Tomorrow will be another day; whether it will be a good day or a bad day, doesn’t really matter. Only love matters, says CHANA MEDDIN

October was Breast Cancer Awareness Month in the US. So I went for my mammogram at the end of the month; then received the phone call no woman wants.  “Your results were abnormal and we need you to come in to the cancer center for….”

Everything went blurry and I froze before writing down the date, time and address. Thanking the caller, I leaned back, motionless, in my chair. The election…COVID-19… winter…no, I decided, it’s not a good time. Can we possibly put off getting diagnosed with cancer until…never?

Tonight I watch a spacewalk outside the International Space Station on YouTube, transfixed upon earth. The spinning of the spacewalkers’ camera is making me dizzy. Viewing earth from above puts a mammogram into perspective. Even though the spinning is starting to give me vertigo, I inhale the blue pearl we all live upon, partly obscured by white clouds that render Earth tenderly precious, fragile. And alive. 

Chana Meddin

Waiting for next diagnostic tests, I measure life within the gorgeousness of eternity. What really matters? Watching this spacewalk above earth right now ― our planet slowly rotating against the enormity of infinite space, what matters? Waiting to find out whether or not I have breast cancer resembles waiting to find out whether we can reverse climate change…how did our planet, Gaia, become as vulnerable as my female body? 

Before tuning into the International Space Station, I vacuumed and tidied up the apartment. Cared for my plants. Kissed my sweet cat Annabelle Fluff. Slowly, mindfully prepared a hot cup of tea and enjoyed stirring in honey.

My life-partner of 30 years moved in so we could be together for whatever comes with the election, pandemic, winter and health issues.  He faces the diagnosis with me, having survived his own cancer journey.

I walk into his room and find him still working, like the astronauts. His head may be spinning on the inside, but he’s on earth. The astronauts are weightless. He has gravity. My cat  walks curiously across the keyboard with no regard, whatsoever, for philosophy. She wants me to come to bed and snuggle. 

Pic by Anna Shevts from Pexels

The election will be what it will be. Doctors will deliver news that may reshape my life and inspire consideration of mortality. The astronauts will perform more spacewalks. 

The space station is 20 years old and faces its own mortality. Yet, already it has performed far longer than expected.

Sitting at my desk towards the end of the evening, only love matters. Our pulsing, blue planet sparkles with indelible grace, connecting us with one another just as ancient rishis, mystics, saints and seers told us in millennia past.

We live and sparkle, each breath a poem. Upon the canvas of our lives, love paints stunning, simple gestures of openheartedness. Annabelle walks across my keyboard again, appealing more urgently for me to leave the space station for the warmth of her fluffy fur as we snuggle together. Both of us content as gravity pulls us together.

Tomorrow will be another day; whether it will be a good day or a bad day, doesn’t really matter. Only love matters.

Chana “Hana” Meddin is a lifelong meditator, nature photographer, artist, and wildlife advocate. She has written for the Times of India’s ‘Speaking Tree’ and has a story published in Oswald Pereira’s book, ‘How to Create Miracles in Our Daily Life.’ She lives in Seattle with her cat, Annabelle Fluff. They both enjoy yoga.

More Stories by Chana Meddin