Observation

With cancer the world started to look different. When I see people doing normal everyday things: moms walking their babies in strollers, friends chatting at a coffee shop, couples holding hands in the park; I want to know more about their lives. Wondering about their worries, their problems, their arguments with their partners. The normal woes, fleeting woes and still be able to go about their day and not think about having cancer. 

Before I had cancer, these regular activities were background noise to my daily drama. All my old woes now seem trivial. I watch life moving around me while I have stopped. I can no longer feel the discomfort I used to feel in my body from identifying with the movie of thoughts. There are no thoughts. I am numb. A body without a head. A floating essence of cells not attached to anything.

I have felt this in my body before and it is unsettling. Everything around me doesn’t seem real. I see the couch, but what is a couch? I am Kim, but who is Kim? I feel like molasses in a parallel universe of observation.

I wonder if this is my body's way of disengaging from the emotional gravity of it all. I have done enough therapy to have a general understanding of how a traumatic event can cause dissociation. My situation would be a textbook definition. Something feels different this time. Perhaps it is my higher level of consciousness stepping in. A clarity that the cancer was ordained in a sense.

I am more keen on what is happening around me. Instead of feeling the discomfort, I am seeing the occurrences. In my moments of need, I am given resolve. The kismet circumstances that seem to be aligning just for me. Life has a plan in place. A flow. Generously handing me a renewed sense of faith. Guiding me to simply observe.