at the mercy of those nice people in airports who push people in wheelchairs from one gate to another, or not. You’ll be happy to know that not one inch of my body—and especially the suspicious, swollen ankle bits—went unswabbed by that gunpowder explosives checker swab thing at security. Meanwhile, buckets full of Purell and shaving cream and exploding toothpaste were whizzing by behind the security guards—like that Lucille Ball episode when she’s working in a chocolate factory—without being inside a requisite quart-sized clear Ziploc bag.

When I got home, Emma carried my bags for me, John swept me into the house, and Tess covered me up with her blankie and started bringing me piles of her books to read, “The Okay Book” and “I Can’t, Said the Ant." 

Then she disappeared upstairs, coming down minutes later with a proud smile and in her outstretched hand, Slumpy, a much-treasured bright pink and yellow monkey who started his life in our house fourteen years ago when Emma was small. And so, I am sitting quietly with my vast opportunities for stillness, me and Slumpy, my Vicadin and a book about a singing troll named Gus who, according to Tess, “isn’t especially good looking.” Join us.

~*~ 37 Days: Do it Now Challenge ~*~

As D.H. Lawrence wrote, “One’s action ought to come out of an achieved stillness: not to be mere rushing on."

Stop running the Everydayathon. Sit very, very still with Slumpy. The universe is telling you to slow down—how? What is blowing away from you with some strong centrifugal force? Are you listening, or are you disregarding the messages? Because if you are dissing the universe, it will get you. Not today, maybe, and not tomorrow, but someday soon you’re not going to see that curb. And then, my friend, you’re going to be sitting still for a long, long time.

Don’t be merely rushing on. Your center cannot hold.

Comments

[Liesl]

Thank you for the reminder - thank you for always finding a way to teach a beautiful lesson out of your experiences. Thank you for your poetry - your striving for a silver lining. I feel so blessed to have run across your chefs article - and now sit delighted to hear whatever comes from you. Busyness gathers upon me quickly. I need to take your advice and find a way to be still.
Thank you!!

[deirdre]

Oh, my blood stopped cold for a moment at the thought of losing my appointment book. I have to agree, though, that if we don't listen to the first call to slow down, or the second, the universe is going to make us stop NOW. So much better to do it on our own terms rather than wait for a smack upside the head.

[bee]

patti. i hope it's okay that i link to you tomorrow...

i think i might have left a similar comment on your site before. i should have, anyway, if i haven't. i used to give myself writing prompts out of the bible - or, if i was stuck and needed a framing device, i would simply open it and point. the eerie thing was, usually the quotes were right on for what i needed in the moment.

your site, has in recent months, become my current "bible". i come here, and am soothed, and consistently wondrous at the funny little coincidences that keep the universe kicking along. you have a knack for writing about the moments that i am currently experiencing, and words cannot express how grateful i am at how wonderfully you articulate them.

last week i had a bit of a collapse. too much stress, not enough sleep, too many high standards placed on someone who was mentally and physically exhausted. and it all came to a head essentially one week ago today. since then i have made a commitment to myself to journal every day, to try and analyze where and what i was feeling...to slow down. to take time for myself. to sleep and eat well (as a student, that isn't always easy)...

i could go on. but you've said it so much better. thank you.

[JimLey]

Last night, I delighted in attending Philip Yancey's lecture.

He stressed the importance of being still.

He made the following claim:

the Latin for ‘be still’ is ‘vacate’ (pronounced va-kartay), from ‘vaco’ – to be free from work, which is where we get our word for vacation - you know, take a vacation, relax! (Interview Notes by Clem Jackson)

Patti, I am sorry to hear about your pain.
Pain is a gift.

May Grace Supplant Karma.

[Angela]

So Patti, how easy can you let this be? hugs, alf.

[Ren]

Loss is really tough to deal with, especially such personal items that we depend on so much.
My heart goes out to you...having lost all but one camera a few years ago, I remember the sting all too well. Lost the video camera during that debaucle, most of my videos ever taken including the birth of my youngest child. Sigh to the tenth power.

I'm glad you could find a way to slow down and enjoy the spin of the planet for a bit. Harsh lesson.

[hilde]

This week you hit the headlines!We better would have remain sitting on the beach!Hope you will recover quickly. But for all that:
You, sitting still, holding the book with the meaningful “I Can’t, Said the Ant" made me smile. Carpe diem!
And here's a german apt quotation, that goes with your today's letter:
"Was ist es, das den Menschen heutzutage so jämmerlich klagen läßt, er sei gehetzt; was hetzt ihn eigentlich? Er kann nichts tun, ja, er kann nicht einmal nichts tun, ohne nach irgendeinem Nutzen zu schielen".
(Karl Heinrich Waggerl)

[Mary-Sue]

wow, Patti, you never cease to amaze me with your insight and acceptance and way of righting the swirling of the universe around us... i love LOVE the image of you curled up with Tess and Slumpy and troll books and being doted on by John and Emma.
I'm so glad the universe finally "got through" the busy signal! much love and comfort and healing vibes to you.

[Mary-Sue]

wow, Patti, you never cease to amaze me with your insight and acceptance and way of righting the swirling of the universe around us... i love LOVE the image of you curled up with Tess and Slumpy and troll books and being doted on by John and Emma.
I'm so glad the universe finally "got through" the busy signal! much love and comfort and healing vibes to you.

[Steve Sherlock]

The healing will come as quick as it can now that you are in the good tender hands of your family and Slumpy.

The other items are simply material things, in the long run they don't matter as much as the realm you have found yourself in; foot propped up, care providers at hand and time to just be.

I am sure you will make the best of it and then come back refreshed.

[Pearl]

Wow, that seems like you really need some stillness and with your leg up, all you have to do is take it the rest of the way to quiet mind. Family, quiet time and maybe no more broken car glass for a while. Take care.

[Dan]

Patti-

get well soon...

Dan

[Marilyn]

This post made me tear up. On Thursday, I secretly prepped my workspace for a Tuesday, rather than Monday, return (since I plan to take an extra day off). I could tell that I was getting to a frazzled point where if I didn't give myself the gift of some ME time, the universe would find a way to make me do that. That evening, I opened to page 37 of Andersen's Fairy Tales and in the story, "The Fir Tree," I saw this: "Rejoice with us," said the air and the sunlight. "Enjoy thine own bright life in the fresh air." I've been so concerned lately with tending to the needs of others, that I've forgotten to enjoy my own bright life. Seems like the universe has given you a beautiful opportunity to do just that. Blessings.

[Vanessa]

Hi Patti - you're right about the universe; when it has something to say it doesn't just call once! Funny, though, that it really takes a shout sometimes for us to listen. Would love to see a post sometime on how to be a better universe-listener.

[Nicole]

Six years ago I broke my ankle when I managed to catch the curb wrong walking in NYC. . . so not fun.

I hope you feel better- and thank you for another wonderful essay!

[Chris Owen]

I've been sent here by someone who felt I needed to have this message rammed home very clearly. my back's been gettting worse for weeks and now I'm just home from the physio with the brace on and an appt for my doctor and a request for a CT scan and all the time in the world to read all those enticing books that i have piled everywhere and I'm shitty!!!
Okay Patti, Universe, Karen. I Get the MESSAGE.
Now instaed of being frustrated at what i can't do I'll start appreiating what I have left to do and go read another book!

[Juno888]

wow.. you did a long-long travel it's nice treal you have it...