Muse Ariadne

I contemplated this prompt for quite some time before diving in. How does one describe all the people and creatures around them by just one aspect? The word that has been occuring to my mind lately is Here.

And what is Here? What does it mean? I reflect on that enough. Surely I live in a Here. Here in a house, in a town tucked in the Appalachian foothills. Here is a place I didn't grow up in, but a place I chose to move to. And yet, that is geography. Is that what Here means? The satellites orbiting the planet can identify here, where I am, with a disturbing degree of accuracy, pinging to my phone and who knows what else. Servers identify here by bits of code on the web. Corporations, governments, and media conglomerates are very interesting in what I buy here, what I'm doing at the time, what data I generate for them, the scant seconds I pause on something before scrolling on, the viewpoints and products they can push me away from or towards.

But none of that feels like Here. Or at least a Here that matters in any true way.

Maybe I've just grown older, which is true. I don't have the hubris to think myself wise in any matter, I am but a fool and a temporary visitor Here on Earth. No more than a fleeting mote of dust in the four billion year story of its existence. Faith, age, and the mirror that mortality provides do give an understanding that a younger version of me would shy away from. Younger me would shy from all that's happened, never believing myself capable of withstanding it all: The trauma of two rounds of cancer, the brutality of chemo and radiation, a body that will never work the same again, the constant aches and pains, enduring the Plague Years, my mother's madness, the anguish of utterly failing my niece during her teenage years, friendships that drifted, friendships that ended... I could go on, listing the bitter without the sweet. Certainly, I remain Here despite and sometimes because of those things.

And yet, I would not be Here without the kindness of now friends but near perfect strangers at the time. In a very real sense, I would not be Here without the care and expertise of my oncologist and her team. Her name is permanently tattooed on my arm; a peculiar bond of doctor and patient, joy and tears, triumph and set back. I've said to those that know me, that life ended and began anew on the day of my diagnosis. The other me, whose future I would never know, died the day I woke up from a surgery that lasted far, far longer than planned. There are times I wonder who that person would be and what she would think, but most of the time, I don't bother with such thoughts. I do my best to remain Here, in the present as much as I can. Ironically, I write that reflecting on past history.

Here is a strange journey. I likely would not have become a Quaker had it not been for cancer. During the worst days, dreadfully sick, hair falling out in clumps, and neuropathy burning like a raging fire in my hands and feet, I turned to YouTube as a distraction. Somehow I stumbled across Jessica Kellgren-Fozard and her videos on disability, her gentle and uplifting positivity and her acceptance in the face of her own disability gave me comfort and cheer. Plus, I adore her videos on queer history, fashion, culture, as well as her family. I think I watched almost every video she put out at the time before finally clicking on Jessica's video titled "Oh God... Let's Talk About My Religion." I'd say the rest is history, but it isn't. At the time, I found that video interesting and Quakers quite cool, but that was that. It would be another two years before I started on that particular journey.

I have a peculiar belief around time, not in any scientific sense or anything like that, but just the way I understand "time" as it relates to me. Basically all that it boils down to is Here and now, neither the past nor future technically exist. Both are equally unknowable, the future moreso. While it's not very likely a meteor could crash through my home in the next moment, but it could happen. I plan for the future, future me will need money, future me would like a body that functions as well as possible, future me would like comforts; all such like things. Future me could also get cancer yet again, some other autoimmune issue could rear its stupid head, and yes, that causes me anxiety, but I also do my best not to believe in the future. Staying as firmly rooted in the present, in Here, keeps me mentally well.

Here is the players that set at my D&D table, delighting me with the ups and downs of heroism, facing obstacles, making jokes, crazy and wild theories, mad stunts and silliness. They are my Here, strangers who have become dear, beloved friends. Even as I do my best to keep secrets from them, maim or kill their characters, and confound their plans. And yet, there is a sort of love in all of that.

Here is my little home with a little garden, which I poorly maintain and one of several cats on my lap.

Here is my Quaker Meeting; awaiting the Light with the steady companionship of Friends.

Here is now, it is good, and it speaks to my condition.