For nearly two years, I have been blogging the experience of my terminal illness, Interstitial Lung Disease with Rheumatoid Arthritis, its symptoms creeping along like an inchworm in high grass, on holiday, with no incentive to hurry. Weeks have morphed into months; months, into years. Slowly, I learned that the disease would have its way with me. I could only witness its symptoms as they occurred.

This being the case, I resorted to head-writing my blogs despite practicing acceptance and surrender and following my daily self-care routine. But my unconscious need to control the uncontrollable, the death of my body, held full sway. My heart was elsewhere.

But last night’s prayer or dream seems to have changed things. My whole body warmed as I heard myself say from the heart, “To You, I return my body. I’m so grateful.” My whole being stirred. I felt free in a new way, and still do—at least today. Gone is the residual anger that had clung to my psyche like sticky spider webs. In no way could I remove them. Another has.

This new shift in attitude is critical for the remainder of my life. Whatever new symptoms there will be, and they’ll probably be many, my choice for fuller Life has been made. In the meantime, I have the next twenty-four hours to look after, with my heart seeking guidance.

My gratitude knows no bounds.