The Wild Zone

 I am waiting for myself. I am waiting for something, some place to reveal itself where I can be me, a singular me, brave and free, wild - how I love this word - untamed, feminine, a woman of a certain age. I will not claim wisdom or experience. 

I have had my bursts of wildness and they have been exhilarating and terrifying. I felt as if I was jumping into a void, not knowing where I would land. I want another burst. Will I land on soft or hard ground, into light or dark? I wish for some beautiful place, an Oz of sorts - bright flowers, gold and gold dust, diamonds and pearls, emeralds and rubies everywhere - a walk down the yellow brick road. Fanciful. I do not want to think of a cold, dark, horrible space with growls and roars where I might be some beast's dinner. The only beast that I want to hear roar is me, without reserve, I'd like to do a little dance, without inhibition because at my age, I don't want to give a fuck. Yet, I don't want to offend anyone (or so I think at this moment). 

I want another wild person to mirror me, encourage me, challenge me. I want to soar, fly without measuring distance. I do not want to be careful. I do not want to feel obligated. I want to be kind. I want those I love to know that I love them. I want to be original, not a copycat. I want to love what I am doing, no holding back, no embarassment, just a wonderful acceptance of self, a permission to be.

How do I begin? I have already begun. I don't want to think that I'm at death's door - that's how I've been feeling for the last two years but enough is enough. I don't want to spend the rest of my life preparing for death. I want to move a little quicker. I want to magically be able to sing and not told to shut my mouth. I want to do something, more than one thing, that I've never done before. I want more fresh air, more sunshine, more art. I would like to sweep in front of my house. I would like to cook better meals for myself. I would like to ask more questions.

Am I asking for too much? I will not apologize. 

My life

 “I have been increasingly conscious, for the last 10 years or so, of deaths among my contemporaries. My generation is on the way out, and each death I have felt as an abruption, a tearing away of part of myself. There will be no one like us when we are gone, but then there is no one like anyone else, ever. When people die, they cannot be replaced. They leave holes that cannot be filled, for it is the fate — the genetic and neural fate — of every human being to be a unique individual, to find his own path, to live his own life, to die his own death.

“I cannot pretend I am without fear. But my predominant feeling is one of gratitude. I have loved and been loved; I have been given much and I have given something in return; I have read and traveled and thought and written. I have had an intercourse with the world, the special intercourse of writers and readers.

Above all, I have been a sentient being, a thinking animal, on this beautiful planet, and that in itself has been an enormous privilege and adventure.”—Oliver Sacks.

I am filled with gratitude. I had an operation yesterday for my hernia. It was a little scary - all the protocol at the hospital - but everyone was so kind, especially the male nurse who put the needle in my hand and the anaesthetist who said he was putting the potion in the tube and a mask on my face. Breathe deeply, he instructed. I disappeared on the fourth breath and woke up in the recovery room. Soon after, I was wheeled back to my little room where Brendan was waiting. I faded in and out of consciousness until I was told that I could dress and go home. Voila. I can see the tiny scar above my navel. No bump. It's been tucked back in place. 

I had a restless sleep but am told that it is the result of the anaesthetic. I don't mind. The feared operation is over and now I can get on with my life. Fingers crossed. 

I've fallen in love with PÁDRAIG Ó TUAMA. This poem is called "Facts of Life":

That you were born/ and you will die.

That you will sometimes love enough/ and sometimes not.

That you will lie/ if only to yourself.

That you will get tired.

That you will learn most from the situations/ you did not choose.

That there will be some things that move you/ more than you can say.

That you will live/ that you must be loved.

That you will avoid questions most urgently in need of/ your attention.

That you began as the fusion of a sperm and an egg/ of two people who once were strangers/ and may well still be.

That life isn’t fair.

That life is sometimes good/ and sometimes better than good.

That life is often not so good.

That life is real/ and if you can survive it, well,/ survive it well

with love/ and art/ and meaning given/ where meaning’s scarce.

That you will learn to live with regret./ That you will learn to live with respect.

That the structures that constrict you/ may not be permanently constraining.

That you will probably be okay.

That you must accept change/ before you die/ but you will die anyway.

So you might as well live

and you might as well love.

You might as well love.

You might as well love.