The Fall

It was a complete surprise, the fall. And a bit preposterous, as maybe all falls are. One foot got caught in the loose flow of my elephant pants (a customary souvenir from Thailand, and oh so wonderful to wear in lovely weather) then down I went, face first, fast and uncontrolled, landing prone on my cement floor. It was a shock, from the pain and from the flight. I lay there, unmoving, yelling out loud, and involuntarily. I feel the color black, a feeling of reeling and dizziness. I noticed, with the calm part of my brain, a disappointment that neither my bold cat nor my shy dog came running with concern or curiosity. Fair weathered friends, indeed.

It took me some time to roll onto my back, and when I did, pain ripped through my chest. I had landed directly, it seemed, on my heart. My left hand and my right foot throbbed with a sharpness I could not avoid (there was nowhere to run to that wasn’t my own body) but it was my heart, and the soft meat of my breast that were excruciating.

After a while I was able to move. Slowly, painfully I got up, and standing, accessed my state. I wanted to lie down more comfortably, until the pain passed. I contemplated, briefly, and then somehow, with my good hand, I dragged the futon I had just aired out into my study, turned on a youtube travel documentary and lay on the floor. All well and good, I thought. Except that I could not move again. The darned documentary droned on and on and remained intrusively as a backdrop to every thought since I could no longer get up to turn it off. It was then that my animals came. My dog, who gently placed her paw on my chest, but slipped away when I screamed. My cat, eyes wide with surprise if not concern, a bit of the wild beast in her face, but sharing my shock, I think, and wondering at my odd noises.

After an hour or two, I texted a friend of mine, a doctor, and asked her what I should do. Very kindly she called, and then came over. When a second friend came over, they were able to help me get up, but not before a brief discussion about the possibility of a broken rib and maybe even the need for an ambulance. But once vertical, I felt in control again. My odd loss of power coupled with my bafflement, as one used to guiding situations finally yielded. I felt only a kind of body-based question: what happened?

In one way, the answer is fairly obvious. I tripped. Not all that surprising or uncommon. My body seemed to be vibrating at a dull, low thrill. Spasm, my friend said. My mind, noticing calmly, accessing, accessing; bewildered. And yet the moment; the strange flight into the horizontal is not unexpected. We all sense, I suspect, our trajectory as we age. Down we will go, slowly, or fast, in a moment or over time, until we rest prone, surrendered, defeated and yielding. Our body knows how to do this very well. We do, too, I suspect, at some level.

In a strange way, I do not mind at all. I am not resentful. I am overwhelmed by the miracle of life. I always felt that the most convincing argument offered by the Christians for the presence of God as the source is simply what is. How? we wonder, and why? Any answer has always been unfathomable to me except this one, one offered by my teacher. You are the occasion of the Self coming to see itself in you.

Back to art. Chosen colors? A happy accident? Or the direct translation of experience onto the page. Falling, black, purple, rising, shock, spring. Thank you.

Namaste

PS. I am ok. I damaged connective tissue but no ribs. A lesson in attentiveness.