Today at the end of yoga class during savasana (the corpse pose), I decided to put my legs up the wall; another form one can take during this pose. With my eyes closed, I sunk into the floor, noticing the presence of my breath.I slowly opened my eyes and looked up at my feet. I noticed my newly painted green and sparkly toenails. Then I noticed two scars, about a half an inch under where my toes meet my feet. I started breathing more shallowly as my body recalled the story that these scars could tell.

In 1995 I was diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease lymphoma. Part of diagnosing this disease is undergoing various tests, some mildly uncomfortable to excruciatingly painful, to stage the cancer I had. These tests included a lymphangeogram. I do not know if they still do this, but it was torturous. I sat in the waiting room with my Mom and Dad until my name was called. I was led back to a small room and invited to lay down on a bed. I had to leave my Mom and Dad behind, which I was not a big fan of. I laid down in the hospital bed, on crisp clean white sheets. The nurse proceeded to numb the tops of my feet and made a half-inch superficial incision under my toes. Skinny wires were inserted into these cuts and blue dye was pumped up my lymphatic vessels. There was a warmth that spread like wildfire from my toes to my groin. The pain was unbearable. And I was alone. I stared at the clock as they said this would take about forty-five minutes. My Dad always said to ask how long a procedure was so I could put it in the perspective of my whole life. That was good advice. I could do anything for forty-five minutes. And I did. I stared at the clock to my right as tears streamed down my face. I paid attention to my breath and waited.

Though I was physically alone, I knew that I was not alone in that moment. Though I was in deep pain, I knew I did not go through it alone. It is so hard to explain this presence. But once you know it, you become responsible to it. As I witnessed my feet and the stories they held this morning, I remembered the light that held me as memories flooded my flesh and bone. I breathed God in today, just like I did in that hospital room fifteen years ago. I am responsible to the Love that continually lights my path now. The light is real. As we round the corner into shorter nights and longer days, let us not forget that it is in the darkness that the light is born.