The Power of a Fall

It’s amazing how breaking apart in one way can put you back together in another.

Two days ago I was in the midst of a very busy, chore-filled work day, with deadlines to meet, projects to plan, and no heartspace to feel much, though Lord knows I needed to. I just shoved it to a point inside too far to reach, putting around it immediate events that needed attention – caring for a friend in a quandary so bad he was being physically affected, suddenly getting closer to a long-term acquaintance when he’s in trouble, nodding blankly to being told I had an IQ level of the top 5% of the population ( like that makes a big difference ).

And then, I fell.

And not just any fall, but a spectacular one. In the middle of a street.

Hurrying back to work after lunch, a birthday gift in the office bag weighing a tonne, one hand warming on a Gloria Jean hot chocolate, the other clutching my suit jacket. Waiting patiently at the signal, for the lights to change.

When they did, I took one step, and next thing I knew, SPLAT! I’m on gravel, scalding beverage half-spilled on jacket, head spinning.

A couple of pedestrians helped out, and I sat on a nearby bench, trying hard not to cry out at the shooting pain in my knee.

A phone call to a friend for a whinge-fest later, I decided to brave it and walk back to work. Limping along, I slowly realised I was still holding my hot chocolate in my hand, spilt but potable. Hoping the cocoa will soothe, I took a sip.

And gagged. It was coffee.

I hadn’t had coffee since I was 10, rushing for a great-grandaunt’s Sadabhishegam (80th wedding anniversary ) at 5am knowing I wouldn’t have anything to eat till 2pm, sculling the horrid brew, and duly spewing it in the temple gutter a couple of hours later. Scarred for life.

I cursed the Gloria Jean waitress and looked around for any cold, Aboriginal street characters who could use a hot drink. Seeing none, I dumped it.

At work, the two colleagues I was relieving took one look at me and started to gush. And that was when I realised it too – cuts on my knee, gashes on my arm – and spilling blood. There was talk of first-aid, and rests, and sympathy from well-known students – none of which I needed at that point.

Then the colleague I was closest to looked up from her work to see what the fuss was all about, and I proudly held up my bleeding arm and declared “I fell!”

She shook her head and bit. “Woman, honestly, what am I going to do with you? Constantly getting into scrapes – you’re hopeless!”

And I started to laugh. It was exactly what I needed.

The pain registered better ( or worse ) when the antisepticised wounds started to burn, and as my colleague shoved a bunch of bandages at me and rushed back to work, leaving me to apply them myself, the pain seemed to start something.

An ignition, a jump start, a giving way.

Something from within actually seeped away with the flow of blood, exorcising unknown elements with the breaking of skin.

Along with the release, a pull-together came as well. Inelegant and graceless, as I winced my way through covering my injuries, but it was there nonetheless.

I threw away the unneeded scraps, and paused. I knew I had to start work, but I also needed confirmation.

Closing my eyes, I dug away to that hidden point within, climbing over the self-erected fences. I fell again, for now there was just emptiness there. Space.

Amazed, I came to, smiled, and got back to work.