I  rushed to the kitchen sink to rinse the wound and stop the bleeding. My  body began to go into shock. My awareness remained strong enough to  realize it.

“What is happening right now?” I’m  flushed, unsteady, trembly.

“Can I be with it?” Yes, it’s a good  chance to see what shock actually feels like.

I wondered if it was possible to stay  connected to my heart at such an intense time. I tuned in. Love was  there, definitely, not as a thought but an actual felt emanation, just  as always. I smiled at this as I sat on the couch waiting to get my  legs back so I could walk to the car. After a few minutes, with my wife  at the wheel and my six-year-old daughter in the backseat, we took off  for the emergency room.

For many hours in the waiting  room,  my mind resisted that the accident had actually  happened. I kept watching my thoughts review the whole series of events  over and over, as if, repeated enough times, the outcome would be  different.

Oh, to have listened to my first  cautious thought and moved my position before that last slice. I’d be  home sleeping soundly now, instead of exhausted and frayed, trying to  figure out how long to wait before again visiting the front desk to make  sure they really hadn’t forgotten me. That would be so great. Could be  just rewind the tape, please, and then fast forward to that other  outcome?

I was gentle with myself amid this  resistance, and soon a sad, resigned acceptance sunk in. Then I had to  be with a lot of impatience, as each brief appearance of a nurse or  resident in my exam room was followed by another half hour of nothing  happening. I was trapped, utterly, and dependent on other harried  humans who had many more serious emergencies to tend to than mine.

Finally, at almost 5 a.m., a taxi  dropped me off at home with stitches, swelling, limited movement in my  finger and, we hope, a just-missed tendon.

I’m inspired to share this story (even  though it hurts a lot to type) because it reminded me how every single  experience is a perfect practice opportunity, and how even when a  crisis hits, the practice of presence can get us quickly aligned with  the heart’s love and wisdom.

This holiday season, I’m aware, many  of you are enjoying yourself emergency-free. Others are dealing with  overwhelm, or perhaps loneliness. Still others are grappling  with challenges or losses far greater than my Christmas tree mishap.

To all of you, whatever your current  experience, I offer the same benediction – may you remain equally  present amid life’s great joys and sorrows, and may that presence lead  you first to your own heart’s love and wisdom, and then swiftly on to  the One Heart that connects us all.