Hitting Bedrock

We live our lives avoiding hitting bedrock. That is why our plans continue to fall through into the nothingness that they are.

We have a shovel but we keep it in the shed. We hope that we can get by without having to use it.

Bedrock is a mystery best kept under lock and key. It might hurt worse than we are hurting now.

It seems to be rock bottom, the very opposite of what we want our lives to look like. Society tells us to tame our wild hair and apply dye to fool others who are doing the same thing.

So we have a world of cool-looking people that simply refuse to carry a shovel.

And then something happens beyond our control. The devil pays us a visit and the angel on our shoulder is called away. We see clearly how foolish all human effort is.

When I was in the hospital I was hooked up to an I.V. For a couple of days, I had to do #1 and #2 every 15 minutes! At some point, I was doing #3, but this cannot be scientifically proved. The I.V. pole did not want to hurry as much as I needed it to. It was quite comical to see me racing between the bed and the bathroom dragging the pole. I was yelling into the intercom for more ointments, more underwear, more this, more that!

And more than one person on the staff remarked on how good I looked to be so sick. I guess I am just indestructible. When I got home I had a major meltdown. I hit bedrock and it hurt like hell. So this is who I am and who I am not when they come together and kablooey! All that repressed rage had to be expressed before I could begin to heal.

My voice is still raspy weeks out from the initial virus. If Christmas comes, I will barely make note of it.

I hope to God I don’t return to normalcy. It was worse than the virus, although it looked good in principle.

I saw how out-of-control my control-freak is. She needs to take a breath, one that allows her to die into her true nature.

What will it take? Where is bedrock? Look around. You won’t find it outside of yourself.

Vicki Woodyard