I sense the vibrations deep within me
Foundations quake, shaking that which once was firmly held
What was assumed to be eternal falls around me in pieces
Like glitter in a globe it slowly swirls, gravity accomplishing its work
I watch it crumble and tumble, down, down, down
Currents of anxiety keep it aloft past its time
It needs to settle, I need to settle
An active passivity restrains my impulse to jump, to move, to seek distraction
Let it settle, it needs to settle, don’t stir it up again
New awareness is finally breaking the old making room for what is not, yet
But the birth is like the grinding of hard stone and dust
Shifting of the plates, a new geography is forming
It threatens home and kin. They feel it too
But crisis calls for calm, don’t feed it, don’t jump
Old rifts will be mended, new vistas will emerge, danger and hope coexists
I can make neither mountains nor mole hills
The power is at work in me, I am not the Maker, I am being made
I will not jump, I will wait, and watch, and listen to the stillness
It had been a good day. She was so beautiful, and attentive, and interested. His hope had been kindled on her laughter. He had not felt much of a man for such a long, long while. He had only known her for three months but it had been a whirlwind. He felt thirty again, no maybe forty, that was his prime. He laughed thinking that he had not awakened to that particular stiffness in a long while. His back, his neck, yes stiff every day, just from sleeping. But this was a familiar friend he thought long gone. He felt alive again.
They had traveled to the city on a whim. They could do that now, freed from the obligations of younger folk. And they had eaten the best food and seen the best sites and were alone together in the rich buzz of the city. He never thought that a smile would again ever cross face. Cause, she had died ten years ago suddenly, just as the kids were gone and they were just about to live the life they had talked about all those many years. Travel and freedom! They had saved and they had planned, sacrificing much along the way for the now grown babies they loved so dearly. And just as the new life was about to begin, there came the diagnosis, the disbelief, the panic, the treatment, the decline, the death. Almost overnight it seemed. His world shaken, foundations overturned, numb.
And numb was how he stayed for a long, long while. He went through the motions, pitying his children’s concern. “Why worry about a dead man,” he used to wonder. And to all accounts he was dead, at least the walking dead. Smiling face, dead eyes, keeping up social convention, but more and more reclusive, disconnected. He was lost somewhere between here and there, unable, unwilling to bridge the gap. He replayed the dreams they had shared with each other during the hard times and the good. Dreams of exotic people and places and sunsets and of growing old together. God he had loved her. It was a true and fierce love that had given her a place to rest and grow and nurture the ones they loved so much.
She had knitted each child a little blanket. A covering that saw them through their first six months or so. And each unique blanket had followed each child through Christmas, and Easter, and birthdays, year after year. Upon their leaving there was a special ceremony she designed for each baby that included a blessing and a passing of the blanket. But there was one blanket which had followed them all. It was still waiting with no place to rest. A little red blanket with a white T embroidered on it. She was the youngest, the brightest star whose light had been taken from them. He had discovered it one day going through “the chest” where she had kept all the things that belonged to the future. He wept that day for the first time. Long and deep he grieved, and in utter solitude. But that day was different. On that day he began to make a turn. It was that day he began to let go. He began to finally lift his head.
And it was not long after that day that she suddenly appeared in his life. Bright, full of life, no expectations other than he be fully himself. It was different than they had been. They had grown up together and had overcome and learned much together. The children born of them created a bond that could not be shared with another. He still missed her, and would at times wish for her company and conversation. But she was gone, and she is here and alive and interesting and maybe, just maybe there was some life left before it was over. Maybe just maybe, he could be alive before he died. So as they walked the streets that day, hand in hand, hope was their friend and their guide. They strolled in the park and came upon an elderly lady knitting. Knitting a small red something. A blanket, or a sweater, he did not know. All he knew was the white hot grief for his child who was not. All the hope and disappointment and the triumph of the life he had lived coalesced in that moment. The pain and the joy somehow coexisting. He remembered a line from a song “There are cracks in everything, that’s how the light gets in.” He thought he finally understood, or at least was beginning to. And as the tears ran down his face light broke from his eyes. He muttered “hallelujah” and “amen.” His friend, silent and watching, pulled him close, kissed him sweetly, and sighed in thankfulness for a man with a soul.
I have a question for you
It was put to me, now I lay it at Your beautiful feet
In quiet expectation and trust I await Your response
From my lips to Your heart I cast it
“What is the difference?”
Does it matter
What does it mean
And like a pebble it breaks the surface of the Deep
Fluttering, slowly sinking, falling into the silent Unknown
Quiet, unmoving I remain
The surface of the water now still, a mirror
I gaze un-blinking into Her eyes
Green, brown, and golden windows
Falling like the pebble I sink into the Unknowing
Silence . . . Senses forsaken
“Nothing . . . and Everything,” She says
You have given all and you have also received back
Yet I needed not
You have scaled the heights of the exquisite and ridden on its golden light
And you have been flayed and spilled out by grief too terrible for words
But I am here
You have sought Me in exotic far off places and the adventure it brought
Even in the familiar paths within your reach your steps sought Me out
I never moved
You have dreamed, and built, and created magical things
And you have seen it all laid low in the dust
Yet I remain
You have chased the ancient knowledge, gathering together secrets of the Ages
But in the end only learned of your ignorance
I have watched it all
You ask what is the difference
I tell you there is none
The meaning you seek is fleeting like the Spring flowers
What matters is still beyond your comprehension
You ask what is the difference
I tell you all is changed
You have come to Me
You now sit by My still waters
You know the I Am
We are and shall ever be – One
So go my Love, seek, climb, create, and learn
Explore the world of the senses, the playground of the body and the mind
Thrill yourself with new adventure, people, and places
Walk the barren paths of solitude and grief
Exult in your victories and feel the pain of your failure
Fear not, cast it away from you
You are mine and I am Yours
My Love for you is all that has ever really mattered