Beautifully  written, Chuck.  Amazing what happens to     "doers" when they
are forced  into a more "observing" role.  Surprisingly it's not all bad as
you so well describe it.

Cathy








Charles E Murray wrote:

> In my school days I was active in athletics, football, basketball, pole
> vaulting on the track team.  If I wasn't out on the court or field of
> play the sport held no interest for me.  I had no desire to be anything
> other than what we called a "starter."  Any coach who took me out of the
> game, even for a brief rest, was on my list of undesirable people. If I
> wasn't a full time star I was nothing (and I was seldom a star).
>
> Winning, perfect performance, those were personal expectations, and they
> continued in the game of life for many years.  My expectations always
> exceeded my willingness to work, and the stress this added ground me down
> a little more each day.  As these traits put so much subjective pressure
> in my life, I began to falter.  As my defects started to make my
> performance unravel, liquid courage became my way of staying in the game.
>
> Finally, I crashed on wobbly legs and was carried off the field of play.
> I was put in jock rehab and taught about a Power Greater that myself.  I
> was told that there was more to life than the game, and that the game
> could be played by more gentle rules.
>
> But inevitably I charged back onto the field, though I'd like to think in
> a more thoughtful and gentle way.  This sometimes led to comic results,
> as when I would smile and wave encouragement to the opposing half back as
> he ran past me toward the end zone.  My fellow players would chide me
> into tackling him the next time, telling me I was shirking my "duty" to
> the team by "loving my enemies." (What the hell kind of trial attorney
> are you?")
>
> So most of the time for the next few years I tackled anyone who tried to
> run through my position, but secretly refused to get excited when the
> other team experienced success, as long as it didn't embarrass me
> personally.  I even slipped more and more into the black and white
> stripes of a referee after being told I was better suited to be a
> mediator of the contest than a player in the game.  For ten years I
> filled this neutral role, but I was still on the field, still taking the
> game very seriously.
>
> And then came Parkinson's.
>
> As my legs began to feel like I was running through a vat of molasses,
> fear and self pity set in.  Why me?  How can I keep influencing and
> controlling?  Will I even be able to stay in the game?  I will be of no
> value if I'm not doing my duty. No one will respect me.  I won't survive
> financially, (ad nauseam)
>
> I turned to the Coach, and this time, instead of the one named "Mi Ego,"
> who had always told me to "suck it up, get back in there and hit
> somebody, " this new Coach, brought to me by the spiritual teaching I
> learned after being knocked out of the game the first time, this Coach
> found a willing heart when He said, "I've been watching you on the field
> long enough.  It is time for you to take a rest, sit out and watch, maybe
> a period or two, maybe the rest of the game.  Rest, observe, and we will
> see.  I promise you that if you will sit with patience and observe with
> an open heart, you will will understand safety and love and you will be
> transformed."
>
> At first the voice of that old coach echoed in my ear.  I fretted, I was
> unhappy and felt victimized.
>
> But then, watching from my new home on the bench, I noticed I could see
> far more of the action than when my whole world was the"guy across the
> line as a player, or breaking up a fracas as a referee.  Next I began to
> realize that what I was watching was a GAME.  It was not something to
> take too seriously.  In the heat of battle I had lost sight of anything
> outside the playing field, but from the bench I had time to notice the
> birds flying over the field, unmindful of the importance of the contest
> below.  I could see the majestic mountains in the distance, sensing
> instinctively  that lovers were walking trails to the summit, hand in
> hand, unmindful of the contest as the pursue their own path.
>
> Relieved of the stress of battle, the distraction of intense
> concentration on the next play, it slowly dawned on me that I could play
> a new and far more peaceful role in life, even more peaceful than that of
> referee.   I could be one of the Water Boys for both teams.  I learned
> that a capable Water Boy doesn't  judge, penalize or discriminate between
> one team or the other, but must carry water to anyone interested in a
> drink.  And I found the Coach smiles just as often at us Water carriers
> as He does the hard charging competitors.
>
> Now that I am breaking in at this new position (one I always felt only
> nerds and wimps would fill), I understand that, no matter how intense the
> contest, no matter how long it lasts, and no matter what the outcome,
> each of us needs the water of Love.  Until I got benched by Parkinson's I
> didn't realize that I can look past the uniforms, the team loyalties, the
> action on the field and see the real core of all of us present and former
> players, and that is (help me here doctors) something like 90 percent
> water.
>
> Without Parkinson's this new job would never have appealed to me, yet
> today it feels like something I was born to do, so I guess gratitude and
> Parkinson's must fit into the same sentence.  No matter what lies ahead
> in my journey with PD, I can always carry the water.
>
> Sincerely,
> Aspiring Water Boy (or Water Person if you prefer, as most of the Water
> Boys I know are actually of the other gender)
> Chuck