Like Texas

My friend Jan said that this trip I'm now on makes her think of me riding across Texas. On my big bike ride, Texas seemed to go on forever. A full third of the ride was in that huge state. 19 days, I think. And as I think about that, I recall some important things about those days that are applicable to now:

Though it was a huge long state, some of my most dear memories happened there. And though it was long and hard, each day was not necessarily that way. In the midst of it all there was much beauty, warm and easy puffs of tailwind, fine times.

And that was where I crashed my bike. But the crash came with unexpected help from Nancy, who loaned me her bike and Michael, who spent a whole day getting mine repaired. And though I missed nine miles of riding that day, I DID get on my bike (Nancy's bike) and ride, injured but persistent. If I'd stopped I would not have been able to restart for a long time. I would have stiffened up in a big way. But because I got back on my bike, I was able to continue.

In Texas I rode the most I've ever ridden in one day. And though I really wanted to quit - a lot - I did not quit. I was completely spent by the end of the day, but I did ride, 12 hours, and I got back on my bike the next day and rode some more.

Today I feel pretty good. I do not have a stomach ache. I got a massage and my shoulders do not hurt very much. And I have some thoughts on how to approach my next treatment. In a meditation session this evening I was able to visualize a cleansing light coursing through my body, clearing away the cells that I don't want. I know this is harsh treatment, but I feel more able, knowing that I did, finally, reach the point of not feeling utterly horrible. I will go into the next treatment with a lighter spirit and I think it will be easier.

And finally, I watched a video about Ginny Ruffner, a glass artist from Seattle who I have admired for a number of years. At the height of her career she was in a horrible car accident and was in a coma for months. She did manage to come out of it but is still quite affected, physically. But she has an amazing spirit and she is continuing to create art; glass, sculpture, drawing, more. And she nearly died and is significantly handicapped, but has risen above it.

So, I feel, shall I.

Oh - and I got to practice something tonight. A friend said, "What stage are you?" and I got to say, "I'm working on Stage Zero!" Ha! No need to say more to anyone. I'm working on Stage Zero.

Good night.