For approximately 730 days I have been living in what might be called a dream-like state. It's not the same as dreamy, where one is almost giddy, surrounded by extravagance, eating perfect globe grapes off of a sensuous vine. No, it hasn't been dreamy. It has been foggy. It has been an out-of-body experience interrupted by the surreal and misplaced puzzle pieces, aching to be interpreted. The more I explain these hazy 730 days, the less it matters or makes sense. Is it fear or is it desire? I don't think they are two separate things. I fear what I desire and I desire what I fear. I believe this to be a universal truth.
The winds shift; a storm is approaching. I anxiously await storms because I find them fascinating. Storms simply find me. We can be chasers of storms or chasers of dreams. We can chase what we desire or let our fear chase us into a stupor. Whichever route we take, we'll end up meeting somewhere in between what is real and what is merely waiting for confirmation. The cusp of the real is where I have resided. To confirm my experience would be the equivalent of putting out a welcome mat.
I keep searching for a home. Do I know yet that the search is my home? Where can I place these dirty shoes?
It has been two years of tests and IVs and worried looks. It has been two years of chewing gum in order to trick my brain into thinking it's food. It's been two years of just making it through. And through this passage of time comes a feast. It has been marinating, bathing, immersing. It is now patiently waiting on the table underneath napkins and plates. Is there a place for me? Will I sit down?