Magical Mystery Tour

Yep, it really looks like this — Salt Lake City, I mean. It would be so much cooler if I could download pictures of the fam, though. I am, shall we say, “inept” at such tasks (and that’s being kind to myself). I can’t seem to get the pictures web-sized. By the time I’m finished cropping so it fits this blog’s parameters, the picture’s subject is unrecognizable. Ah, well.

I’m actually working on a much longer blog piece, one I wanted to insert before this one, but I felt I needed to update you all. I’m feeling very good. In fact, better every day. I’m getting plenty of rest and excellent food—did I mention that Kevin (Kat’s partner) is an organic farmer? Oh yeah! From making silly shadow puppets with Cassers, dancing to Justin Bieber songs, and sharing crochet recipes with Kat, I’m pretty much in heaven.

And did I mention the presence of one of my son’s best friends on the planet? That’s why I’m calling this blog “Magical Mystery Tour.” When I arrived, exhausted, in my daughter’s home, there on the couch was Knate. (We use the “K” to distinguish him from the half-dozen or so Nates in our family/friend circle. At least, I don’t think his name actually begins with a K…) I started toward him, smile on my face, when I realized he was not supposed to be there. He’s a Portland person, one that had moved, last I heard, to Michigan. Was I in the wrong place, or was he? Honestly, I thought I had taken the wrong flight, had gone on to Portland instead of touching down in Salt Lake. Maybe I was in a parallel universe. Maybe I’d had surgery and this was the effect of the anesthesia.But my daughter was behind me, and my granddaughter was beside me, both of them laughing their arses off. The fact that Knate had cut his hair threw me, too. I, for one of the few times in my life, was struck dumb.

The mystery was soon solved: Knate, traveling by bus (and this is a converted school bus I’m talking about, not Greyhound) with a friend, was stranded because said bus needed major, major repairs. Knate remembered that J.R.’s sister lived in Utah. Knate called J.R., who gave out said sister’s number. And the rest is history, not mystery.

And far from being randomly weird or coincidental, I think Knate was meant to be here for me. Saying, “This is for you,” he handed me a book, given to him by his mother a few months ago, called Loving What Is, by Byron Katie. Knate’s mom (from all accounts, an extraordinary woman I hope to meet someday), followed the promptings of her soul and sent her son five books, even though she knew he was traveling light—Knate had given up nearly all of his possessions before embarking on his Magical Mystery Tour. He has one book remaining, and he knows now that that one’s for him.

As you know, I was reluctant to leave my doctor’s care. It has been so successful! Yet, I know this Portland move forms part of my Tour. Loving What Is takes over where my Minnesota doctor had to leave off. Because of my treatments, I know which relationships on which I need to do The Work (those are Katie’s terms, not mine). Because of my treatments, I’m not afraid anymore to look at Reality; to dig into the web of Thoughts that reified into Beliefs about myself and my relationships; Beliefs that are simply untrue. They must be rooted out so I can heal.

The fact that you are reading this blog means that you, too, want me to heal. Whether you’re from my past, present, or future, you’re willing to do what you can to help. You may need to confront me with reality; you may need to open up your pain. Imagine being me, looking at your actions; believe me, this is what I’m doing with regard to you. We’re back to that game of hide-n-seek, aren’t we? Healing can only take place in openness, otherwise the wound festers inside, sickening us and eventually, killing us.

Perhaps, in fact, this is what tumors are? That’s why they keep coming back, in spite of repeated operations, chemo sessions, and radiography? Excellent diets and physical exercise help, but only if the source of the tumors—unfinished, undigested emotional business of any kind—is dealt with.

That’s what I’m doing on my Magical Mystery Tour. I never know what’s around the corner, but that’s what makes it a Mystery Tour. Come to think of it, no one knows what’s around any given corner, so we’re all on a Mystery Tour.

Whether your journey is Magical, however, is up to you. Mine sure is…

Peace, baby.

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