Now that might not be a word, but the sound, the syllables, the shape of the letters express my dismay – a month has flown by since I last wrote.
That word bellows with my shock and amazement. Another painting exhibit got hung on the 8th but NOT by ME.
I spent the late evening of the 7th in an emergency room. REALLY! I severed a vein on the back of my hand while cleaning the glass for framing the “piece de resistance” of my new display. You can see it here but it doesn’t yet hang in the gallery because I don’t want to deal with the design splashed in my blood on the foam core backing.
Besides, I have only one functioning hand. Typing is slow. Washing dishes impossible. Splitting firewood beyond my wildest dreams. Can’t grip, can’t pull and tug, can’t lift. I may have injured a tendon. I may need to see a specialist. I might be in serious hand trouble and you know what? My unexpected injury, my freak accident are inconsequential compared to the brutality that happens around this tiny planet on a daily basis. Maiming each other, violating human rights, assassinating presidents, murdering innocent humans and other animals motivated by greed, fear, power – excuses for hurting each other run rampant on this globe.
I am filled with gratitude for family and friends, for safe streets to drive on late at night, for emergency rooms whose doctors are calm, informative and decent, for a clean comfortable bed and the extra pillow to cradle my wounded limb, the fire in the hearth, the healthy food that rebuilds my cells and the shot of whiskey that soothes my shock.
Accidents happen. All of us are fragile – our life’s pulse lies close to the surface of our skin wrapped innards.
Imagine the rise in security if our globe were wrapped in tenderness and reverence for our vulnerability.