“On my way to work I passed the farm stand again, & the same jolt of color moved me again, so I said to myself: go to the bank on the way home, get cash to put in the self serve box and buy those damn petunias. Certain strong purples, off blues, almost reds, neon tinted flowers or elegant paler versions, well, all that painting in our heads is an offer to heal. I’ve learned to recognize what I need to see, and build it all around me, so the images will continue to burn inside, like smoldering fires. What if there was an apocalypse? Who will be holding the memory of the beauty of earth? A favorite quote comes to mind. “In one legend, the edelweiss is related to heaven, so near to which it grows, for an angel, wearying of her celestial home, longs to taste once more the bitterness of earth”. We put this on Christmas cards, many years ago. It’s how I feel now. The joy of celebration of life, of two friends who died this week, and the other, whose physical integrity was nearly destroyed in a car wreck. Honoring the two who’ve gone on, while casting a humble incredulity towards the one who survived. I don’t know why my truck failed too. At a job hours from home, after a hard, but satisfying work day. The overlay of complication this did me, I’d say, I took in stride. I’m an old hand at sudden change for the worse. And so I noticed, when some grace flew in, to make it less hard. It could have been way badder. And that’s maybe what I’d say about his week. It could have been way badder. My best friend could have died, my mentor could have suffered more. The one I was not personally close to, could have been torn away from his homestead, and forced to die in a sterile room. Instead, he left from his bed, during sleep. His really good poems now flood the airwaves of our community, thanks to the many he’d touched & taught. I’m left with a bunch of mysteries, that will continue to beguile my soul for many months to come. If I listen to detective fiction as a way to pass the time, who knows, maybe I’m a P.I. at heart. Curse the philosopher in me, this need to probe but thankfully, I’ve no need to talk smart and sound convincing. I’ll keep what I figure out under wraps. I’m interested, which includes understanding how we’ve been fooled into believing a bunch of crap. From there, I can understand how the world works at a basic level. Pretty simple. Pare away the idle chatter populating our devices. Relearn how to think for yourself. Which is why I walked a lot of hospital corridors this week, with a glint of rebellion on my soul. I know we are here in the land of the suffering, and I’m willing to face it now that I have to. I guess you could say, I’ve been prepped in so many ways, as a mother, as a survivor of extreme mental and emotional torture. My love, innate, fueled by certain hand hewn rituals of prayer, cobbled together with “string to short to be saved”, is still operative. I can use it, and make good use of it. I’m not all for new age junk, though I’ll allow a wide berth for magical people, who do miracles. It’s real. Here in closing, the birds send messages in code, loud & outside my open back door, where I sit pondering at my mother’s antique table. No screen, no filter. Just a thrumming of sadness, and of perseverance. A confluence of hand written letters, text messages, and lost conversations. I think each of us will eventually get called upon, to apply what we know. Not that we know what we know, but we may be called upon to act, regardless of our self doubt, and hesitancy, and fear. To just do it, and do it well.”
