There is an elation in coming out of surgery and discovering your eyes still see. And my friend Jane was entirely correct in her advice: I focussed on watching the colors and shapes as they worked on my left eye and then the right. It occupied my mind.
Plus the surgeon’s voice was cheerful and confident. My only disappointment was in having no glimpse of the actual machinery involved.
Look, Ma — No Glasses!
Yes, colors are clearer; the freshly-watered grass at the park sparkles; picket fences don’t wriggle and blur; stars are single points of light in the sky—all with no corrective lenses between me and the objects.
The down side is juggling different glasses between near work and the computer screen. And when I forget I’m wearing cheaters and swing my head around, the world warps and blurs until I pull the things off and want to throw them across the room.
Yes, yes, calm down. It’s all change and adjustments. I’ve been saying it from day one. But—
From elation at surviving surgery, I moved to a deep—for me—depression, because of not having the energy nor the vision to do My Work.
“The Guest House”
A favorite poem of mine is Rumi’s The Guest House.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness, . . .
Welcome and entertain them all!
On my walk, I welcomed my latest guest: the fear that I am losing my purpose in life.
I found myself experiencing a heavy chested, deep despair. In fact, the nearest equivalent is what my mother experienced after my father died.
Mom had lost her life’s purpose, her companion of 72 years. I was with her at the time, but I could not empathize so deeply until now. This morning, out of my own sense of loss, I moved into hers.
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of furniture,
I only have a month to six weeks before getting prescription lenses, when I can resume my “carefree” vision. And maybe my energy will return even sooner.
I need to stand back from my work and watch for the insights that come only when allowing space for a greater perspective, emotions and all.
Welcome. Enter!
Kate Harrington 