Meaning is not a validation of your beliefs or values, nor does it reside on a clear plain of quid pro quo, detectable by eye or ear. Approach obliquely, searching for the perfect angle, the merging of timelessness with eternal as it whispers closer from undiscovered shores. Search the second beyond a lifetime for the alchemy of revelation, for it is there, patiently awaiting the barren luminosity of a crisp, moonless night.
Bereft thinking, bare of time’s sand, cheery vision plays to the hum of nature’s tender siren. Lured forth by the twinkle in the castaway’s eye, lids flutter and frolic in parky night sky. Unsettled senses, contrived consequence the eager teacher, dash the scene with silent ransom until vanished in daylight’s forged confidence.
Backscattered morning darkness, barren in radiant glow, languishes resonant in emotive meaning. Dawn breaks, dispelling the night calm under the hypnosis of the sun. Eyes sparkle in abstinent wonder, cleared and vibrant, free of conspiratorial pettiness, wallowing beyond sensibility into the enchantment of miracles.
To walk in the fullness of morning, absent the forgiveness of knowing, lightens the earthly burden. Watch from a distance for ego’s dark eye, peeking from behind the carefully hewed stone, lurking beside mischievous demons of triviality.
“I see you,” Eyes meet and distraction fades, wind-scattered and powerless.
The chilled air beckons as nature returns in blurred ecstasy, whimsical in the predestination of quiet wonder.
Consent to a buried potential, veiled by a promise of man, beyond the shadow-snags of reason, unbelieving in the flush-joy of harmony’s spell.
Memory runs more clearly entrusting life’s course absent a navigator’s guide. The spirit’s exodus belies a true departure, for that which was once one is forever the same. Words never said now rest easy in their space: “Curiosity to all, and to all a good night.”
Curiosity defines a person through life’s quirky rhythm, raising questions never sought and offering insight to that wonderous core of humanity called intuition.
The surgery’s simple goal of replacing two failing Deep Brain Stimulation (DBS) batteries with a single rechargeable design does not do the procedure justice. Nearly five years with the original twin pulse generators had suckered me into a feeling of relative normalcy. That is, until the failing battery implanted in the left side of my chest dropped below a voltage threshold of criticality, reinvigorating Parkinson’s symptoms barely felt for half a decade.
Feeling like a frustrated bystander, I looked on as my physical abilities deteriorated. Endurance and strength slowly eroded while practicing hot yoga, a discipline that had provided me with a steady meditative platform, as well as an arduous, balance-honing workout. My Parkinson’s symptoms reappeared in a demoralizing downward spiral while awaiting surgery.
That started to change while on the operating table ten day ago, although it will be five more weeks of limited physical activity before I can begin my self-directed rehab. I know that exercise will make everything feel better.
In the meantime, the new battery’s increased capabilities astound, allowing me to drop my daily dosage of Levodopa by almost a third. The electrical signal parameters of the improved battery are different than the old, with an expanded capability to pinpoint exact spots along each of the two electrodes in my brain, one affecting the left side of my body, the other the right.
At my first follow up visit with the neurologist, she programed the battery controller to a range of settings based on my symptomatic response, allowing me to adjust one variable—pulse amplitude—at home. The upper amplitude limit is defined by a visible increase in dyskinesia and a mental fogginess; the lower by the minimum setting required to eliminate debilitating dystonia and the need for canes. So far, I haven’t had to adjust the settings.
Imagine that: an artificial change in the electrical wave’s amplitude to one side of my brain directly impacts my awareness and ability to achieve stillness, while maintaining the necessary current to enable walking—or skipping—with nary a limp. Electrical energy, all energy, for that matter, influences us in amazing and unseen ways.
Locked in imaginary times without space, hope and regret bracket free consciousness as bookends of limitation. Look beyond these self-induced manifestations of confinement, look inward to the world of thoughtless encounter, recognizing with surity the truth in being.
To cast one’s spell to the was, to what was never in alchemy’s reversion, condemns the soul to a fading netherworld bereft anticipation, disappointment, and joy.