Dancing in the Dragon's Jaws

Extrude

Expect

Expiate

Explain

Excruciate

Excellent

“The point of religion is to remind us that we are a temporary expression of a subtler and connected electromagnetic realm unknowable on our narrow bandwidth of consciousness. The defining principle is oneness, not division, not opposition. Regard geometry: circles, spheres, spirals. From the subatomic realm to Jupiter and beyond, not a single right angle or square to be found. We are fractally dissolving and reconfiguring into infinite oneness; harmonize it here, now, ‘on earth as it is in heaven.’”

Yesterday I spent hours on the phone to our medical provider - and being really professional and kind yet firm the whole time - saying names dates and times so they understand I’m documenting all this - to get the proper referral for DH to see an orthopedist about rotator cuff surgery.

They tell me we can schedule the appointment after they call me Monday morning. I do not believe they will call me Monday morning. But I do believe I will be politely standing on someone’s desk making the request if it isn’t met by Monday afternoon.

He has been on pain meds, and they added Cymbalta to the mix which made his brain fuzzy, and he was getting no where fast, and he asked me to help. There seems to be no more case management in medicine, we have to manage our own.

I got caught in a vortex of who I should call about this, being referred from one department to another to another to another, until I ended up back at some of the initial people I spoke with saying, “But they said to call you.” Two of the people actually sit next to each other, although they are identified by different geographic locations, and I got them to actually speak to each other to sort things out. Every phone call, mind you, results in encountering a Phone Tree, and one must wait until all the Options have been Stated before making a selection, or be kindly chastised to please listen to all of the options before selecting, even if you know your option in advance. This gets you to another recording with more Options. This gets you to another recording that requests you enter the Medical Number of the Patient. Then you get put on hold where the same annoying Option Voice Provider explains all of the wonderful ways to Get Care! On Line! On the Phone! Text! Email! Virtually anyway but in person! Then an Actual Person comes on the line and they ask for the Medical Number of the Patient (again), ask several confirming identification questions, and how may they assist you. Then you get to retell the story which is becoming slightly more dramatic with each retelling. Then they put you on hold while they research the issue. Then they come back on and tell you who to call instead. Then they ask if there’s anything else I need, and you tell them, “No, just the referral for my husband who is in horrible pain and really needs a referral.”

First, presence.

Look at the small details in the big broad strokes.

Ask questions.

Wait a bit.

Breathe.

Sort mindfully, discern.

Arrange space with intention.

Listen.

Feel.

Create meaning.

Punchin’ Shadows             by Lynn Hicks

Feeling smoky Burnt down the well This morning I needed to tell you And now the day’s gone by Wasted punchin’ shadows

I’m sad About drinking too much And it’s sadness makes me drink I can’t see you for the smoldering So I punch shadows.

Chorus: Spark down the stone Make the dance live Spark down the stone Shadow dancer.

I love watching the green tea leaves unfurl

Tidal movement

Pulling

Rooting

I pull my wound close Like a favorite old shirt Ignore the stains and frayed spots Tell myself I am safe from Dragons who disregard Trolls who look away. This is my armour. Armour so heavy it weighs me down Earths me. I cannot move beneath her weight. So I lay quietly, loving my old shirt, And she begins to sing. See me, Feel me, Touch me, Heal me…. …Just like in that rock opera, Tommy, by the Who, and my mind ping pongs around elaborate operatic productions until I am Earthed again By my wound My armour. So I lay quietly, loving myself and my old shirt, And she begins to sing A wordless song Of fiery dragons and treasure Of grace and honey bees So I hang up my dear old wound on a branch Plant flowers at her feet. Make soup and biscuits. Wait for the tide to rise. And I set sail with the dragons with the trolls with the honey bees with my heart.

I exploded into life on May 22, 1952, shooting across the room into the waiting arms of a surprised nurse who wrapped me up, stuck me in a baby bin, and made sure I was fed and rocked at regular intervals until Mama came to.  George Leon Ketchum had arrived squirmy screaming and bloody – named George for my father and his, Leon for my mother’s dad. My Daddy was out to dinner when I arrived.  He returned to learn the truth about me and went back out to drink.  The next day he delivered the bad news to my still groggy mother and they commiserated over their bad luck, deciding to make do with Georgia Lynn.

They always called me Lynn, though, because Georgia just screamed “not George”.

I grew up most of the way in the Rogue River valley.  Our play yard was vast, consisting of rivers, creeks, meadows, pastures, orchards, fields and wild forests. My best playmates were big sister Janet (the first family disappointment) and our beloved black lab mix named Blackie.  When Dad went to hit us we could dive for the dog, and he’d growl and bare his teeth.  After awhile Daddy figured out to tie up the dog first.

I am a grandmother. Waited a long time for this. Practiced a lot. It is a good kind of person to be. Eli's grandmother. He is so beautiful. Rosy, sweet, soft, present. A rumble of physicalness in flow. He's so overtaken by a sneeze, a sound, a fart, and nursing - godsmacked by nursing.

My child is such a great mother. Relaxed, real, a little anxious, a lot falling in love with her child.