In many ways, my brain has been a lifelong friend to me, my means of making a living, getting help, finding love, moving to the country, writing books, publishing a blog, changing, improving, and taking up photography.

It seems my brain was always there when nothing else was.  My brain made me a writer and a photographer and inspired me to love. A few weeks ago, I fell backward – we’re not 100 percent sure why- and suffered a brain concussion; there was blood in the brain.

No surgery was necessary; the brain’s blood would be absorbed, and the concussion would heal if I rested. But I never imagined my head being so out of focus.

This is a spiritual experience. It speaks to patience, hope, and empathy. I am increasingly conscious of so many people whose injuries can’t heal themselves and who can’t be completely healed. Empathy is, to me, the highest calling any human can hope to achieve.

In the meantime, I am experiencing what they call vertigo, dizziness, and disorientation when I move a certain way, lie down, or after sleep. I can take photos, but I must be careful where I put my head and at what angle. Otherwise, everything I see can be off-kilter, thus dangerous. I write and drive a car without trouble.

I have to rest after anything I do that requires the brain, which is just about everything I do.

There is also some mysticism involved, and I am drawn to magic and mysticism.

It’s a powerful and mysterious thing to lose control of a brain or to see it go out of focus. I depend on it for so much. And I see that the rest of the brain is going into overdrive to compensate for the injured part. One side effect is that I am much more aware of nature,  animals, color, and my surroundings, things I can appreciate without thinking about.

But it feels as if there is a dybbuk in my head, the demons my grandmother used to evoke when she was frightened or angry. (In Jewish mythology, a dybbuk is a malicious possessing spirit believed to be the dislocated soul of a dead person.)

My brain, my lifelong guide and partner, is out of focus for the first time. This is a remarkable kind of injury for me and an unpredictable one. I have no problems writing or taking photos unless I move my head in a specific direction, and then my brain goes out of focus. I don’t know any other way to put it.

(I fell on the cerebellum, which bled into the brain. The cerebellum – lower left- (Latin for “little brain”) is a significant structure of the hindbrain located near the brainstem. The cerebellum is most directly involved in coordinating voluntary movements. It is also responsible for a number of functions, including motor skills such as balance, coordination, and posture.)

I see the world as upside down or in motion, and I often bury my eyes in my hands to keep from seeing things in this different and unsettling way. This has good points; I love taking out-of-focus shots of the flowers and the pasture. Looking through the camera finder, I see all kinds of things (see above) that ignite my creativity.

I can’t read for very long or very often. But I can read a bit every day. It’s getting easier. But I do feel like a hybrid human, sometimes fully functional and strong, sometimes out of focus and exhausted. I’m a lot better than I was a few weeks ago, but I still have a ways to go.

When I sit in bed or stand up from my reading chair, the world spins or turns upside down, and I feel like I am falling. If I stand still for 10 or 20 seconds, my brain rights itself, and I can walk again. In the meantime, I instinctively clutch for something to hand onto or feel like I will fall. Having a brain that is out of focus is a new experience for me, something I know happens to people who suffer brain injuries, but not like anything that has ever happened to me.

This kind of injury requires consistent patience and some education. I’ve talked to doctors, gone online, and heard from victims of vertigo.

There are treatments and cures for this; I can lie with my head way down or even lie upside down, do head movement exercises, and above all,l  I am told I can rest the brain to heal by itself. I’ve chosen this latter course. Because of my age, etc., this may take longer than it would take a younger person to heal. Every time I write, I need to rest.

I rest my brain for two or three hours every afternoon – no devices, movies, reading, or taking photos). Every day, I feel some small progress, and every day, I have a relapse and find my head spinning and out of focus again.

This, I understand, is normal. I am pretty fortunate that it wasn’t or isn’t worse. I am sorry that it put a lot of pressure on Maria; when I get out of the car or stand up, she is right there for me to hang onto until my head clears. She knows when to be there. As this wound heals, I will need less and less of her attention, and it hasn’t interfered with her work; she is working on quilts, hanging pieces, and her beautiful potholders.

I appreciate her.

When I lose focus, remember that I am healing and that no one knows exactly how long it will take, but it is getting better all the time. And I appreciate all of the support I am receiving and good wishes. I can read those without difficulty.