In this dark room
Where light lamps me sore
Salt and steel
You waft the tide
Drawing its flow
Cradling its ebb the creeping healing
That shades our burning eyes
From the blinding flash of the sudden
And tunes our ears to the throb of earth
Swollen livid muscles glutted with pain
Feel the silk touch of your gentling
Nerve-wrack weak
You catch my stumbled weight
On the lavendered linen-cool of care
Beyond my crozzled corners
The synapses out of sync
Your steady warm word whispers “Home”
Lord, where I am unsteady
Ground me.
Where I am burning,
Cool me.
Where I am fragile glass
Strengthen me
Where I am weak
Be my quiet strength
Pacemaker
Pace me at your steady step
Soothe and strengthen
Through the bloodshot dark.
Dearest friend
ReplyDeleteI was only away 2 weeks and in that time, you've started this wonderful blog.
We've never talked about our 'm.e'. I didn't want to ask when yours started, or have our renewed friendship based on illness - but having read what you've written I cried. I really did.
I understand the frustration, the wanting to hit out and be better. I too want to embrace life once again, with energy, with expectancy, with fullness of life.
I didn't know how yours started. LIke you mine was misdiagnosed for over 20 years. Probably the bought of glandular fever my first term at Leicester - but I can see signs of it even before then.
Trauma at 40 brought it to life and now rather than having the occasional day or week or two with illness, it the other way round - the occasional day of wellness
yet - there are benefits. I know you see them because you're looking
together we SEE what others are too busy and miss. We see the birds, we hear the sound of the wind, we listen to the silence of the night and we experience the heartbeat of the Father in the midst of it all
Writing keeps me sane and on the days when it's just too tiring - like right now I just can't seem to get round to editing my book, which I really should - well, I can put it aside knowing it'll still be there and I will get there, just a bit slower, a bit wiser, hopefully a lot kinder
And of course, we have time to listen - even to the silent cries of the many broken lives moving on around us
So thank you for writing, making this available. I can now be praying, knowing when you are having bad days and be honest about my own.
I still think you are amazing, oozing with the compassion of the love of God and optimism and wit in the midst of it all.
My grammar, typing, spelling and punctuation have all gone out of the window because today the hands aren't coordinating properly with the brain - but does it really matter......
Hi Kathy,
ReplyDeleteThanks for all you're sharing and please feel my prayers and hugs winging your way as always, singing through the fog!
I started this new blog on an impulse, as M.E.tends to raise its gurning head in "Pinwheels & Rainbows" so often, I thought it might be more helpful to have a space for reflections about the illness separately while it's still so misunderstood and stigmatised by some "enlightened" souls! (Just like T.B. was, back in the day, when sufferers were rolled out into the sun and wind with almost military discipline as hypochondriac "neurasthenics" who just needed to get out more!!!).
This leaves my "Pinwheels" blog for writing and nature-related bloggery - though I know the nature part could also do with a blog of its own! I just haven't the energy at the mo to keep too many plates spinning. Less striving, more snuggling into the Father's arms, I guess! He has a place in all our writing, of course!
I've now deactivated my Twitter account - it was too frantic for me, skittering on the surface and just an extra drain to fall behind with! XXX