Just This Step, Just Now

Last night I walked up the hill and around the corner with my cane, taking myself out to sushi (alone) for the first time, and I found myself paying attention to every step I took on the not so even sidewalk.  It was like walking meditation:  first one step, place the cane, then another step, and of course be sure not to see yourself as this fragile being closing in on the end of life.  Rather think that you're a peaceful monk taking his evening walking meditation, each step keeping him mindful of his body, his practice, his life...  And, when you cross the street, keep your eyes not only on your steps, but also the comings and goings of automobiles.  I'm sure I will never again take for granted the act of walking across the street!   There's uncertainty, for sure, and then there's the memory of that night of June 15, of being flattened on the pavement in a fraction of a second.  I came close to a car as I approached the restaurant - it was running with someone in it, someone on her cell phone, and it was almost as though I could smell that trauma of two months ago.  How strong are our memories and sensory selves...
Playing the piano again with my young teacher I was returned by my senses to that comfortable cultured world I was so happily inhabiting before everything changed.  I again delighted in the sound of Bach under my fingers, and felt the joy that comes with being a transmitter of beauty.  My left hand is working fine, if a little weak and tentative at times.   It needs some extra attention.   I will do some Well Tempered Clavier pieces left handed as exercises to both relax and train that left side of my body.   So, even playing the piano can serve as physical therapy...
Am beginning to see more and more of the things I do these days as pieces of physical therapy, from the lifting of a cup of tea, putting on my new silver running shoes, or the filling up of the bird feeders with fresh new seed for my little wild friends....  And when I was at physical therapy yesterday and was being worked on quite forcefully, and all I wanted to do was scream out in pain and discomfort, I found these words to repeat to myself: "this is just discomfort, that is all. this will come and it will go."  A helpful choice.  It is ALL coming and going.... And as I take my monk's walk on these neighborhood streets in the days to come, I know I am becoming stronger in my 66 year old body, and in spirit too.  I am becoming more of who I am, who I have been all along.