Writing blind

I’m writing with my eyes closed. I won’t know if my words are right or jumbled. If fingers are just one key off, it’ll be nothing but indistinguishable gibberish. Writing blind isn’t something new. I started years ago during writing meditations as I asked my inner voice and Christ connection to answer questions I couldn’t answer. It worked, and despite a few pages of gobbledygook, the words still bring peace, calm, and faith in my connection to my Higher Power…. whether found inside or beyond.

My eyes are closed for a different reason this time. A few days ago, I woke to the sensation that my bed had dropped out from under me and the room was turning like the carnival rides I loved as a teen. The light fixture in the center of our bedroom swirled around the ceiling, then the windows became blinking images like slowed down frames in an old movie. I felt nauseous, unmoored, and completely out of control. After falling over trying to do one of my lower back exercises, I knew I needed help. The doctor confirmed my guess; my inner ear system was malfunctioning, making me feel like I was on a boat being pulled into a water vortex, spinning out of control.

As I attempt to right this sinking ship in my mind, I find that looking at a screen makes me feel woozy and off-balance. For a writer who relies on her computer to capture ideas, stories, and thoughts, it felt like I’d lost my way.

This experience reminds me of how I felt when I heard those awful words, “You have cancer.” In that case, I was facing my possible demise. In this case, until I heal, I’m losing my way to make a living, finish my latest book project, and get thoughts out that demanded “airtime.” Writing blind was the only answer.

So here I am, eyes closed, with the high-pitched hum of the laptop and the clacking of keys as I write hoping my fingers are in the right place.

As I welcome my 64th year in May, I’m reminded that the human body is an amazing miracle. That when it’s working well, it’s my best friend, my vehicle to get places and make things happen. When it malfunctions, like the untethered crystals floating in my ear canal, I’m lost in a circuitous mayhem filling me with uncertainty and dread. When I was in my teens and 20s, I took my strong body for granted; took ridiculous risks in my fast Chevy Step-side pickup, rode my horses too fast, and accepted dares that had me going off cliffs and eventually understanding I could die.

Those kinds of epiphanies were life-changing… but obviously I need reminding because this latest medical malfunction left me feeling surprised and unsure. Once I got my mental bearings, I remembered to look for the gifts when times are tough. Even in the darkest, saddest times, love is the sun shining through dark clouds. I must have faith that if my fingers are on the wrong keys that’s ok too. That sometimes what I’m thinking and what appears on the page may never come together. That just the act of thinking, and that fleeting moment of clarity, is enough. Here’s the answer… s’;flmore84;]orm;lrm? When I look nothing’s there… nothing I can read anyway.

Answers come when they come. Not when I want them to arrive. All these decades on this blessed, beautiful, and fragile planet have taught me that. Nothing’s guaranteed… no matter how much money is in the bank, how many guns are in the gun safe, or stores in the bunker. If the body stops working and becomes something that feels like an enemy instead of a friend, all that’s left is how the situation is perceived. How I react. What I think. No matter who you are, you don’t get out of this earthly performance alive. It’ll end for each of us in God’s time. I am thankful for the reminder. As a wise man once told me, “All we can do is watch for the blessings and remember to say thank you.”