The Cost of Being Alive or“You listen to what’s happening inside you,”

So, considering Beckett's thinking:
I always remember a comment ,years ago ,by a neurologist of mine, then,Dr John Schaeffer.
.He said: Marguerita,you want to live,not just survive.
I had a stroke,and strangely enough survived,with recurring and painful headaches, ,seizures and some collateral damage to my body.
My hearing is affected.
The most incredible effect was to the astonishment of the medical world and others around,I returned from the ashes with an incredible recharge on my of joie de vivre,
the sense I always had,inherited from my mother and father,who both having lost everything in their lives,never gave up that feeling.
And an ever so curiosity percolating within me.
I can attest to that sensation through my work.Through my drawings,through my line.
I keenly watch myself ,my state of being alive,through my creative input and my vision towards existence.
Every time I have a seizure ,there is that monologue or a secret dialog with Death.
I tell Death that I am not ready to go. I still have a lot of things that I did not get to do and want them realized,by me.I become a Fellinian character,like that dude in one of Fellini's,where he dreams of all the desires and wishes running through his mind.
Mine and the environment.
My sons and their inevitable growing challenges and questions of what is Life about.
The pleasure of feeling life,looking at the skies,seeing the different tones of blue,feeling the drop of water from the rain,watching my birds,my ginger plant,that is growing and had a bloom,the first one this year. From a little branch and a leaf,I brought seven years ago from Jamaica, when I visited a beautiful garden there and noticed a pink ginger flower,the curator of the garden simply pulled a branch and gave it to me . I remember as a dream,George the peacock wandering around, while my boys, still little boys running around and playing there.The hummingbird landing on my finger for a drink of water and sugar....
And so the times have been passing with great hardship and a constant battle for survival.
A battle that rimes with the cadence of Ravel's bolero.
Living with that sword stuck on my throat as much as I am pushing it away.
But you are fabulous! as someone I met recently has said to me.
No one could ever see that on you,your struggle!!!????
Oh yeah.
I am facing the basic needs to be alive. A place in the sun.
There is a strong spirit guiding me.
I wonder.
Hitler killed all of my ancestors.
And here I come out as a surprise. My mother wanted to call me Beatrix ,like the muse of Dante.I only looked up recently the name in a dictionnary: Beatrix,Beatricce A variant of Beatrix meaning bringer of joy. Famous bearer: Beatrice was Dante's guide through Paradise in the 'Divine Comedy', perhaps inspired by Beatrice Portinari, Dante's earliest love.
http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2007/12/05/a-high-price-for-healthy-food/