After the surgery my view from the hospital bed was of the shadowy tops of trees and the dark night sky. The moon was full, adding light to the darkness, though I never saw the full round beauty of it shining in.
I woke up every hour that night. The sky changed with bright stars, wisps of clouds, rolling clouds, changing constellations.
At midnight, I woke and slowly realized that it wasn't pain that woke me this time. Then, again, I felt a sensation of care and concern that came to me as though the window were open and I could feel the wind and rain. I thought someone must be praying for me just then, and I was so grateful as I fell back asleep.
At 1 a.m., I woke again, registering first on the pain which was there but not any worse. Then again, I felt that great sense of care and concern rolling in like the clouds outside the window. It was so lovely. I basked in it. I didn't move. I just let it come to me until I slept again.
I woke again at 2 and at 3, and each time this great loving care came in like the changing night sky, bright like the stars and soft like wisps of fog and cloud. It was the most healing sensation—invisible yet palpable. I knew I was feeling something that was always right here but in my busyness and daily attentions, I had not understood.
Somehow, in my post-operation vulnerability, a window had opened for me, and I was blessed in the night.