January 10, 2015

What you hear on the winding path

Facebook has reminded me that I have not posted an update of Segev for 41 days. What is there to post about, I wonder. A moment’s smile? A distant dream? While this blog is merely an empty echo with the occasional instinctual spasm of pride and hope.

What I have to report is that pain and stupor have become my son’s mainstay. That pneumonia is not measured by the number of recurring events but rather as a constant permutation; either mild, our 'staved', or ‘severe’. Presently, once again it is severe and intravenous antibiotics are little more than a bet placed on the roulette wheel. So it might surprise you then to note, in the following paragraph, that I do not feel weighed down by the future, even if the ‘F’-word, Futility, creeps ever closer to the entrance of my vocabulary. I honestly did not believe, with the experiences of this past year, to see my son alive in 2015. But on to the next paragraph:

Those grand vistas, as seen in the Lord of the Rings films, where strong willed individuals traverse a dangerous mountain pass, encompasses the dramatic image of a mythic journey many of us can relate to.  As I am standing on the precipitous trail, I am afforded no sense of ease or assurance as bits of rock and gravel are shuffled over the edge and disappear into a seemingly endless abyss. I can’t recall the feelings along the long way I’ve traveled; only images remain whose veracity is constantly called into question. Their relevance at any rate, equally dubious.  Up ahead lies the meandering path that may lead to false peaks and I am certain I do not want to climb any higher, because the mountain top is not my goal. Who, indeed, can say that scaling that mountain would be an achievement worth boasting of. And the truth is, of course, that the precipice, the path and the summit are all one, because it is in each step we take that we define our experience as a journey. Where it will lead is not known, (and so I do not know why I am here) but as I gingerly traverse the precarious causeway I know it will lead to decisions that define the place of both ‘good’ and ‘bad’ in my life, embracing the mythical nature of this journey.

Life can have a vengeful sweetness to it, as I prefer to see it, rather than a conglomeration of unfortunate elements that demean, lay waste to our beliefs and leave us in ruin. I’ve only realized this recently when I heard the following words, uttered by no one, echo in my head; “You have not let down your son.”
I can’t overstate how strong the feeling was that accompanied hearing those words, not of accomplishment or relief, but of confidence. Not a personal confidence mind you, as though henceforth all my decisions would necessarily be the right ones. Rather a sense of proportion borne of that natural sequence of events which have seen my rage, against the physical deterioration my son has suffered since birth, placed on that path high in the mountains, breathing rarefied air, understanding that the summit is not my goal, the abyss is not to be feared and the path is only as important as each moment that I am alive with my traveling companions.

And as a reward for your dutiful reading, a moment of bliss:

1 comment:

  1. May the path bring you to a high mountain meadow, and deep peace.