I’ve been thinking a lot about the notion of Sacred Detours recently. I don’t know when the term came to me, but I know that it’s true for me.

I am a planner. I’m a dreamer, but I’m also a planner. Here’s a bunch of things. Get them together. Check them off. But then life happens. I had a writing project and an organizing project I had been dreaming about for months. I was ready to go. Deb and I went to Alaska, wow, even broader/deeper scope for those dreams.

And then, the re-emergence of Deb’s cancer. And the suddenness of it. They called it dynamic. I call it ravaging. “Deb, how do you feel, on a scale of 1-10.” “Shitty,” was the response.

Much of July and all of August were spent hovering, trying not to hover, working to be present to whatever was needed. Working to focus my sometimes snarky self into kindness. All I could ask of myself, was to be there and to be tender. I think I mostly succeeded. But I couldn’t care about the other pieces of my life. Because this one precious piece needed my full attention.

Sometimes the world has to wait. And really, how self important to think that in the grand scheme of things your little contributions might matter more than your absolute presence where you can make a difference.

But I’ll tell you one thing I’m clear about. These Sacred Detours take the stuffing out of you. They demand a great deal of you and leave you wounded and winded. No, I don’t want to hear, “you’ll never regret.” I know that. It’s just that, lying exhausted on the shore, you wonder how and why you’ll survive. what wisdom you’ll take from this. and when you might be able to put this to use. Knowing it’s a very long way away, and yet immediate.

But for now, it’s enough to know I’ve been on one and that it has left me feeling sad and barely alive and wondering how long Peace will take to mend my heart and fill it up again with life. and not really caring, concentrating on moving breath in and out of my body and finding safe arms to hold me close.