Sincerity and Energy

 

There’s a difference between a violent death and a death of acceptance. A violent death is as you watch what is happening to you. As much as you know it’s coming, you still witness it only as an outsider. It’s too intense to stay inside the vessel that is being assaulted. I know I’ve been there.

 A death of acceptance is one, where you know your time is short. Before you lay down, you know that if you wake up still in this operating vessel then you have lived another breath or so. You breath in such a way that the pattern is unhurried. There’s no rush, you just breathe. Your breath becomes slower and slower; and then you’re asleep. Perhaps you dream dreams and then either wake up or not. Somehow, I know I’ve been there. This is perhaps because I have an exceptionally low pulse. I have had a low pulse nearly all my life. I became aware of it by age ten. Then I would test it. I was compelled to test the control of my pulse as to not have to take asthma and bee sting medications due to allergies. Also, due to the fact my dad would have told me what a burden I was if I needed prescribed medications. His explanation would have been that girls cost more money than boys. That’s unless you’re a left-handed boy. So, we were told by dad’s grumble when my older brother needed a left-handed baseball mitt. My dad loved baseball, but my brother didn’t.

 It took me till I was 15 after my second cross-country running season to find out just how low I could work my pulse. That happened in Mr. Ritchie’s Biology class. I got 33 once, and then two 39’s that day. Both my lab partner and the teacher checked me. We did it as a distraction before a pop quiz. The following summer, our family doctor would freak my mother out as I was being examined during a routine annual. When the doctor had checked my pulse, it was low and my heart had a murmur. Too, I always felt I could have stopped my heartbeat for a moment, to freak him out. It was because I wanted my old doctor to be doing the exam.

My old doctor was born in 1900; he’d delivered me and was still practicing. This new guy was apparently nouveau—the next generation of doctors who didn’t understand my stoic essence that I’d held during such exams in the past. The older doctor would kid me in such a kind way, it made me proud. The doctor that delivered me enjoyed my respect for him, during exams that he’d get mom to talk about being positive. She needed that. My mother was enamored with this new younger doctor, and too was my brother. He didn’t deliver the wisdom that the older doctor had. The older doctor treated me like an adult. This younger doctor treated me as if I was a naïve little girl; however, I was never a little girl.

This morning, as I’d felt the cool autumn air within the first hour of waking at just before six, the air held a serene essence. I awoke unhurried, as now I work remotely. I have chores and self-care that I do. I hydrate while I do the chores. I’ll have half a cup of coffee while I read from a couple books then news magazines for an hour or two. I’ll check my night vitals with my sleep app. Calculate the miles to go to the next thousand, perhaps. I’ll then write a blog or part of a book I’m working on. I may do some research and editing if I don’t read as much. Then I get out to run.

Today like every day for the past ten years I wondered what would my run be like. Over the past six years, I have no clue what my body can or cannot do. Over the past year, I told myself that I must get on my running attire and run at least a mile. That is my mission after chores, some remote work and mental enrichment as well. My mission is to remain sat. Sat in the Marines is meant for satisfactory condition, physically fit, and mentally alert. Not all Marines adhere to this decades after finishing their time, but some of us do. I do.

If I can be, I must be sat at all times. Keeping my body fat low and fed to the best of my ability. Enriching the body, so as not to be a burden, ever. Not take up too much space. Not to be needing anything extra. Keep knowing to contribute. That was my mission since I could remember, before I went through Marine Corps bootcamp. In the past, I watched relatives waste. Waste other’s time. Waste their time. Waste other’s future. Steal energy from others. I always want to add to life, to other’s liberty and energy.

There was a detective who I’d known for over three decades, she passed a little over two years ago. She was that way.  She was sat. She’d never been in the military. Yet she had that sat essence about her. Years after meeting her, she’d said, “Jody, when you entered the room that day I met you, you filled it.” I was stunned. She’d met me at the worst time in my life. I was me. And being me, I refused to show how crushed I was. I was straight faced, many times if I wasn’t looking at you, I was looking through you.

If I want to know you, I’ll give you my full name with a handshake. It’s called sincerity. The world lacks that and people know that lack. I try to take away that lack when I meet you with my sincerity.      ---Jody-Lynn Reicher