world of hurting things

I'm sitting slightly chilled in my parent's kitchen, watching sparrows bombard the two bird feeders outside the window in groups of twenty. It's raining and the sky is set in a timeless grey. I am listening to Sufjan's Carrie and Lowell over and over, and resting in a strange cold sweat and introspective mood. My left fingertips are telling me I've started to pick up my guitar a bit again, after a long long rest. I'm certainly not hydrated enough, as it seems I never can be. I was late taking my meds today and I'm paying for it, see the strange cold sweat mentioned above.

I'm contemplating life; a common pastime for me, though not always enjoyable as the definition of pastime suggests. And for the record, "contemplating life" is so stupidly generic and I already hate myself for not having better words. But the honest truth is I am sort of in a distant land right now. Maybe it's Sufjan. Maybe it's the rain and dark haze outside, maybe my constant state of being a little bit cold. But it definitely has to do with news from last night. A friend (we've never met in person, though we have mutual friends. We've been quietly following each others' blogs for over a year at least) and fellow BMT recipient has relapsed and this time the cancer is becoming resistant to treatment. A few months ago, he and their family were planning for a second transplant from an unrelated donor (his first donor was from his brother). But a transplant is only possible if chemo can do a lot of the work first. Chemo/radiation has to put the body into remission before a transplant is possible. Remission doesn't mean it won't return- especially with a blood cancer where your body has itself fundamentally mutated and actually produces cancer cells instead of healthy ones. Chemo has to work.

Their family (He, his wife and their two young daughters) had to face the decision of whether or not to proceed with treatment. Two days ago, on Thanksgiving, he started a final round of chemo, with hopes of a miracle. With people interceding all over the globe for this man, I am struck still with terror. It puts my own struggles into a tiny box as I contemplate the Terror their family is living through. And they keep going, somehow. Is it bravery, strength, necessity? This is a quote from his blog from Thursday, which is written mostly by his wife:

"We were given the choice yesterday whether or not to continue treatment. We've decided to go one more round. Ian checked back into UCSF and began a new regimen of chemo last night. If this puts him into remission, then a transplant is still possible. Otherwise, apart from a miracle, he will be left to survive on blood transfusions until he is no longer able to survive."

And so Terror descends. Why life seems to continuously and faithfully fall into one of these two categories: beauty and terror, I do not know. I do not know how Rilke could capture something so truthfully and with such simplicity. We all search for these little quips to live by: beautiful little sayings and quotes from great people that have the power change our perspective with a few simple words. And though I do not read German, I imagine that the lines from my life's mantra in their original language would be even more moving. But terror is terror. And I've had my share of it. But I place myself inside the imaginings of where their family now resides and I am lost. I do not know how to keep going. I have few words, just feeling that escapes illustration. I am afraid. Selfishly so, I must admit. This is the greatest fear of any person who's life has been altered by illness. The return. The unknowable and arbitrary non-reasoning behind it all. The switching of the lens, once again, through which you see the whole world. I want to pray, but I hardly know how to anymore. I whisper Help. But I don't know that anyone is listening, or if there is someone listening- if there is any power to stop chaotic and irrational happenings. Or why would this Someone choose me or you or him to save. To step in, here, now. When millions of people die every day. When people kill each other. When people kill each other and die because of arbitrary things. When we are all going to die someday anyway.

I'm trying to not sink into despair. And I'm not trying to belittle prayer or faith. I wish I had both. I whisper Help. If anything, I do not believe in closing doors. I don't mean to push or leave anyone in despair. I don't mean to condemn anyone with these words. I am attempting feeble honesty in such sorrow and fear. I try not to close doors. And prayer is an open, confusing door. In my mind I envision a ball of light, my arms holding out and being warmed and comforted and surrounded. But it is so difficult to hold that picture. It is difficult to believe in miracles. It is so difficult to try.

Shall we look at the moon, my little loon
Why do you cry?
Make the most of your life, while it is rife
While it is light
Well you do enough talk, my little hawk
Why do you cry?
Tell me what did you learn from the Tillamook burn?
Or the Fourth of July?
We're all gonna die.

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Should I tear my eyes out now?
Everything I see returns to you somehow
Should I tear my heart out now?
Everything I feel returns to you somehow
I want to save you from your sorrow

The only reason why I continue at all
Faith in reason, I wasted my life playing dumb
Signs and wonders: sea lion caves in the dark
Blind faith, God’s grace, nothing else left to impart

Do I care if I survive this, bury the dead where they’re found
In a veil of great surprises; hold to my head till I drown
Should I tear my eyes out now, before I see too much?
Should I tear my arms out now, I wanna feel your touch

Should I tear my eyes out now?
Everything I see returns to you somehow
Should I tear my heart out now?
Everything I feel returns to you somehow

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This album is a haunting gaze into grief. Every single song is a mysterious piece of humanity. Perhaps after enough repetitions it may finally have a cathartic affect, but right now I am just sitting inside its elegiac womb. I find myself having to lean on other people's words so much more than my own in times like this. It is my only prayer, for Ian, for myself, for this world of hurting things.