Transitions: A lesson

Yesterday was a lesson

boundaries are fluid,

they most certainly are not set in stone.

Neither should their treatment approach.

You’ll return to what you know,

when it starts to snow inside.

The fear, followed by vigilant observation – from a distance,

then retreat into helpless silence

I’ll wait for you to stand there – wide-eyed and watching,

the smallest child,

I’ll not follow you for it would only intensity your fear,

waiting,

for what seems a long time,

for you to make the first move,

you come seeking,

and I will be there to meet your needs,

something soft and slow,

direct with absence of any violent blow,

not something the child in you will know.

Then I’ll hand you hot food and watch you eat

supervised eating,  paternalistic healthcare,

only when your most basic needs are met

can I meet the greater ones – to make you laugh.

This is something basic,

something human and whole,

something that each person needs to feel worthwhile and nourished.

Twelve hour later

you are no longer on the defensive,

exhausted and accepting

before you are ready to learn a small lesson about boundaries:

None of us likes change,

transitions provoke anxiety, a great deal of uncertainty

if all we have known has been negative.

The dog barks in frustration,

having been set alone and apart upstairs,

isolation for any social animal is punishment,

I admit I used him – an opportunistic lesson for you,

We sit downstairs,

the minutes slide by and he barks at regular intervals,

you give in, you go to him,

you reinforce that if he bargains long enough,  you will grant him his wish,

that of your company,

he quiets with you,

then without transition, you leave,

upstairs he can be heard, bargaining anew.

You can’t stand it anymore,

in anguish you ask for help.

As always I’ll wait for you to be open and ready – there is a lesson here.

I walk up the stairs and stand

two meters from the closed door.

the dog hears my breathing – nothing more.

Over the next 15 minutes I move

away,

inch by inch,

the sound of my regular inhale and hyperaudable exhale retreat

slowly,

consistently,

with great patience of one who has,

moved mountains one stone at a time and all is quiet.