tea, roses and attitude


Funny things happen when one is hit by a speeding train. Life shifts. New things take importance over old things and new ways of being in the world begin to emerge out of the mists of Czech Intensive Care Units and Neurosurgeon teams.

One of the new things I notice about my life is that I am compassionate with myself and I am discerning.  When I get tired, I rest.  When I am over-stimulated I find silence.  When 8:30 rolls around I go to bed so that I am up and ready to meet my pot of tea and roses in the morning light.

Morning tea and roses in my garden is part of that self-compassion.  No longer able to differentiate lapsing suchong from rose tea from mint tea, I can still think, and pray and see the roses’ colors even if I can no longer smell them. I sit in my orange chair for hours wondering about the life that has been given back to me as a gift and I consider carefully how I will spend its hours.

The little ritual of the silence, light, tea and roses each morning is not so unlike other rituals in which I am engaged.  It grounds me in what is important and it defines the difference between what is urgent and what is important.  Urgency is imposed.  Importance is discerned.  And from now on, this man, who survived what his doctors still say is impossible to survive, has decided that the urgent needs to be looked at at in the morning light until it is determined to be either important or untruly dis-regard-able.

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