The winter solstice is a time for celebration and reflection…or just another moment in time. Or, perhaps, it is a period of acknowledgement and wonder about the occasional predictability of the universe. I’ve always been mildly intrigued by the winter solstice, but not sufficiently entranced by it to devote serious attention to it. Many of us here on Earth ascribe all sorts of meaning to the event. If I weren’t so lackadaisical, I might allow myself to explore it more thoroughly, too. But I tend not to ascribe meaning to any natural events. Natural events are just…natural events. They may be coincident with other events, but coincidence does not translate into cause and effect. Yet rationality can get in the way of whimsical enjoyment; so I might try to buy into ideas about meaningful relationships between the solstice and certain spiritual connections. Or maybe not. Now is not a particularly good time for irrational escapism for me.
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I woke at 3:30 to pee. As I stood in front of the toilet to do my thing, a drop of bright red blood dripped onto my white t-shirt. Another nose bleed. Thirty minutes later, the crimson flood had finally stopped. While I waited for the flow of blood to cease, I wandered into my office to explore what my computer might share with me. David Brooks (an opinion columnist for the New York Times), whose conservative-leaning political perspectives often are at odds with mine, is an extraordinarily talented writer. And he is a deep thinker whose words often spur me to think deeply about issues that I otherwise might give only a passing thought. One such set of words may be found in his December 19 column, entitled The Shock of Faith: It’s Nothing Like I Thought It Would Be. I will not try to describe how it influenced my perspectives on faith, spirituality, and religion; but I encourage readers of this blog to set aside some time (it’s fairly long) to read it.
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My hands and feet are cold…deeply and uncomfortably cold. I would feel much warmer and more comfortable if I were back in bed, but the potential of another nosebleed is too great to risk a blood-letting on the sheets. So, I sit at my desk, giving my fingers the freedom to grouse about my discomfort. Later, when mi novia awakens, I will take a shower. The warm water will be a welcome solution to my frigid phalanges. Humidity in the shower might release another torrent from my runny nose, but at least the running water will wash it away as quickly as the stream flows. Soon after I shower, my sister-in-law will come for her regular Sunday morning coffee visit. Then, she will give me a ride to the cancer clinic for my radiation treatment; a Sunday rarity that’s scheduled to accommodate Christmas holiday closures later in the week. On my return home, I suspect I will get back in bed. I’ve spent most of the last several days sleeping, probably in response to the fatigue caused by radiation treatments. One day, perhaps, I again will stay awake for an entire day.
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Mi novia was not feeling well on Friday, so I asked a friend at literally the last minute to give me a ride to my radiation and IV fluid appointments. She readily agreed, despite the fact it was so late and would require her to carve three hours or more from her schedule to do it. Good friends are the epitome of kindness, generosity, and caring. Good friends willingly drop everything to help when needed. Being close to good friends does not begin to describe the relationship; the relationship is, in fact, one of love. There was a time, not so very long ago, I would have avoided using the word, love, to describe such relationships. I have learned, finally, that is the only word that fits.
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It’s nearing 5:30. My nose is no longer bleeding. I may give the warm bed another shot, after all. As long as I’m up and in the shower by 7:30, all should be well.
