Whispered Hospital Tones

As night neared, the hospital began to transform.
The gift shop lights faded, the doors locked and the subtle music hushed.
The Admissions waiting room for scheduled surgeries is now empty - closing as the last credits of Oprah run on the screen.
I sit here waiting and watching - listening to the repetitive news on a TV whose channel can't be changed. The stories blare on about how the world and its people are out of control.
The surgeons with their big watches walk to their cars as the nurses arrive for their evening shifts.
I study the worried faces of those surrounding me - all of us holding our breaths for some word of our loved ones.
I sit here now, the last one waiting; over five hours I've watched people come and go as my life has stood still. Some leave with balloons, and others linger for a lonely cab ride.
Earlier today, I pushed an elderly woman's wheelchair to the restroom - she'd been left on her own to wait while her daughter went shopping. She didn't know what to think of me, she had an alertness about her as she tried to figure out what I wanted. I returned her back to her space on the carpet and walked back to my seat, aware of the strange looks from others.
Now, sitting here alone, I wait for word. After-work visitors begin to arrive for those who have been checked-in awhile.

This day has been a depiction of compassion and obligation.
Whispered tones trying to understand the fate of those they love.

Cloths of Indifference

As she spoke I gently began
To wrap my heart
In cloths of indifference and apathy
Reminded once again
To hide my weakness
From someone so close to me
Yet so far away.

Safe Mode

Last week I was working feverishly on a new project that has taken over my life. I had worked hours upon hours trying to figure out every angle, every predictable occurrence surrounding this project. In the middle of exhaustive typing and research, my computer started acting quirky. Every second or third letter that I typed did not show up on the screen, and I began to get frustrated. Next, the sentences on the screen started disappearing, on their own, line by precious line. I panicked and hit the save button, strange noises could be heard, but it did stop deleting and saved what was left of my material. I slammed my hand down on the desk, angry that so much of my consumed time and effort appeared to be lost. I took a few deep breaths and restarted the computer.

As the startup screen appeared, I attempted to log on with my password, but no letters could be typed. Anxiety was running rampant through my veins, and my head started to feel light. Why was this happening? I logged in through another entrance without a password and a message appeared, indicating that I was holding down the Control button and asking me if I wanted to work in Safe Mode. I couldn’t understand this, I punched the Control button three times trying to make it release, but to no avail. I pulled the button off the keyboard, cleaned and replaced it, but no improvement. So, much to my chagrin, I worked a little in Safe Mode, then restarted the computer again, hoping for a miracle.

Waiting for the computer to reboot, I took a few more deep breaths, trying to relax the building tension. It is then when I finally got the message -- it was so clear, why did it take me so long to understand? I was holding down the control button – the CONTROL button. Not literally, but figuratively. And why was I doing this? To operate in SAFE MODE. You see, that’s how I feel safe, when I am trying to fool myself that I am in control of the world around me and every possible situation I might encounter. There’s security in predictability. It’s part of being a calculated risk taker (shouldn’t that be an oxymoron?). I feel that if I can control all factors surrounding a situation, then I can predict the outcome, thus reducing the risk. It’s an insane theory, I realize this, but it hasn’t stopped me from doing it year after year. The thing is, I know better. I know that by having a tight grasp on something and trying to force its direction is a sure indication of failure and frustration, and yet, I don’t realize that I am in the middle of this behavior until I am failing and frustrated. At this point, it’s time to make a decision.

Do I continue as is and push through this minor setback with double the force to ensure I get past it? Or do I just let go? Sounds simple doesn’t it? Once again, while in the middle of this type of behavior, I develop impaired judgment. It’s a struggle for me to just let go, but my higher wisdom got the best of me this time and I did. As usual, it was the right thing to do. A few hours later, I had quite an inspiration, an idea much better than anything I had produced before, and as Divine Wisdom would have it, something much easier and enjoyable than what I had been creating. Sometimes the hardest and easiest thing to do is just to let go and let things happen – to stop getting in the way of ourselves by trying to feel safe while holding down the control key.

Discarded Choices

I learn more about myself from what I throw out than by what I choose to keep. By sloughing off items that no longer serve me, I am able to view how I have changed. THAT is no longer me. I am now THIS. Some items I was not able to part with a year ago are now easily thrown in the Give Away pile. A depiction is made of what I was ready for then, and what I am ready for now. Perhaps a year ago I still clung to notions that weren’t quite me anymore but couldn’t yet be replaced by whom I was choosing to be. For today, with the blessing of a full moon, items easily leave me and find a path to the next person, readily awaiting their appearance.

Thread of Me

I took a gulp of cold wine
And felt it chill my throat and chest.
Picking at pieces of my life
Like stray threads of yarn
Unraveled from a warm sweater.
Searching for a loose thread
I viewed each facet of me
There has to be some logic
Some system to this insanity.