slow to know.

a talk after talk with my brilliant friends.

over and over I hear that there is no right or wrong here.

there is no right answer.

D. tells me I'm "in the field."

What he means is: the field of ambivalence.

There is no way to win.

Either choice I make, ever made as a kid, had a consequence that hurt.

Choices, back then, were determined in an anxiety producing loop (similar to what I'm now experiencing) that distilled the question down to, "which choice will hurt less?"

never, "which choice will feel the best?".

It makes sense that I should feel so confused right now.

My dad is being kind and he has asked to see me. As far as I know, he has no memory of the cliffdrop and jawkick he executed barely a week ago.

And, though he might not remember, it is in my body's cells to keep it alive.

I am not mentally holding a grudge.

my mind can, in fact, see somewhat around this dilemma. Dementia.

It is my body that bears the burden.

So, when I mobilize to consider if I will drive my car tomorrow for 12 hours to see my father for one day before I get back in the car for another 12 hours, I almost immediately collapse.

the exhaustion and overwhelm is great.

great, in the sense of the word being vast and as full as the ocean great, not great as in supergoodness great.

I am so tired.

Talking with S. tonight, something finally settled.

I was hanging on the cliffedge with a swirl of panic and agoraphobia, very uncertain about making it to the next moment, when something somewhere like 30 minutes into our talk she began to speak about the illusion of time.

I had been talking about the grand urgency I felt.

I said I only needed more time to settle and sort this out, that for now, my body was clear in telling me I did not want to go.

She wisely pointed to it.

There.

We only have what our bodies are telling us. When we listen, we are safest. Things tend to work out without too much overwhelm. when we listen to what our bodies are telling us in each moment.

Now.

Now.

Now.

Urgency is a mind construct.

my panic that I have no time is an illusion.

If I override my body's impulse of the moment to hurry up and keep up, I am rushing past myself and knocking me down in the stampede of a crowd, in essence.

I need to remember this wisdom.

Whatever I do here, I have to slow down long enough to listen to my body.

IT knows what I need, more than anything else.

There is only this. only now.

Can I trust this, even in the speed of my father's life coming to its end?