Fullness

Fullness.
I like that word.
Fullness describes how I feel when I visit Grayson Highlands or The Roan.

Grayson Highlands. Roan Mountain. The Appalachian Trail. These places are where I feel most at "home." But I can't visit that home in the same way I once did, before I was disabled. I'm no longer able to reach within its deepest secret places where I am literally miles and miles and miles from modern life and often from people. Sometimes I feel homesick. But at least I know where home is.

Though I can't hike long distances or spend overnights on the trail, I am still able to visit for six or so hours and sometimes even hike a mile or so in and back out. And in those six hours I feel I've been to paradise for a weekend. And I always want that time and feeling to linger. And I wonder, Why can't life always be this way? This is the way life is meant to be. And I try to hold that feeling as long as I can once I'm down the mountain and back into the cursed responsibilities of life and shoulds.

When I hear love songs on the radio, I usually don't think of my husband or a past lover or some hope for a future lover. I think of the Trail and the mountains and the woods and the fir trees and the spruce and the wild blueberries and Trail Magic and the feral ponies that roam the Highlands. I hear those love songs and my heart longs to be on the trail. It's a bittersweet feeling - knowing I may never again be able to backpack and hike deep; yet, at the same time, my heart swells with the fullness of joy from the memories I hold of special places and encounters.

Around a month ago, I was able to visit Grayson Highlands for a day trip. I'd received my epidural a couple days earlier on January 23 and it was working the best it's worked since before surgery in August. I think the January epidural was my 15th epidural since the beginning of 2014. Every 12 weeks I get stuck in the lumbar area of my back with the long needle or tube or whatever the neurologist uses for the injection. I don't want to see the equipment, and I don't want to know what it looks like. Every 6 weeks I receive around six to nine injections in the back of my neck. Those injections are simply shots and don't penetrate deeply like the epidural. My neurologist is really good with those needles.

And then, after my epidural and injections, within a week or so, I feel relief in my legs and feet and arms and hands and back and neck and jaws. The good relief can last for 5 weeks. Those are my weeks of freedom. Sometimes I feel guilty because I think of things I SHOULD get done. But instead, I go play. And then I know to not feel guilty for playing because I realize that play is my top SHOULD during those weeks.

Play should always be the top Should regardless of which week it is.

My day trip to Grayson was like a fairy tale. The whole day flowed like a mountain river on a clear day...gurgling and singing over and around rocks, flowing freely because that is what rivers should do. And in that joyful flow, so much more is happening than meets the eye. Life is happening. Life is being created and sustained. There's death too, and rebirth. The river sings countless stories.

When I go home to the trail, even though I can no longer hike deep, it is life to me. An indescribable fullness of joy. Even though I usually go alone, I don't feel alone. The trees. The rocks. The mountains. The feral ponies of the Highlands. The deer and hawks and crows. The small trickling cricks. The sky with its ever changing canvas. The sun and stars and moon as they travel their paths. And the wind. All of them speak to me, and I to them. At times I feel cradled by their presence.

I met a new snake yesterday while walking with my rolling walker on a local Greenway. A fellow Greenway walker showed me where the snake lives. To our delight, the snake lay coiled, his wound-loose body mostly covered with leaves. His head was raised keeping watch. He-or-she is a black snake. We decided to name him-her Schaff since the Greenway is part of Schaffner Park. I look forward to seeing Shaff again.

And that makes me smile.