There is an expression in English I used to hear quite often – though not hearing it lately may merely be a factor of being away from my language base – “slowly but surely”. That’s my health report for the week; slowly but surely. The phrase is probably the closest we have in English to the Italian piano piano, which is used to counsel patience in any and all situations. To a native Californian whose supposed love of process is often feigned, both phrases qualify as statements of high philosophy.
When I first moved here, random waiting would make me silently crazy. Buy trousers at the market, they invariably need hemming. Text my tailor, make an appointment for day after tomorrow. Her kids have a special school program she just found out about, so two days after that? Measurements taken, pins inserted, they’ll be ready day after tomorrow. I forgot my dental appointment for day after tomorrow. No problem, come in the afternoon. Wait! my mother needs something, can you come after 16:00? Nope, I’m scheduled for a haircut. No problem, day after tomorrow. A week after my purchase I pick up my new trousers, the perfect length and only five euro for the alteration; what she had to cut off is included in the sack, “just in case”. I only had to wait.
I’ve long disdained the culture of instant gratification, but have here discovered that I am deeply imbued with its expectation.
People ask, how’s my health. I can honestly answer that I feel a little better every day. I can also honestly report that symptoms are reduced, across the board, by a tiny bit. And with total accuracy can say that I still feel goofy at various unpredictable times and levels. And that the question about my health confuses me if I think about it too much.
I also daily witness my impatience. I bought a treatment, and I want it to work, now. I can’t wear new pants with the hems half rolled or the extra fabric not removed, or with cuffs held in place by basting stitches, so why should I put up with partially gone symptoms?
Because life is not a pair of pants. And because I looked at my garden today, and was eager for the weather to improve so I could do some major cleanup, an eagerness that was not even theoretical before my journey to Bratislava. Eagerness is way better than lassitude.
When, while still in bed, I stretch after waking (one of the most gratifying actions of the day) for the past however many months, arms and legs would tremble. About a week ago, they stopped doing that. I’d forgotten what a pure stretch was like, and let me say it is even more delicious than a trembling one. Getting out of bed – and up from chairs and sofas – also became easier about two weeks ago, and slowly but surely that improvement continues. Now, I often don’t need to use my arms at all to get an initial lift. My voice is clear better than half the time. The right arm tremor goes away for hours at a stretch, not just sort of, but completely.
On that last subject, a process. This morning I finally returned to my meditation practice. It’s not that I didn’t try in Bratislava, but until the day before I left, I tended towards such fatigue that sitting to meditate inevitably led to a long nap. This morning, it led to meditation. At that point my arm was still quiet and relaxed a good hour after waking, unusual but not unheard of. As I glided down, the arm would occasionally express a desire to grow tense, but a bit of breath and mantra support guided it away from that wish; and I saw what a fine line there is between habit and symptom. The arm remained relaxed until after my Listening to Music class (which I was able to attend for the first time since March) and regained nearly full composure during a short nap awhile later.
In worldly life, I actually did buy new trousers and they will be ready November 9 – a week after purchase. Somewhere they are in process.
Piano piano.
I only have to wait.