Writer Body and Soul

For the past several years, through the grind of medical school, residency and now physicianship, I thrived off of solar energy. I prided myself on being a sunflower, showing people only the best parts of me. I followed the sun through the sky, trying to soak up every minute of daylight. I drank espressos and ran through cotton fields in the middle of blistering summer afternoons. I liked the fire burning hot and fast.

Despite my love affair with fire, it still burns when I touch it. I find myself crispy around the edges at work. Compassion fatigue has started to creep in by the end of the day. I notice an angst and irritability when I’m around others. Honestly, my mind feels a bit manic and frantic, constantly moving from one thing to the next. I have hot flashes at night and dreams turn into nightmares. I suffer from migraines and my right knee hurts every time I run. Worst of all, regardless of how hard I try to move the wheels of this vile machine, I find myself inconceivably — and incontestably — stuck.

Therefore, in order to move forward with my story, I must move backwards. Memories provide meaning for the future. The things I learned yesterday inform my experiences today, which is a day I’ve never seen. The possibility of tomorrow guides my current actions. I set my sights on a vision of the future, and one step at a time, I move out of the past and into the present. This timeless connection allows my story to unfold in a series of reflections. As Tristram says, “in a word, my work is digressive, and it is progressive too,—and at the same time.”

While my body in its current form has no direct recollection of the beginning of time, I suspect a subtle part of my collective conscious has a connection to that cosmic energy. I imagine the Big Bang as a serendipitous moment — a tiny sub-atomic spark that continues to ripple across the universe like lightening in slow motion. In that infinite energy field, sometimes, life happens. I exist somewhere suspended in that static electricity, bound to a magnetic marble floating through space. Time is an illusion created by fools.

In the beginning was the Void —

Vast, endless, and uncharged,

In perfect balance and harmony,

Lifeless

What was that moment like?

The moment space decided to move

And stars began to sparkle

Creation

More recent than the beginning of time, yet far before primitive technology, an ancient version of myself walks through a forest on a beautiful sunlit afternoon in spring. I’m foraging berries, herbs, and mushrooms when suddenly the skies darken. A coolness sweeps over me, and I wish I had brought my cape. I look to the sky, and through the leaves, I see a black mass surrounded by a radiant ring. It’s like nothing I have ever seen. I have no memories to explain my current experience. No framework on which to stand. My mind cannot perceive what it is seeing, so it tries to fill in the blind spot. The sun has become a black hole.

I see doom first. Panic grips me. A part of my animal brain screams. Something deeply subconscious, instinctual and wild, let’s go. The cawing and cackling of the birds are maddening. A rabbit chases a fox away.

Confusion comes next. Seconds pass as if an eternity. My mind glitches. It has severed itself from my body, as I stare in awe of the glowing black mass. If the sun no longer exists, then surely I no longer exist either. I have known the sun for as long as I have know myself.

A magician must have cast a spell to steal the sun, playing a trick on the forest. I wonder if I ate a mushroom with mysteries properties. I must have fallen asleep, and this is all a dream. Indeed, this can’t be realty but merely an illusion.

Yet, curiosity builds. I’m definitely awake. In fact, I’m still breathing too. I must still be alive, and the sun must still be in the sky. I can see it sparkle behind the hole. It is as if it is hiding behind an orb. Not a hole, but an orb. The orb takes its time, letting its shadow linger over me for several minutes.

Slowly, ever so gently, it moves forward to the time after. Then quite suddenly, I experience a moment of awakening. A veil lifts, and I can see again. My mind fills in the blind spot with an image of the moon. It’s the only other circle in the sky large enough to block out the sun.

Sun, Earth, and Moon dance through the cosmic clouds of space and time. The Sun Sister radiates warmth and light, inviting transformation through the seasons. The Moon Sister reflects change, influencing the ebb and flow of tides. The Earth Sister nurtures the abundance of life, providing the nutrient-rich chyme needed for birth, growth, and decay. The whirling energy of the Three Sisters — dazzling Sun, radiant Moon, and darling Earth — creates the balance needed to sustain life.

The sun isn’t moving, rather I’m spinning. I’m also circling the sun while the moon circles me. Meanwhile, all these other planetary marbles are circling the sun with their own little moons circling them. Though my mind accepts cosmic energy extends beyond my little solar system, it starts to get fuzzy around the edges. It disappears into the void.

I think back to the last several days. In a slow flow across the sky, the moon reveals phases of itself throughout the month. The moon was getting progressively smaller, rising in the early morning hours, and preparing to disappear from the sky for a few nights before beginning its cycle anew again. The next time I expected to see the moon, it would be a small sliver in the evening sky. However, in a fleeting moment of alignment between the three Sisters, I had witnessed the moment of transformation, as the moon shifted from digression to progression. In order to see the dark side of the moon, it had to hide the brightness of the sun. It’s shadow became its power.

Today is the total solar eclipse super moon in Aries. It is a powerful day for extra-planetary forces, and I plan to use this energy to step into my own power. I breathe because of this cosmic energy in motion. Each inhale and exhale is an exchange of energy with the universe itself. I am powerless to change the face of the moon or the path of the sun, and yet I exist. The power of the universe exists within me because I am made from it.

I am an embodiment of nature.

I am that.

Earth, Moon, and Sun.

I am all of that.

Totality.

I stare at my own shadow, contemplating my relationship with the moon. Different aspects are for different days, yet it’s always the same moon. I too can create a different rhythm for my life. I tell Bear about my revelation, “I feel a transformation rising. I feel this cosmic energy building. It’s a power that is radiating across the solar system.”

“I can hear this hum,” he says.

“That’s the sound of these huge stones rolling past each other in space,” I say.

“I thought it was just my tinnitus.” Bear rubs his ear, opening and closing his jaw a few times.

“I plan to use this super charged energy to power my will to love and to light.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not quite sure yet, but it’s going to be big.” I expand my hands out in front of me, flashing him my palms with a flourish to emphasize just how big it’s going to be.

Bear lets out a yawn. “How about we start by going on vacation?”

“I like that idea much better. Where do you want to go?” I ask him.

“Let’s go to the mountains.” Bear says.

“Let’s go to the ocean.” I say.