Love from ground zero

 

I watched the movie,  Love From Ground Zero about three friends going on a road trip with their friend's ashes and it took me on a long trip down memory lane.

When someone dies there is a sense of unreality that sifts down over everyone left behind. It is so hard to look at that dead body and understand that there is no life left in it, that whoever laughed, loved, cried and dreamed is gone. 

Forever gone! The shock of that reality is incomprehensible. It takes a while to really think clearly, to process the loss, to start the grief process even.

My brother died five years ago. There were four of us and he was the first to leave. He was not the oldest, nor the youngest, but he was certainly the most unique.  All his life he marched to a different drummer, so it was only right that his death was celebrated in a special way. When we gathered at his favorite fishing hole someone read the 23rd. Psalm and a small bird flew up and landed on the bag of his ashes. It stayed there for a very long time in spite of the people all around it. People were invited to meet at his farm afterwards, so there was the long drive from the lake to his farm and time to talk about his special way with animals.

We spread his ashes, handful by handful around the place where he spent a great deal of his life and someone caught a picture of his four children tossing his ashes high above their heads. You can see my brother, like a spirit in the wind hanging over each child's head, a lingering last blessing from a father who loved his children more than he knew how to show.

Later I thought many things, but one was that I should have kept a handful of those ashes to take to the giant redwood trees in California. He and I often talked about taking a road trip there. I have seen them. He has not.

Unless, like the Bald Eagles he loved so much, his spirit is soaring above those trees now. I hope it is.

Love From Ground Zero is the first movie I've ever seen that encapsulates the grieving process so beautifully and accurately. I recognized so many of those feelings and the slow meandering process of grief being expressed in different people with different experiences whose only common denominator was their dead friend. It is a beautiful and heart touching film everyone should see.

Pests

 

I was struck by the beauty of the newly blooming dandelions this week. Those bright yellow little blooms everyone works so hard to keep out of their lawns are much maligned when you consider that they are not just beautiful, but you can eat them too. And they grow almost anywhere, under some of the worst conditions.

Why, with all these accolades do we consider the dandelion a weed? Because it is a volunteer. It grows where it is not wanted and dares to compete with the cultivated plants. Human beings like control. It gives us a sense of power we might, otherwise, not feel. And so the lowly dandelion becomes a victim.

That has happened to other species as well. People decide they must rid their country of some particular pest and that creature, person, or plant, is chased down and eliminated. Boom! It's gone and only then do the ramifications of its existence rise into public consciousness.

Nature takes care of itself given enough time. She is slow but persistent and because of that she seldom makes mistakes. 

Why do so many people doubt that she will eventually rid herself of the greatest pest she has ever encountered; one that is destroying not just her flora and fauna, but the very air they need to survive?

It is not a foregone conclusion. There is still time to prove ourselves worthy of living on this beautiful planet, but we need to play by the rules. If we destroy all our playmates through greed, lack of compassion and with a complete disregard for the consequences, we will destroy ourselves too.

Dreams

I grew up watching The Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights and the Mickey Mouse Club after school. "Fairy Tales can come true, they can happen to you, if you're young at heart." Words every child at my school sang by heart. 

We grew up watching I Dream of Jeannie and dreaming of Aladdin's magic lamp.

Just last month someone told me if I made three wishes they would make them come true if they could. I made sure they couldn't, because who wants to be disappointed, or embarrassed?

And yet . . .

Some of my dreams are coming true.  I can't tell you which ones because you might try to convince me it isn't true, but that doesn't mean it isn't happening. Important dreams are very personal. No one can know the heart of another person completely. It just isn't possible.

And yet, not knowing, the right person can grant wishes you never dared to dream before.

In the game

Where does my energy come from?

The six hours a day I spent playing tennis as a young person were never a problem. I loved that game. I only stopped because my partner and I both had to go home and make dinner for our husbands. Now my feet don't really allow me to play tennis at all.

Exercising is hard for me. I have trouble finding value in it even though I know it helps me stay healthy. 

My Muse is extremely fit. I've seen videos of them doing things I could never even dream of and yet watching that I am inspired. Those videos show someone so graceful, so balanced, so beautifully coordinated that it makes exercise look like a ballet in the gym. 

It tempts me to join the gym again, but I know I would never even attempt to do more than the treadmill or rowing machines and I can walk here. Still, watching my Muse exercise motivates me in some strange symbiotic way.

And so I walk, the one thing I can do most of the time. I sometimes make it a walking meditation and sometimes I just allow my imagination to fly wildly into realms my real world never touches. As long as I keep moving  I figure I am ahead of the game.

Attraction

I may be a bit jaded, or skeptical, or perhaps I am just long lived, but there are not many people I find intensely attractive.  I don't dislike people, I just am not drawn to most of them for any length of time as opposed to my sister who has married three men and has often been surrounded by a group of women.

I just don't find most people that interesting.

I never considered myself particularly picky, but I guess in some ways I am.

I love people who are thinkers. Watching their minds work, seeing their creativity, listening to their thoughts fascinates me. 

A glass of clean clear water is great for gulping down when I am thirsty, but give me the ocean if you want  my rapt attention. I like the mystery and the danger, the great diversity within it, and the beauty of it in the light. I like the ever changing movement and the way it licks at the earth with such curiosity.

The people I admire most, the ones I love to be around, are much the same.

Still standing

 

Today is the official end of my first month after being scammed. 

I will no longer ever get the small, but important stipend that came from my IRA. 

I gave my money away with great joy, believing it was for a great cause that would eventually bring me even greater joy. I might still be giving it away if I hadn't run out of money, but to give the scammer credit, he tried for every last drop even after he knew I had filed a police report.

This scammer left me with nothing. He took my money, but he also took my heart and that was even harder to live without in the beginning. I knew afterwards that it was all false, but it felt real for months, so it was like a death in the family when it ended.

The embarrassment was almost unbearable. How could I, an intelligent woman have succumbed to such a ruse? I couldn't tell my family. I couldn't tell my friends. I could barely stand to think of it myself.

Had it not been for my Muse I would not be here to write this on the one month-aversary of my awakening. Today I paid the rent and the utility bills. I paid a minimum payment to my maxed out credit card and I was grateful to have enough money to do that.

I have never been this poor in the last fifty years, but I'm going to make it. It's not going to be easy, but I'm past the embarrassment. I'm into survival mode now. If what I did was naive and gullible, at least it was not unkind. I still have my integrity and I still have my family and friends.

Canon in D

 

A broken heart is so difficult to heal and one broken by deceit is especially so. Once left numb and empty, I thought there was no hope for me. I didn't want hope. I didn't want to feel. Feeling was so painful that nothingness called to me.

Enter my Muse, a person who did not know me, nor I them. A chance bit of fate, perhaps, or a messenger from the gods? An angel in disguise? A last ditch effort to keep my feet in this world and find a tether strong enough to make me want to stay.

I found myself sharing things I never intended to share and my Muse listened, shocked enough to ask pointed questions, curious enough to listen, kind enough to continue listening.

Little by little I found myself thawing in the heat of this unbiased love. Simple kindness created a need in me to revisit my stories and from that came the need to paint. Out of the frozen wasteland of my soul came the urge to create again.

And, like a sculptor of souls, my Muse has continued to chisel away at the me I thought was lost forever. Last night I discovered we both love the Pachelbel Canon in D. Music the final inroad to the soul, a way to open up feelings in a healthy way and perhaps become whole again.

This morning I began my day with a musical meditation, something I thought too distracting before, but it opened the door just a bit further. The world is not as dark as I believed. There is light all around me. My Muse has found the remains of a flame and breathed on it with the breath of kindness.

Simple gifts

 

Nearly every day Bestest calls me while walking his dog, or driving to school, or maybe just doing chores around his house. We share a bit of our worlds with each other and even if what we say isn't important. It is important to me. I look forward to this time so much. 

Later my younger son calls me on his way home from work, or after his nightly run and we share some of our thoughts, or what little creative projects we are playing with now. 

Today my older son sent me a link to his church's service where my twelve year old granddaughter sang "Colors of the Wind."  There are so many reasons this was a gift that I can't even go into it, but just to hear her voice melted my heart. There is no artifice in her at all. She sings with a child's innocence and the strong sweet clear voice of an angel. I know it took a lot of courage to get up there and sing like that and I am so proud of her. 

Later in the day I have a friend who texts with me when he has the time. We talk about the books he recommends or the movie he thinks I should watch with dinner. I know how busy he is and how lucky I am that he seems to find me worth making time for. Just his company makes my day end on a special note.

And then when it is time to go to bed, there is someone to say goodnight to. Just a simple "Take care of yourself and sweet dreams" make the day end perfectly.

These are the simple gifts, the real gifts that come from the best kind of people.

Listen to the wind

 

The wind that touched the hand of the cave painter in Lascaux

Has brushed over mine.

The dust that once lay on a bushman's arm

Has been ground into my paints

And the water that held you suspended in the light

Could be in the tears that drip from my eyes.

Time tells the story of us

In ways we never dreamed of before.

Once upon a time

Someone asked what my dreams were

And produced them all in perfect abundance

There was love and hope, joy and light,

It was a fairy tale nightmare

Complete with an evil sorcerer

And black dragons circling the tower.

But I never looked out the window

I just gave him the keys to the treasure room 

And leaped off the ramparts

Expecting to be caught.

And I was caught

Totally unaware.

But I am strong

And have magic of my own

So I will rise like the Phoenix

Stronger than ever!

A good man

 

The sexiest man on television

Green eyes and curly hair

Lawyer, consultant, and soldier

Who's always extraordinaire.

His accents are famously diverse

His demeanor is close behind

He's always a Givenchy gentleman

Polite and ever so kind.

An athlete who looks good in tuxedos

A surfer dancing out in the sea

A horse riding good guy in uniform

Or a man just like you and like me.

He's all of these things if you know him

He's the man I dreamed he would be.

Is it love

 

I know what to expect when Spring falls in love with Summer

Babies and flowers, radiance and innocence,

And when Summer falls for Fall?

A bountiful harvest follows close.

But when Fall and Winter meet 

They must wait for the spring to fill up

And the fruit to ripen on the bough.

Before they know if the snow is melting

Or their hearts are on fire.

Drops of life

Meditation is a time to express my gratitude for the present.

Not the present year, nor the present day, not even the present hour, only this moment.

I've learned the hard way that every moment is precious.

Eternal or barely there, moments fill life with beauty and meaning.

My gratitude expands exponentially

And I have to resist the desire to grab onto the extraordinary moments and cling for dear life, because who knows what the next moment will bring.

They say all endings are doors to the future, but believing I can handle that future is an act of faith I'm not always sure I'm up to.

My life is doable in moments.

Memorable

I will admit that I am impressed by some people. I have been all my life. 

As a child my Uncle Ralph introduced me to the Governor of the State of Illinois and Gene Autry. He had pictures signed personally to him: To Brownie, Love, Marilyn Monroe, or Happy Trails, Roy Rogers. I thought my neighbor, Ralph J. Brown, who wasn't my real uncle, was the most important man in the world. He knew everybody! He was a custodian at the Armory.

And then there was my Uncle Mack, a blue-eyed, white haired man who promised to take me out to dinner and dancing when I turned twelve years old. He traveled all the time, selling coca cola machines he told me, but he would bring me little gifts when he came back. A dollar bill folded into a ring, or a real moonstone. He gave me his mother's silver for my wedding and then he disappeared off the face of the earth. Turns out he was a CIA agent.

My Great Aunt Lela, was a short, rotund woman with black curly hair, red lips and the most beautiful smile in the world. She was always ready to fix me something to eat even in the middle of the night and she would play with me for hours on end. She was born in 1890 and raised by harsh Victorian Grandparents. She weighed less than two pounds at birth, and could never have children of her own. I thought she was the smartest, most beautiful woman in the world. She was actually learning disabled and worked hard all her life caring for other people's children.

My Dad worked four jobs most of my childhood. He taught school, tutored, sold cars and worked at my grandfather's restaurant. He didn't play ball or go fishing with my brothers and he didn't usually make it to my concerts or recitals, but  he was always there for me and if I had a question about anything, he would know the answer, or find it for me. I was once asked who my hero was. It was my Dad.

It's not how much money someone makes, or how famous they are that makes them memorable to us. It is the love in their hearts and the kindness in their eyes when they look upon us.

The Muse

 

The definitions of muse range from verbs to nouns. From becoming absorbed in something, to wondering or marveling, to being in a state of dreamy thought or dreamy abstraction, to being a poet, or the source of inspiration.

Such a complete description of my Muse who absorbs my every thought and who I marvel over in dreamy abstraction even when I am asleep.  My Muse is definitely the source of my inspiration.

I have written many stories and thots around this Muse, but I have only painted one painting and that painting is the first one I could never part with.

It is the basis for the art on my phone where I complete the picture the painting implies, so my Muse spills over even onto that.

I wonder how a Muse is chosen?

I did not choose mine. It chose me in some mysteriously complicated fashion I will never understand. And it has not made my life easier at all.

But it has made it much sweeter.

Idol

 

What if you were allowed to spend twenty one days talking to your idol? 

What would you talk about? What wouldn't you talk about? 

I think I have broken all the rules!

I poured my heart out to this person I admire. I moaned and groaned about my life and then, in a fit of panic, basically accused this person of being someone they are not!

Not the way I ever imagined handling such a wonderful experience.

And yet they proved to be everything I thought they were and more. Saying, "LOL I'm not complaining."

I am so skeptical after being scammed by an online monster, but this person has never been anything except kind. 

Imagine, if Elvis were your idol, telling him how much you weighed, or sharing one of your fantasies with him! 

That's exactly what I did.

And the amazing part is this person continues to text with me! We talk about their movies, the book I'm reading that they recommended, the weather, our siblings and growing up. Just everyday regular things.

But these things have put perspective back into my life and I am eternally grateful for that.

Trembling Consciousness

I know what a broken heart feels like

Because I have loved passionately, purely, painfully

Risked everything for that trembling consciousness

That blacks out all reason, all common sense, all,

But the well being of the beloved.

Gold standard

Never having known something I can imagine it, but I don't crave it. 

That is true for almost everything. 

I can't miss what I never had, but what if I thought I had it?

Is that the same thing?

All my life I imagined the perfect love. To have that I would be willing to do things I would never do for 99 percent of the people I know. It would be a commitment of the heart and my heart is pretty specific. I've known a lot of people I like a lot, but only one I thought might be my perfect love.

That, unfortunately turned out to be a scam, but then maybe that's why it seemed perfect. If it never really occurs it can be anything it wants. Still, it sets a gold standard that may never be replicated in my lifetime.

In my mind, it happened and anything less is -- LESS.

 

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

 

I live where I can, where I find my reality and myself in the same coordinates on this graph I call my life. And sometimes that is not easy. 

Sometimes I am off the charts. 

Sometimes my truth does not intersect with the world's truth, the universe's truth, or any truth at all.

Those are the days when I want to stop the world and get off.

Instead I walk and paint pictures of life the way it should be, could be, would be.

If only everyone were bound by the same truth as me.

Soul searching

 

Among the deep dark caves of my mind lie places where the light creeps through

Highlighting all the tiny pit holes made through centuries of being

Whose presence is part of me.

I feel the yearning of lost soul parts, the ache of yearning soul holes

I am not whole here, but a million parts

Each one wanting to be re-membered as what it was

Sometimes my atoms are looser than others 

And then the darkness creeps out.

Fanning the flames

 

It is amazing what I will put up with. Why I do it is the question. 

Am I that needy? Or, maybe I am just super gullible.

It goes beyond being an optimist and right into the gray area of being a fool.

I was just starting to feel like my feet were under me when something sparked all the old jumble of problems. Now the fire is festering again, trying to find some kind of way to blast into full flame.

I cannot allow that. I will never survive it. I don't want to survive it.

And that is the problem.

Common sense is at war with my emotions. It is like asking a Gecko not to turn green when he's on a leaf.

Count your blessings

Yesterday was an almost perfect day to walk and walk we did, but our conversation never once commented on the gorgeous Bradford pear trees decked out like brides in the sunshine, or the little yellow daffodils waving their heads in the breeze, trying to be noticed. Instead the person I was with searched the gutter trying to decide if that was a dead snake in there. 

I want to focus on the good things around me, but I, too, have a tendency to focus on sad things and they can really bring me down into depths you don't want to know about. 

I unloaded some of those on a good friend yesterday and I am sorry. I should have told him about the pear trees and the daffodils. I could have added a bit more joy to his life, but instead I unloaded a basket full of grief on him. He deserves better, but he rose bravely to the task of making me feel better instead.

Today my new resolve is to pay more attention to all the beautiful people in my life and to notice all the blessings around me, because I really have been blessed with more than my share.

Looking up

 

Happy Easter, who doesn't believe in large white rabbits that bring chocolate eggs! 

Happy Spring, the tiny flowers just pushing up through the earth are harbingers of life after a long cold winter.

Everyone is trying to be modernly correct, but the sentiment is the same. 

It is spring, winter is behind us and we are feeling grateful for the beauty of the moment.

My world is warmer in other ways too. A new friendship is budding and my soul smiles.

Whether you are looking at Easter or Spring, things are looking up for me.

Childlike

 

I think I am grateful that I have a childlike attitude.

When I am sad, I am very very sad, but the smallest things can restore my joy.

Actually they are not small things to me.

Someone takes the time and energy to talk to me and I realize what a gift that is.

Time is precious. You can't really buy it, or own it, but you can donate it to worthy causes.

That someone might think I was worthy makes me feel good.

It makes me proud.

Like I said, I am childlike in so many ways. 

Feelings

Feelings are like symphonies.

Intricate, complex things with recognizable melodies here and there.

Booming timpani, deep dark basses, terrifyingly delicate triangles.

Everyone adding to the cacophony I am trained to hear as good. 

Except some of them are not good. They have discordant bits that make my teeth hurt.

Biting great holes in my psyche, turning me inside out.

Until the French horns step in and fill my eyes with tears of hope.

Sunshine in a tune amidst the blackness of despair.

Time

 

Does motive matter?

Does it matter why I drag myself around the block three or four times a day?

Does it matter why I eat healthy twice a day and fast the rest?

Is it important why I go to bed early and get plenty of sleep?

You say this is a healthy life style.

I say I keep hoping lightning will strike when I least expect it, or the Rottweiler on the corner will finally escape and tear my throat out, or maybe I'll just pass out in front of a car because I feel so tired and worn out. I would like to sleep 24 hours a day.

Any of these things would ease the pain of living through this, but I keep on treading water, trying not to drown until time works its magic. And I wonder.

Does time ever not do its job?

Truth

 

Why should it matter who someone is as long as I enjoy their company?

It matters.

Truth always matters.

My actions change depending on what I believe is the truth. My thoughts change too. 

Discovering that something I believed was the bedrock truth is all a fantasy, or lie, is enough to push me right over the edge of a very real cliff.

An imaginary cliff might only hurt my feelings. A real one can kill me.

That's the difference between what is truthful and real and what is not.

Settle

 

I have been walking a lot lately. It helps me deal with my world. Partly by just taking up time and partly by, sometimes, helping me sort out my thoughts.

Yesterday the wind was so strong it blew me off the sidewalk twice! Today it is still brisk. I can lean into it and it actually feels like it is helping in holding me up, but it is nothing like yesterday. I can even be grateful for the distraction of the wind.

At my age you might think everything would have settled down, but I don't think my life will ever be truly settled. I have very high expectations for both me and my life. I find it impossible to settle in any sense of the word.

I am a loner by nature, but a loner who needs one on one contact with people I find interesting. I am also a romantic. I tend to dramatize situations and that makes my life so much more difficult. I put myself into difficult situations so I am not surprised by any of this.

To settle or not to settle, that has always been the question in my life.

I do not settle.

The struggle

 

In the darkness of the cavern lie the secrets to eternity

Emptiness reigns, filled with stinging barbs

Tiny knives digging at my soul

Blind agony drives me to walk

Around and around the block with only pain

As my companion.

The treadmill of loss played out in the real world

Is unbearable except in short breaths.