open up!

what mystery, what miracle lies before me today? i'm looking at the cursor, at the screen; i smell the quesadilla my oldest son eli recently made, the redolent air wafting over from the kitchen. because of a competing nystagmus in either eye - the left one relatively still at rest, my right eye more still when following a moving object - that which i see appears to be shaking, or vibrating, kind of pulsing in little circles. sometimes more than at other times.

i imagine you can understand this brings some feelings of loss - or emotional suffering - especially as this eye business has been gradually worsening since my ms diagnosis nearly a decade ago. i can still read and drive, and hope to keep up both for several years or decades more. yet this holding on, this clinging to such a basic ability that seems at risk of near certain decline, it can get tiring. and perhaps clinging to it does nothing to keep it even an hour longer. maybe even to the contrary, the effort will hasten the rate of loss. so far i have found nothing, nor learned anything from doctors about eye exercises or anything like that. 'baclofen' i am told, and handed a prescription. which does nothing as far as i can tell. i count out a daily tablet into the weekly pill container with a dozen or so others, mostly 'over the counter,' vitamins and herbal extracts. i have other symptoms too, of course, but the vision is what i see, or experience, even when at rest; whereas diminution of balance or gait, for instance, goes into hiding as i rest on my haunches.

i have felt occasional moments of 'grace' in my life. maybe the light will strike the wisteria in just such a way, so vivid and alive in the late afternoon. or while stirring a dollop of honey into a cup of green tea, the light reflecting off the surface comes alive with sparkles of diamonds. it's kind of like deja vu, only the moment doesn't seem to harken back to some impossibly lost time in the past; rather, it's this moment that will suddenly deepen. or come into much sharper focus, clarity. these moments of connection to the infinite, when space and time fuse into one, where the boundary between me and all else simply melts away: such moments seem to come to me less as my vision has deteriorated. or they come in other ways.

i close my eyes, notice this breath; i can hear the buzz of traffic outside, kind of like the surf, waves rising and falling with the cycle of nearby traffic lights. an occasional honk like an audible sting by a jellyfish. there is the hum of the refrigerator. then my 15 year old spencer steps over - he's home for spring break - 'how's the blog going dad?' i minimize the window. 'writers' - my body language clearly suggests real writers - 'have this thing called a door that can be locked,' i say indicating the area just behind him, an archway that opens into a literally closet-sized space, barely enough room for the desk and a chair. 'sorry,' he says, immediately understanding, and walks off. then the self criticism opens up: what did i do that for? followed by the back and forth: he's going to be here for three weeks - boarding school gets a hefty spring break - i'm just drawing boundary lines. yes, but there would be a more respectful way to do that. etc. etc.

what miracle are these growing boys that surround me? they who vibrate and wobble even more than the stationary objects that surround them? clear vision and a felt connection through the visible spectrum of light is one thing. but to feel the deepest connection of all, that bond of life through countless generations, even as we wobble and falter through our days of stilted interaction - that is the acme of love, and the realization of the miracle.

later at the dinner table, we check in with the highs and lows of the day. spencer's high, when we went to the gym together. 'me too,' i say. 'your low?' 'when you got mad at me.' 'mine too. i'm sorry.' 'it's okay dad,' he says.

the miracle is always right here, just waiting for us to open up and drop right in.