to begin where I am

I suppose this could be a fruitful way to conduct myself; what with my newfound inordinate amounts of time spent alone and somewhat aimlessly. To be honest though, to catalog this experience seems a monster.  What to add from the past two months? Where to begin? Hey I'm Bekah, I'm 25, I have a weird leukemia--

I am reminded of the words from the attendant-spirit pen of Czeslaw Milosz, "to begin where I am". It is the title of a collection of essays concerning his life and also his witness of the events of twentieth century Europe. He begins the volume with the sentence "I am here." It does not explain anything. It gives no excuse. It doesn't have to be an eternal "here" or even an existential "here". It points to a moment of existence. Here. Right there. I like that. I feel that it is the best I can do.

Some days I feel like laughing the hell out of this thing, and believe you me: I am collecting cancer jokes for the comedy that I am writing/living (stay tuned). Some days I'm ready to just beat this thing, real quick-- brb just gotta beat cancer. Some days I look at my arms and legs and stomach veins in the mirror and wonder at its being trapped inside my body. Some days I can't seem to get out of bed, or my house, or read another damn page of some damn book because I'm tired of confinement, and I'm not even on real lock-down yet. And some days I feel content with the beauty of the world. All I can do is begin exactly where I am. I need to experience my life, as preciously as I can- but fully in the way that it comes to me. My mortality is staring me in the face. I do my best to stare back, to laugh and live and dance in spite of its ability to incite fear. But the reality is, this could kill me. Reading this, my loved ones may be thinking this is morbid and unhelpful. But I can't ignore it. Though I don't think it's helpful to dwell on the fact, I don't want to face all of the uncertainties of living and dying and beyond when suddenly faced with a bad probability. Right now the prognosis seems good. But we live upon an uncertainty, an unknown--and for me it feels all the more insubstantial and unalterable. There are steps to be taken, planets to align, things have to fall into place just so... One day at a time.

Perhaps tomorrow I will update and fill in more of the plan going forward. I will laugh more and joke and accept and cherish. Perhaps someday soon cancer will not be the raging and singular thought in my mind. I know I am more than this, little disease. But it's consuming and scary, some days more than others. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Today, these are my musings.

When this whole thing began two months ago, one of the very first things I thought of (and has carried me through times past already; and into the future, on and on forever amen) is another quote: this one from my brother Rilke (Book of Hours | 59). It breathes the same air as Milosz's bit.

Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror.
Just keep going. No feeling is final.