The Way of Medicine

The law commands us to do what we would do naturally if we only had love. The Way consists of finding that love, which then becomes the law. - Arnaud Desjardins

At a cafe in another town, listening to a song stream, "Breathe...just breathe... there's a light at each end of this tunnel. you shout cuz you're just as far in as you'll ever be out, and these mistakes you made, you'll make them again. If you only try turning around. Breathe, just breathe..."

This morning River grabs my pant leg in the kitchen. "Mama, come." Once in the living room, she pats the couch. "Mama, ein-tine. Ro Ro wan ein-tine." Ok, I sit her on the couch, turn on the DVD, Baby Einstein. No battles this morning. I can't afford a battle.

Twenty minutes later, I bring her raincoat, "River, honey, it's time to go. Time to put on your coat." It's over. The nice morning. It's over. She throws herself down on the couch, screams, writhes, slides down to the floor. Twisting limbs caught in my hold. We must leave to be on time. She kicks me in the face, slaps one cheek and then the other. I boil.

Exasperated, I throw my coat off and stomp out of the room. I kick the dining room table. Thoroughly humiliated, I move to the kitchen and kick the high chair. I go to the nearest door and press my body against the glass, but there's no getting out. No freedom from here. It's just a suffering to endure, one that I have inflicted upon my child and myself in one fell swoop. Past, present, and future tied in a perfectly, painful bow.

But there's something else. Trauma in the body is not only devastating. It also provides doorways to other realms. Quietly spacious realms of peace, where I whisper myself back. Impulses blaze and yet...there is the rain, and the green palm out back. Red shoots flower from the cactus. Banana leaves hold sprouting tendrils in a graceful arc. I crack the door and let the green infusion find me.

Striped of comfort and any sort of presentation, I walk back to the living room and sit in the middle of the floor. I look at River with nothing. She looks into the emptiness, feels into the void, and moves closer to that silence. I do not place anything into our space, just wait. Tears down her cheeks, she eases in front of me, opens her arms, and pats my cheek. I place both hands on the bottom edges of her coat and look at the zipper. She looks down and eeks a wilty, "nooooo," and then surrenders. I zip and pull her gently into my arms and hold her. We find each other again.

I drive her to her last day of daycare. The door opens and I look at the women I love, for all that she has provided my daughter. The face that reminds me of all the prayer flags I have ever seen; in her eyes, reflections of the stupa that she grew next to in Nepal. She tries to talk but starts to cry. I try to respond but start to cry. She turns away and I say, "All I can do is leave. We'll talk later." She says, "Yes, Prema."

I go home to pack. I load the car and drive away, awkward tourist in my own car. It's the first time I am leaving River over night, two nights and three days to be exact. I call Steve to leave a million details about her favorite clothes, extra wipes, sippy cups, food, and plead for assurances that he will track and tend in a hypervigilant way like me. He just says, "Ok."

I arrive and sit on the bed at the hotel, not knowing what to do with myself. I manage to tell everyone in this small enclave of shops that I have left my daughter for the first time. One older woman stares up to the sky, "Oh, enjoy it. It will be ok. Enjoy yourself. Take care of yourself. Come see me in the morning before your workshop. I want to see how you're doing."

I'm here for a certification training in aromatherapy. This weekend I'll learn about the ancient art of anointing with oils. I used to imagine a perfect job and I saw myself opening a door, inviting someone to sit down, then anointing them with healing oils. What could be better?

I'm all turned around. Called to the medcine and a bit tortured for leaving my girl. I turn just now to find a giant wall clock, with a hand-painted message in the middle: Live in the Moment.