Endurance

Two weeks since surgery. Day 29 of the Omer.

The dimension and practice of endurance (netzach) has taken up residence in my mind and heart this Omer counting season. I’ve always been drawn to movement—water cascading, the surge of social change from those who once considered themselves powerless, the masterminding of complex family/work schedules and, always, the cycles of sacred growth from Jewish living. Push, and do, and strive and delight, let go, build, rebuild, all of it endurance. All of it a part of who I am, who we are, and something to forever cultivate until my/our last breath.

And I’ve come to realize there is no single dimension to endurance. Movement takes many forms and sometimes the most needed kind is found in being the sturdy oak, in allowing a redeeming rock to fit in the palm of the hand. Just like there is no single name for God, there is no single definition to any of these kabbalistic aspects of the Omer that represent a dynamic longing to be at one with the One. Endurance takes pushing with grit and having a clear vision for what it’s all for—and it takes something of the surrender and stillness to just be in what’s true today, Day 29.

I’ve had days of not wanting to do anything but loose myself in a mindless movie or an absorbing novel. Days when I just wanted to exert no effort or think about the stages of treatment ahead. And days of triumph with the smallest step of independence or advocacy for what I need in what can feel like a tangled web of information and appointments. Days when I have felt both within the same hour. Endurance takes some suspension of judgement — judgment of emotions or an imprinted definition of progress. And endurance most definitely takes asking for help along the way.

So on Day 29 which in a few hours will become Day 30 with the gift of Shabbat, I can say that I am enduring. I am looking back with wonder at how my body is healing, trying to garner strength for the beginning of chemo which will start this month, and in this very moment, so deeply grateful for the accompaniment of my/our village of family, friends, neighbors, faith community; for notes and well wishes, stories and songs, nourishment of body and soul. And with each step, movement of water and stone, sadness and hope, surging with tears and steady in love.

Shabbat shalom, dear ones.