A Slowly Deflating Face

I wonder, when full deflation occurs, will I look the same as I did before all of this happened? Or will I look like a deflated balloon?

I need to gain some weight. If I do it, can I direct it to my face in order to fill out the balloon?

Beyond all of that, no matter what I look like, can I accept myself as beautifully as those whose eyes met mine at the hospital?

While the body was fighting all foreign invaders, it seems that the mental life got pretty simple: sleep, resist and cry, go blank like a zombie, sleep, try to stay with the program, go blank like a zombie, sleep.

But I did read some this week. Not much got through the muddy brain, but the poem below, written for the author's son, went straight to my heart. It's from the book, St. Nadie in Winter, Zen Encounters with Loneliness by Terrance Keenan.

Becoming the Mountain

- for Conor

They stood on a road in December.
Wind made snow ghosts among the trees.
The child asked, "Where does the wind
come from?"

It comes from the mouth of nowhere,
between day and dark
so the trees can talk together.

"But it's winter now
and the trees are sleeping."

Yes, so listen carefully
to their dreams.

"And suppose I am the wind?"

Then you are also the dreams.