Power of the Moment

The are many different meanings to the word senses but according to the Oxford dictionary when used as a noun it is a faculty by which the body perceives an external stimulus.  The second meaning is a feeling that something is the case.  But when looking at synonyms the same words are used: sensation, feeling, and awareness.  The first is meant to include the five senses; sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch.  Those five words in itself are amazingly powerful. And the second is to have a sense of something or someone.

Take for example the sense of smell and what that does to the pysche.  Anytime I smell pine I think of the forest or Christmas.  Immediately.  No second guessing.  Certain smells bring me back to my mom in the kitchen cooking her Italian fare for the holidays.  The aroma of flowers, too many to even begin to mention.  My favorites are Jasmine, Lilacs and Peonies.  Jasmine because of Los Angeles in the spring and Lilacs and Peonies because of spring in Cincinnati.  Two different springs and two different memories.  It also gives me a sense of being aware of my surroundings and how beautiful they are at that moment.

The gift of hearing is one I never want to take advantage of for so many reasons.  To hear a baby’s first cry as they come into the world or to hear a beautiful piece of music is something that changes you forever.  What comes to mind is when a person who has never had this gift finally receives it by having an implant.  The look on their face when the first sense of hearing becomes apparent softens even the coldest heart. And the sense of gratitude the loved one receives when they know that their voice is finally heard.

As a make-up artist I can’t even begin to express how vital my gift of sight is to me.  My father was an artist and was pronounced legally blind when he was just 52.  He was a master of color and the inability to do what he loved broke his spirit.  But he found peace later in life and was determined to continue to read.  At times he read five books a week.  I once told him I was going to the library and wanted to know if he wanted me to pick him up  a book.  He loved mysteries so I asked anyone in particular.  He told me to start at the letter M.  He had read every mystery novel up to then.  His own personal visual was the images that he was able to experience in the written word. And my vision of him holding a book up to his nose to be able to read through his thick glasses taught me that if you are determined enough anything is possible.

I remember being in Paris at the famous Laduree cafe and tasting what has to be one of the most magnificent desserts in life.
Ah, Rose and Raspberry Saint Honore has to be one of the highlights of taste.  The piece de resistance is the delicate rose flavored whipped cream that caresses the ladyfingers and raspberries.  We had just finished ours and were watching the reaction of the woman sitting at the table next to us as she took her first bite.  She let out a sigh that expressed how we felt.  She looked over at us and we all smiled in blissful agreement.  All of the senses seemed to be working in overload just from one dessert.  Our connection with each other was universal.

The sense of awareness, sensation, recognition and consciousness is something I never want to lose.  I can’t imagine what life would be like without the sense of feelings and wonder.

It never ceases to amaze me how many people have so much talent.  Whenever I listen to beautiful singers and musicians or watch graceful dancers or look at painters, sculptors, architects or designers, I am enthralled by how they even have the ability to know they have such talent.  I know that some of it is learned but I believe a lot of it is God given talent.  They have to do their art.  They don’t choose it.  It chooses them. It consumes them.  It embodies them.

I am the person in the museum or at the concert hall in tears overwhelmed by the beauty.  I am not embarrassed or ashamed and don’t make any excuses for my excess.  I only wish I could be that prolific.  I consider myself somewhat knowledgeable in my craft and I have developed a sense of artistry from the years of practice.  But this is something else.  This is beyond knowledge.  This is magic.

And it’s not only that they are talented but they have the power to fight through the fear of failure and just go for it.  The letters of Van Gogh to his brother Theo are heartbreaking.  Van Gogh suffered and in his madness lies his genius but the depth of his emotion and commitment to his craft is astounding.  He never made a dime but the richness he has given millions is priceless.  I only wish I could tell him in person how he changed my way of looking at color.

Or Billie Holiday who was riddled with drug addiction but literally cried when she sang.  Not with tears but with emotion.  She makes me cry not only because I am sad for her but because she is able to bring up emotion in me that I didn’t even know existed.  On the other hand, Ella Fitzgerald makes me smile at how effortlessly she can scat and play with her lyrics.  Her Summertime is one of my favorites.  But that same song can take on a different meaning when Kathleen Battle sings it.  It’s not just her miraculous voice that consumes me but the sheer passion she sings with that makes this lullaby take on an eerie tone.  Totally different than Ella but no more spectacular.

I was working in Metaline Falls, Washington and was driving to work one morning listening to Leslie Garret singing Dome Epais.  The music itself was so beautiful but the scenery through the mist of the early morning hour made it even more so.  I turned a corner and there in the middle of the road was a huge male deer with full antlers, his majestic head  thrown back as if to let out a cry.  Steam came out of his nostrils and his stance was powerful and strong.  All of a sudden a female deer and her baby came up from the forest and ran across the road.  It was clear he was there to guard the crossing of his family.  When the mother and baby were safely across, he was gone in an instant into the forest.  With the music playing and the vision of such bravery from this deer I just started to sob.  It was overwhelming.  And now, every time I listen to her sing that song I am back in Metaline Falls, Washington and experiencing that moment all over again.

Her beautiful voice and talent was enhanced by the beauty and talent of nature that is also God given. How grateful am I to be aware and not ashamed of my emotions with so much in this world that is worth celebrating.  I guess my childlike wonder and fascination with anything that is enveloped in passion is a talent that has been given to me without practice or knowledge.

Inspiration comes when you least expect it. You can be inspired by anything.  Many are predictable.  Art, nature, sunsets, magazines, books, people, animals, etc.  The list goes on and on.  But yesterday I found myself overcome with tremendous admiration at a place where I had been many, many times.

Nine years ago I underwent surgery for uterine cancer.  I had been working in Greece and knew something wasn’t right.  Thank goodness I was scheduled to go home in a couple of days.  I immediately call my nurse practitioner whose astute observation saved my life.  She immediately took a biopsy and found out I had cancer.  I will never forget that phone call.  One moment I feel like a very healthy 50-year-old and the next moment I’m wondering whether I will see my son graduate from high school.  Looking at your mortality dead in the face is something you can’t explain.  It’s not that it’s so overwhelming it’s just when it’s not expected it’s jarring.

No one quite understands what the feeling of having cancer is until you have it.  No words, observations, sayings, articles…nothing prepares you.  I’m not trying to be melodramatic.  Cancer is very cut and dry.  You have it or you don’t.  You die or you don’t.

But here’s where the inspiration comes in.  I went for my yearly exam that will be a part of my regime for the rest of my life.  I entered Cedars Sinai as I had entered so many times.  First five years it was every six months but now I have gotten past the stage where I can get life insurance.  Before five years of cancer-free, they deem you too risky.  I didn’t have to do chemo or radiation.  Didn’t lose my hair.  Some of my insides were taken out but I feel I got the better end of the stick.

I go to the front desk and check-in.  They give me my wrist band as a reminder I’m a patient, not a visitor.  I will always be a patient.  I’m healthy now, thank God, but here I will always be a patient.  I go into the waiting room and notice that there are so many more people waiting than there was even five years ago.  Don’t know if that means more people are being treated but it appears that way.

My name is called and they take me into a room where people are getting their chemo treatments.  And this is when the realization creeps up and grabs me.  I see an older man with his wife.  The nurse is giving him his meds and talking about the weather.  It seemed it was a way of focusing on something else that wasn’t as difficult as the task at hand.  I am so inspired and in awe of her strength and kindness to this couple.  She does this all day long day after day (she had said she had been there for 27 years) and her focus on her patient and her professionalism in the midst of such sadness was astounding.

Not far sitting in another chair was a beautiful young lady with a scarf on her head receiving her treatment.  Our eyes met and she gave me such a pure smile like a small child.  We were patients in the same room but the connection in our glance I think made her feel like she wasn’t alone.

I feel guilty just having my temperature and blood pressure taken.  I feel like I have escaped from something.  I am called in to see my doctor but I excuse myself to go to the restroom.  And once behind the closed door by myself, I start to cry.  I can’t stop.  For some reason being there is a reminder of how lucky I was to dodge the big C.  I am cancer free now and am determined to be for the rest of my life.  But somehow in that bathroom, I realize it could have happened to me. Instead, it has happened to so many people I see when I come here and today it has been overwhelming.  I’m angry, I’m grateful, I’m sad and I’m crying because  I am so happy I have survived.  But more than any of that I’m inspired by how hard people fight and how much they are loved and how many dedicate their lives in trying to win the battle.