Tag: Chronic illness

Forever is composed of Nows –

This title is taken from the beautiful poem by Emily Dickinson. Despite being a nineteenth century poet, she feels distinctly modern. Of course, there is seldom anything new under the sun and her contemporaries were as interested in the wisdom of Eastern philosophy as we are today.

Notelets with wisdom
Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

The sentiment – that forever is composed of nows – is an especially eloquent and precise one. Every moment, from here to eternity is an accumulation of ‘nows’. It is a simple and essentially obvious concept, except it is one that we rarely acknowledge in our everyday lives.

And we fail to do so at our peril. Learning to live ‘in the now’ is a skill that can take months or even years to master, but master it we must to live our lives as fully and joyfully as we can.

Here is the complete poem to muse upon: 

Forever – is composed of Nows –
‘Tis not a different time –
Except for Infiniteness –
And Latitude of Home –

From this – experienced Here –
Remove the Dates – to These –
Let Months dissolve in further Months –
And Years – exhale in Years –

Without Debate – or Pause –
Or Celebrated Days –
No different Our Years would be
From Anno Dominies –

An antidote to anxiety

I first took note of this approach when I had become over-whelmed with anxiety. At one point, it was so bad that I would utter ‘now’ under my breath every few seconds just to have a break from the whirling craziness of my mind. The moment I said ‘now’ was the quiet eye of the storm. A friend had given me the amazing book, The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle and he really began my investigation into finding presence.

A great place to begin

I’m pleased to say that my anxiety is now under control, but my habit of aligning myself with the now is ongoing. Because anxiety is based in a fear of the unknown – the future.

And there is much to be concerned about. Our darling Ukrainian, Mariia, is waiting to see how her future will be directed by the decisions of a few, powerful men. All I can say to console her is that she is safe and that we are there for her.

My own life feels like free-falling: we are selling our home, my husband is retiring and we’re moving to the Highlands. Everything is going to be new and much of it complicated and hard. By rights, I should be losing my remaining marbles, but framing it as an adventure and enjoying all the days we have left here keeps me grounded.

With a degenerative condition, the only thing that I can be certain of is that I shall get worse. Yet, if I focus on this very moment, where I can see the sun dipping below the downs; the mottled clouds of the sky and Hermione fleeing after her ball in the garden, life feels very good indeed. Focusing on now expels anxiety about the future.

Jettisoning the past

Lao Tzu said: If you are depressed you are living in the past . And the past can be a heavy burden to carry. I am an inveterate journal writer and whilst looking for ways to reduce the amount we needed to take to our future home (whenever that is!) I realised that I have dozens of journals taking up space.

Last year’s news Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

I’m working up the courage to throw them all into the paper recycling. I’ll keep my nature journal of a year’s observations and my holiday ones – but the rest? I think they have served their purpose.

Living mindfully

The final part of Lao Tzu’s quote goes as follows: If you are at peace you are living in the present. And hard though it is to find this state, it will only occur if we eschew all other thoughts but those which concern us now.

We can achieve this in a number of different ways and we must each find our own path. Meditation, yoga, tai chi are the obvious ones, but quietly sewing, as I was the other day, is equally effective.

A more extreme way to be present is to place yourself where mere survival is all you have the capacity to think about. My wonderful friend, Sally, came to visit last weekend and having taken a dip in the sea on Saturday, persuaded me to join her on the Sunday.

Ready to take the plunge!
Image: Jeff Costello-McFeat

The brilliant sunshine was deceptive. It felt warn, though the air temperature was only 8 degrees centigrade. The sparkling sea looked inviting. So in we plunged and swam about until I could no longer feel my gloved hands. For five minutes, our bodies’ needs absorbed all our attention and upon leaving the water, survival made us euphoric. It was a feeling that lasted for the rest of the day. However, sea swims are not for everyone and I must give a note of caution here. Going in unprepared can be fatal. Please check you are okay to swim first and have the proper gear. I have cold showers every day, so my body is used to the shock of the cold, but even seasoned swimmers sometimes find the cold too much.

The gentle approach

For those who are perhaps rather more sane, the easiest way to get into the now is through nature. At this time of year, the world is transforming by the day. Taking even a few minutes to look, really look or listen is enough to set you on the right path. My hazel catkins were too beautiful to resist. They dangle like golden waterfalls and, set against the azure sky, are positively radiant.

Golden tails Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

However you find your way, I hope that you can make it a natural part of your life. It requires a fair amount of training and discipline. It certainly isn’t easy. It may even seem too big an ask. But now is all we’ve got.

Wintering

A few months back, my darling niece sent me a book she thought I would enjoy. It was entitled ‘Wintering’ and subtitled: ‘The Power of Rest and Retreat in Difficult Times’. This memoir/musings by Katherine May was a moving investigation into the idea of using our personal ‘winters’ to strengthen, repair and heal ourselves. As in nature, winter is not so much a dead time, but an opportunity to gather strength for the future.

What I love about winter (the season) is that it offers up clues of awakening right from the moment when the earth seems the most dormant. Buds appear on the trees – dark and hard, perhaps, but buds nonetheless.

Waiting for their moment Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Spring bulbs begin pushing up their green leaves in late November – slender flags that promise the riot of colour to come.

Rest

While the earth may seem at rest, it is actually very busy. Trees are using their roots to sustain the trunk through harsh weather and also gathering as many nutrients as they can for the leafing/flowering season. Bulbs are using the cold temperatures to ready themselves for spring. Gardening Knowhow explains: ‘The cold temperatures cause the bulb to break glucose into smaller molecules which lowers the freeze temperature to prevent damage to the bulb. Additionally, small leaf structures and the beginning cells for flower production begin to form.’ Protection and preparation go hand in hand.

My beautiful amaryllis bulb that I’m hoping will bloom once more. Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

Insects, worms and bugs all respond to winter months in different ways. Some, like the Monarch butterfly, will fly south to warmer climes (as do so many migrating birds); some survive by deploying their own anti-freeze in their bodies; some move into homes which are warm or lay eggs or larva to wait till spring. (Source: Backyard Farmer) Many do this after ‘cleaning up’ the leaf matter and refuse from autumn by bringing it down into the soil where it enriches it. Everything is readying itself for a new start.

Retreat

And people too need a time to retreat from the manic activity of the ‘warmer months’ and to reflect on their priorities and goals. If we fail to do this, we simply stumble from one year to the next.

Unfortunately, most of us don’t perform this vital task until life takes the choice from our hands. Often it is a consequence of illness, bereavement, job loss or significant change which forces us (as it did the author Katherine May) to take a moment to be still and evaluate our lives.

Now that is the kind of retreat I could enjoy! Image: Jared Rice on Unsplash

It is not always a pleasant experience. In my case, a diagnosis of MS followed rapidly by breast cancer was a clear call from my body to take a rest. Living in the way I did was no longer an option and I would have to find another path forward. As someone of Tiggerish disposition, this was a bitter challenge. What? Sit still and let the world pass me by? Surely, I could push through the fatigue, the weakness, the anxiety and keep going. After all, one can’t do nothing!

In my usual practical way, I set about restoring my health with the cheerful delusion that I might somehow will myself into wellness. I embraced a challenging diet, learned to meditate, read copious books, studied languages, and exerted myself to my physical limits. As a consequence, busy days were followed by days of absolute lethargy, as my weary body tried to regroup. Hours were spent in bed or staring out the window in a kind of stupor. And I felt guilty, because lying down during daylight is lazy, isn’t it?

Well, no, not if you are ill.

And eventually, I came to terms with the fact that I was ill. With a degenerative disease and no cure in sight, ‘winter’ was something to which I would have to acclimatise.

Perpetual winter

There are still times when I resent this situation, but gradually, I am beginning to see the advantages.

My Herculean efforts to get well have not resulted in a miraculous recovery, but have meant that I have not got worse. I can still live independently, write, visit friends and do many things I love. They are just different things from before.

All the hours spent delving into my messy mind have helped to clarify my thinking, making me more understanding of others and compassionate to myself.

My world has shrunk significantly but ironically it feels more expansive. Spending time quietly observing, likes Donne’s lovers, ‘makes one little room an everywhere.’ My home, my garden, my local haunts hold any number of wonders – nature especially so, as its beauty shifts throughout the day and season.

Late winter afternoon at Crowlink Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

I left off writing this post to take the dog to the puppy park. It was cold and damp and the cloud lowered threateningly. It was the archetypal English winter day. For most of us, that would be miserable. Not so long ago, I would have concurred. Yet, I thoroughly enjoyed our amble.

The air was fresh and birdsong filled it. There was time to watch the sweep of the birds’ wings in the air; to smile at the kids on the swings next door; to smell that peculiar late afternoon earthy smell that always reminds me of the last moments of play before home-time as a child.

Hermione was sniffing her way around the perimeter and enjoying her outing. All was peaceful.

Park in winter Image: Karen Costello-McFeat

I had been struggling to know how to end this – to be neither dishonest nor vapidly optimistic. Do I wish that my wintering was a temporary affair and that my new found wisdom could be carried forward into a new life? Of course I do and I envy those who have recovered to do just that. But for me, winter is here to stay. There are times when it is bleak, but I also love its stark, raw honesty. And there is so much more to learn.