A few nights ago, I decided to go stargazing. This was not a momentous occasion, in itself, as I’ve been doing this for years. But on this particular night, I was going to try out my new telescope. It took awhile, as I am much better with philosophy than technology, but finally after several attempts I was able to see the moon in all its celestial splendor. The detail was breathtaking--craters and peaks as crisp as a BluRay DVD, magnificent in magnification. I thought back to the night that one man from Earth stepped out of a spaceship and walked on that Moon back in 1969. I was grinning from ear to ear.
But still, as I folded up the tripod a few moments later, and brought the telescope back into the house, I felt the pull of the night sky. Once again, I headed outside and stood in my backyard, my eyes lifted to the stars. It was cold and I shivered but as is often the case on chilly winter nights, the sky was clear and as lit up as a Christmas tree. I soon forgot the temperature as my spirits lifted as well.
I’d been attracted to the heavens for most of my life, as I believe many are. For me, there is nothing so primal and commanding as the canopy of the stars surrounded by the Earth’s dark shadow of night--That time when a hushed stillness comes over half the planet and the yearnings of the soul come to light--When the voice of your heart becomes louder in the silence that surrounds you.
How many times, I ask myself, have I gazed up at this same sky, looking for answers to the questions of “why”, “if” and “how”, my eyes fixed upon the moon or a bright star, my heart open to whatever the Universe might reveal? Or perhaps, focused upon my life lessons and what I have learned or still need to learn?
People stargaze for different reasons: To try to understand something larger than themselves, for solace--believing that perhaps the stars are a guiding force of guardian angels, to revel in the magnificence of the Creator, or for a scientific explanation of the Universe.
I think of the ancients in Mesopotamia watching the heavens. I get a sense of their excitement as they discover a group of stars that move across the sky and they name them “planets” (Greek for “wanderers”). I imagine them in the warm stillness of the cradle of civilization, observing patterns in the luminescent bodies and creating personas for each and every one. I can hear the Greeks, divining the list of twelve constellations created by the Babylonians into a Zodiac (Greek for “animal circle”). I think of Galileo and his telescope and his first close up of the cosmos…And of Ptolemy, Newton and Einstein looking at the same sky asking the serious questions about space and time.
I can hear Astrologers talk of the power of the stars and their connection to destiny. I recall them speaking of Mercury retrograde, of the recent Moon in Aquarius and the Moon in my Seventh House… Of conjunctions and squares…Of Lunar eclipses…and though I don’t know much of this field, I must agree that there is something above, some power, beyond my comprehension that I reverently acknowledge.
A friend recently told me that “stargazing was a form of prayer.” And as I fix my stare upon Polaris, I would have to agree. When all is said and done, I look to the stars for the deeper meaning of my life. I imagine a force greater than anything on Earth, Ever-Present and All-Knowing, and I pray for strength, wisdom, and the knowledge that I need to move forward and become all that I can be. I think of my ancestors gazing at these same stars and yearning for the very same things that I long for--the health, safety and well-being of themselves and their kin.
I stand there in the dark silence of the night and think of all the people that at this very same point in time are gazing upon this same canvas of celestial bodies--filled with the same hope, despair, longing, dreams and questions that mankind has always held deep within the recesses of the heart and mind and I am filled with a sense of wonderment for the collective unconscious of the human psyche. My hand wraps around the amethyst quartz stone I wear on the chain around my neck and for a moment I close my eyes.
Who, beside me, is looking to these same heavens for Divine answers? Does someone in Canada ask for inspiration? Is there a mother in Haiti praying for healing? An end to her struggles? Is the farmer in Brazil praying for a bountiful harvest? Is a father in Mexico asking for an end to violence? I realize that no matter what I am feeling in the moment, I am not alone and I am comforted. I tighten my grip on the amethyst, take a deep breath and smile.
My feet are steady beneath me, rooted to a living Mother Earth and I understand finally, the power that comes from within--that inexplicable sixth sense that binds us all to each other and to Spirit or the Higher Power of God-- and I realize that I am part of the constellation of humanity bound to planet Earth, a member of a Solar System connected to a Galaxy, melded to a living Universe… ever-moving, expanding, evolving…
I am not alone indeed…
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Friday, January 21, 2011
Thursday, December 16, 2010
If These Hands Could Talk
Mary walked into the nail salon as she’d done a dozen times before, took a look around and saw that today was going to be a very busy day. All the pedicure chairs were full and it seemed that every employee was in attendance.
Tina, a very petite Vietnamese girl, looked up from her station and immediately smiled.“Hi Mary!” She said. “You want Fill-In? Pedicure?"
Mary looked down at her wrinkled hands. “Just a Fill-In today, Tina.”
“Pick a color.” Tina swung her head in the direction of the nail polish rack. “I’ll be ready for you in ten minute.”
She said it out of habit, as she knew that Mary liked her nails to look natural and she never used polish. Mary returned the smile then took a seat. As is often the case when a woman is in the company of other women, she felt herself being sized up by some of the other female customers. Though she could have easily thrown on a pair of sweats that day, her upbringing had instilled in her the notion of always looking her best. At times it had caused her problems. And it had saddened her to discover over the years just how many people judged someone on appearance alone. But she had refused to allow others to change who she was or what she believed. She simply looked over, smiled at them and hoped they would smile back.
As she glanced back at Tina, she saw her wave and Mary stood, eager to get on with it as she had a million things to do that day.
When she was settled in her chair, she held out her hands. Tina gave them a careful inspection. Two of Mary’s nails had broken off and her hands looked especially old in the fluorescent glare of the shop‘s lights.
“You work hard?” Tina asked, then laughed.
“Hard enough…” Mary responded. She’d broken them wrapping several Christmas packages for a local charity.
As Tina went about her business Mary leaned back in her chair, her reply still lingering. Hard enough …..Her gaze fell upon her hands. If these hands could talk… She smiled to herself. If they could talk indeed….
“You not working today?” Tina always asked her this.
And her reply was always “No.”
“You lucky…” Tina commented.
Lucky? She asked herself. She often wondered if it hadn’t been more by some sort of cosmic design. Mary hadn’t worked outside the home in eighteen years. Not since her daughter had been one year old. How many times had she heard just how fortunate she was to be able to do this? Probably more times than she could count. Mary would always nod in agreement never telling anyone about the disability that sometimes robbed her of days at a time. She was still grateful though, regardless of the reason, that she had been able to spend those years at home with her children.
As Tina applied new nail tips to her fingers with the broken nails, Mary’s mind wandered back to her younger years. Years of working in labs, her index fingers etched from working with acid, and parched from years of scrubbing glassware. How many jobs had she had over the years? More than she could count on two hands. The thought brought a wry smile to her lips. And an image of her hands always busy…Serving food to patients at the local hospital, tearing off EKG strips for Doctors to inspect in an Intensive Care Unit, putting up sales displays at a Department Store, hauling fifty pound bags of grass seed when she’d worked in a Garden Shop…. And then the more pleasant memory of doling out bridal gowns and veils to anxious brides-to-be when she’d worked in the Bridal Shop. Mary could easily state that she’d never been afraid of work.
“How’s your daughter?” Tina interrupted her flow of thoughts.
“She’s better... Thanks Tina.” All the girls at the salon knew that Mary’s daughter had struggled with an autoimmune disease and then a bout with cancer. It had been a very long tough battle. Annie had always been delicate and then at the age of twelve she had gotten very sick. Mary once again wandered back in time, her mind filled with more images--the bitter and the sweet.
Yes, her hands had many stories to tell…Washing bottles and endless loads of baby clothes…. Patting backs, rubbing tummies, playing peek-a boo, wiping up accidents from the kitchen and bathroom floors…Helping the kids get dressed, making things for school projects,…And then the darker memories…Holding Annie’s hand through all of her medical tests, Doctor’s appointments and surgeries. Hours spent wondering how it all would turn out… And the hardest of all…Placing her hands on her daughter’s shoulders to tell her she’d had cancer…And though Annie was over the worst of it, she still struggled to this day and Mary still took care of her. Yes, staying home had been a blessing.
Tina pulled out her gel powders. “You want pink and white fill-in? And nails shorter?”
Mary nodded. “Yes. Not too long.” Mary had become an artist and a writer in recent years and needed her fingers to be useful as well as “glamorous”…It was another reason for her ever present gratitude of being able to remain at home with the kids. She would never have discovered these talents otherwise. Or that she might be able to actually make a living at doing the things that she loved.
Tina pulled one of Mary’s hands closer and proceeded to fill in each nail bed with pink gel. “You got a party to go to?” It was almost New Year’s Eve and it was a logical assumption.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” Mary had a wonderful party to attend at a friend’s house. ---A well to do friend whose parties were the talk of the town. Mary traveled in such circles--And a friend whose recommendation of a certain Doctor had once saved her life. Yes, life had given her many blessings.
“You gonna wear something sexy?” Tina asked, quite seriously.
Mary had to resist the urge to laugh. “At my age? Probably not…”
Tina tsked, tsked. “Your age? You still young!!”
At the half century mark, Mary didn’t think so. But truthfully the mirror told another tale for she didn‘t look anything near to her age--Another blessing. Her hands however, told a different story.
Her life hadn’t always been comfortable…Memories came flooding back…Living in welfare housing, trying to repair a hole in the ceiling to keep the roaches out, cleaning up a neighbor’s face after her boyfriend beat her, putting up a tent in her living room when she babysat the neighbor’s son to give him a break from parents who partied way too much, fending off an abusive partner and other images that she fought hard to forget.
And then there was one very distinct memory in great detail…A dozen eggs dropped on the floor--her hands cleaning up the goopy mess with tears streaming down her face--as she was flat broke till the end of the month and she wouldn‘t be able to buy any more food.
But that was all in the past…
Mary hadn’t realized just how much time had passed while she'd gotten lost in past remembrances until Tina smiled then let go of her hands. She looked down at her fingers, now all manicured and pretty, the white tips of the nails glistening. Upon closer inspection she realized that her hands were actually quite lovely. Wrinkled? Yes…But sturdy and capable as well. And with the grace of God perhaps she’d have many more years ahead to make them useful.
“You know, Tina, perhaps I’ll take your advice.” Yes, she’d go out today and buy herself a new dress. Something daring to celebrate her life and all that she had to be grateful for. For after her party, a new business venture awaited-- A wonderful opportunity to promote her artwork. It looked like she was finally on her way to realizing a dream.
“Thanks so much Tina. And I hope you have a wonderful New Year!”
“You, too, Mary!” Tina gave her the warmest of smiles then whispered. “Buy a red dress. You look good in red!”
Mary chuckled then paid the bill and headed out to do her chores.
Later, at home, as she sat down to check her email she found a note from a friend with a request to make a list of NewYear’s Resolutions. She sat for a bit and considered just what exactly it was that she wanted to do with the rest of her life. With her thoughts still focused on her musings of earlier that day, she leaned forward and started to type:
My List of Things To Do Before I Leave Planet Earth
1) To be all that I can be, no matter what circumstances I find myself in.
2) To spread joy, wherever I go, and try to make others smile.
3) To help in any way that I am able to, when the need arises, wherever I may be or with whom.
4) To use my creativity in productive and inspirational ways.
5) To do my best, in whatever way I can, to ensure that children will not have to suffer unfairly or unnecessarily, in any way, shape or form.
6) To try to spend what's left of my life savoring the little things...
7) To learn to be happy with what I have, even if it doesn't seem like my fair share...
8) To learn to accept my limitations and love myself no matter how inept or useless I may feel at times...
9) To learn to trust others and lean on them if they offer help.
10)To accept that there will always be people who will judge me and who will never understand my hardships and to not allow them to rob me of my joy.
With that completed, she sat back and gazed down at her now pampered hands. Yes, Mary thought, if these hands could talk they would raise themselves to the heavens and say, “ Thank you! For the many opportunities you have brought this way. For they have made us what we are today.” And then, they would get ready to reach out in faith, to do whatever was right and necessary, knowing that whatever the future brought, things would be as they should be.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way…
* * * * * *
May the New Year bring each and every one of you blessings in abundance and may you never forget all that you have to be thankful for!
Happy New Year…
Tina, a very petite Vietnamese girl, looked up from her station and immediately smiled.“Hi Mary!” She said. “You want Fill-In? Pedicure?"
Mary looked down at her wrinkled hands. “Just a Fill-In today, Tina.”
“Pick a color.” Tina swung her head in the direction of the nail polish rack. “I’ll be ready for you in ten minute.”
She said it out of habit, as she knew that Mary liked her nails to look natural and she never used polish. Mary returned the smile then took a seat. As is often the case when a woman is in the company of other women, she felt herself being sized up by some of the other female customers. Though she could have easily thrown on a pair of sweats that day, her upbringing had instilled in her the notion of always looking her best. At times it had caused her problems. And it had saddened her to discover over the years just how many people judged someone on appearance alone. But she had refused to allow others to change who she was or what she believed. She simply looked over, smiled at them and hoped they would smile back.
As she glanced back at Tina, she saw her wave and Mary stood, eager to get on with it as she had a million things to do that day.
When she was settled in her chair, she held out her hands. Tina gave them a careful inspection. Two of Mary’s nails had broken off and her hands looked especially old in the fluorescent glare of the shop‘s lights.
“You work hard?” Tina asked, then laughed.
“Hard enough…” Mary responded. She’d broken them wrapping several Christmas packages for a local charity.
As Tina went about her business Mary leaned back in her chair, her reply still lingering. Hard enough …..Her gaze fell upon her hands. If these hands could talk… She smiled to herself. If they could talk indeed….
“You not working today?” Tina always asked her this.
And her reply was always “No.”
“You lucky…” Tina commented.
Lucky? She asked herself. She often wondered if it hadn’t been more by some sort of cosmic design. Mary hadn’t worked outside the home in eighteen years. Not since her daughter had been one year old. How many times had she heard just how fortunate she was to be able to do this? Probably more times than she could count. Mary would always nod in agreement never telling anyone about the disability that sometimes robbed her of days at a time. She was still grateful though, regardless of the reason, that she had been able to spend those years at home with her children.
As Tina applied new nail tips to her fingers with the broken nails, Mary’s mind wandered back to her younger years. Years of working in labs, her index fingers etched from working with acid, and parched from years of scrubbing glassware. How many jobs had she had over the years? More than she could count on two hands. The thought brought a wry smile to her lips. And an image of her hands always busy…Serving food to patients at the local hospital, tearing off EKG strips for Doctors to inspect in an Intensive Care Unit, putting up sales displays at a Department Store, hauling fifty pound bags of grass seed when she’d worked in a Garden Shop…. And then the more pleasant memory of doling out bridal gowns and veils to anxious brides-to-be when she’d worked in the Bridal Shop. Mary could easily state that she’d never been afraid of work.
“How’s your daughter?” Tina interrupted her flow of thoughts.
“She’s better... Thanks Tina.” All the girls at the salon knew that Mary’s daughter had struggled with an autoimmune disease and then a bout with cancer. It had been a very long tough battle. Annie had always been delicate and then at the age of twelve she had gotten very sick. Mary once again wandered back in time, her mind filled with more images--the bitter and the sweet.
Yes, her hands had many stories to tell…Washing bottles and endless loads of baby clothes…. Patting backs, rubbing tummies, playing peek-a boo, wiping up accidents from the kitchen and bathroom floors…Helping the kids get dressed, making things for school projects,…And then the darker memories…Holding Annie’s hand through all of her medical tests, Doctor’s appointments and surgeries. Hours spent wondering how it all would turn out… And the hardest of all…Placing her hands on her daughter’s shoulders to tell her she’d had cancer…And though Annie was over the worst of it, she still struggled to this day and Mary still took care of her. Yes, staying home had been a blessing.
Tina pulled out her gel powders. “You want pink and white fill-in? And nails shorter?”
Mary nodded. “Yes. Not too long.” Mary had become an artist and a writer in recent years and needed her fingers to be useful as well as “glamorous”…It was another reason for her ever present gratitude of being able to remain at home with the kids. She would never have discovered these talents otherwise. Or that she might be able to actually make a living at doing the things that she loved.
Tina pulled one of Mary’s hands closer and proceeded to fill in each nail bed with pink gel. “You got a party to go to?” It was almost New Year’s Eve and it was a logical assumption.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.” Mary had a wonderful party to attend at a friend’s house. ---A well to do friend whose parties were the talk of the town. Mary traveled in such circles--And a friend whose recommendation of a certain Doctor had once saved her life. Yes, life had given her many blessings.
“You gonna wear something sexy?” Tina asked, quite seriously.
Mary had to resist the urge to laugh. “At my age? Probably not…”
Tina tsked, tsked. “Your age? You still young!!”
At the half century mark, Mary didn’t think so. But truthfully the mirror told another tale for she didn‘t look anything near to her age--Another blessing. Her hands however, told a different story.
Her life hadn’t always been comfortable…Memories came flooding back…Living in welfare housing, trying to repair a hole in the ceiling to keep the roaches out, cleaning up a neighbor’s face after her boyfriend beat her, putting up a tent in her living room when she babysat the neighbor’s son to give him a break from parents who partied way too much, fending off an abusive partner and other images that she fought hard to forget.
And then there was one very distinct memory in great detail…A dozen eggs dropped on the floor--her hands cleaning up the goopy mess with tears streaming down her face--as she was flat broke till the end of the month and she wouldn‘t be able to buy any more food.
But that was all in the past…
Mary hadn’t realized just how much time had passed while she'd gotten lost in past remembrances until Tina smiled then let go of her hands. She looked down at her fingers, now all manicured and pretty, the white tips of the nails glistening. Upon closer inspection she realized that her hands were actually quite lovely. Wrinkled? Yes…But sturdy and capable as well. And with the grace of God perhaps she’d have many more years ahead to make them useful.
“You know, Tina, perhaps I’ll take your advice.” Yes, she’d go out today and buy herself a new dress. Something daring to celebrate her life and all that she had to be grateful for. For after her party, a new business venture awaited-- A wonderful opportunity to promote her artwork. It looked like she was finally on her way to realizing a dream.
“Thanks so much Tina. And I hope you have a wonderful New Year!”
“You, too, Mary!” Tina gave her the warmest of smiles then whispered. “Buy a red dress. You look good in red!”
Mary chuckled then paid the bill and headed out to do her chores.
Later, at home, as she sat down to check her email she found a note from a friend with a request to make a list of NewYear’s Resolutions. She sat for a bit and considered just what exactly it was that she wanted to do with the rest of her life. With her thoughts still focused on her musings of earlier that day, she leaned forward and started to type:
My List of Things To Do Before I Leave Planet Earth
1) To be all that I can be, no matter what circumstances I find myself in.
2) To spread joy, wherever I go, and try to make others smile.
3) To help in any way that I am able to, when the need arises, wherever I may be or with whom.
4) To use my creativity in productive and inspirational ways.
5) To do my best, in whatever way I can, to ensure that children will not have to suffer unfairly or unnecessarily, in any way, shape or form.
6) To try to spend what's left of my life savoring the little things...
7) To learn to be happy with what I have, even if it doesn't seem like my fair share...
8) To learn to accept my limitations and love myself no matter how inept or useless I may feel at times...
9) To learn to trust others and lean on them if they offer help.
10)To accept that there will always be people who will judge me and who will never understand my hardships and to not allow them to rob me of my joy.
With that completed, she sat back and gazed down at her now pampered hands. Yes, Mary thought, if these hands could talk they would raise themselves to the heavens and say, “ Thank you! For the many opportunities you have brought this way. For they have made us what we are today.” And then, they would get ready to reach out in faith, to do whatever was right and necessary, knowing that whatever the future brought, things would be as they should be.
And she wouldn’t have it any other way…
* * * * * *
May the New Year bring each and every one of you blessings in abundance and may you never forget all that you have to be thankful for!
Happy New Year…
Friday, December 10, 2010
FOOD FOR THOUGHT
I found this online and thought I'd share it with you...
Try to keep in mind the following:
-if you have woken up this morning feeling healthy, you are luckier than 500 million people that will not wake up the next morning
-if you have never experienced the fear of war, loneliness, incarceration, the agony of torture, hunger, you are in a better position than 500 million people in the world
-if you can enter a church freely, without threats, or the fear of getting arrested or discriminated against, you are luckier than 3 billion people on the planet
-if you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your body, roof over your head, a place to sleep in, you are richer than 75% of inhabitants of this planet
-if you have money in the bank, your wallet, or change somewhere in some box, you are among 8% of well-to-do people
-if you have parents, and are still married, you belong in a rare group of people
-if you can read this text, you are not among 2 billion people who cannot read
Somebody said once: work as if you do not need money, love as if you have never suffered, dance as if nobody is watching you and sing as if nobody is listening.
Live as if Heaven is on Earth. And when you read this know that somebody is thinking of you and that you are not alone.....
Try to keep in mind the following:
-if you have woken up this morning feeling healthy, you are luckier than 500 million people that will not wake up the next morning
-if you have never experienced the fear of war, loneliness, incarceration, the agony of torture, hunger, you are in a better position than 500 million people in the world
-if you can enter a church freely, without threats, or the fear of getting arrested or discriminated against, you are luckier than 3 billion people on the planet
-if you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your body, roof over your head, a place to sleep in, you are richer than 75% of inhabitants of this planet
-if you have money in the bank, your wallet, or change somewhere in some box, you are among 8% of well-to-do people
-if you have parents, and are still married, you belong in a rare group of people
-if you can read this text, you are not among 2 billion people who cannot read
Somebody said once: work as if you do not need money, love as if you have never suffered, dance as if nobody is watching you and sing as if nobody is listening.
Live as if Heaven is on Earth. And when you read this know that somebody is thinking of you and that you are not alone.....
Monday, November 29, 2010
Mosaic...A little piece of me....
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Premonition
As if things have not been strange enough for me lately, I had a weird dream the other night. I have been on a sort of vision quest the past two or three years, determined to find what Paulo Coelho calls my "personal legend", my raison d'etre, my purpose in life. And so far I have discovered this talent I have for art.
And so, in the past two years I have often dreamed of things relating to my creativity. I once dreamed of a box of chalk and a baby. The chalk was a gift to me given by the person who inspired me to draw portraits in the first place, the baby my first stage of growth.
Well the other night I dreamed of a small child. It seemed my baby had now become a toddler. As I watched my toddler scamper across the room a man walked by. He was dressed in tan slacks and a cream colored shirt. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes. And though his face wasn't all that clear, I somehow knew his name. He passed by me, smiled and then receded into the background, where he remained in shadow. I peered in to get a closer look but it wasn't possible. It seemed as if he just wanted to check in on me somehow.
When I awoke the next day, I thought that I had had a prophetic dream about someone I was yet to meet. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. I remember telling a friend about the dream and even posting on Facebook about my uneasiness.
Well the day after that, I learned that a good friend had died unexpectedly at the age of 46. And lo and behold his name was the very same one of the man I had dreamed of. In fact, he fit the description of the man in the dream. But the strangest thing of all was that I had seen that very same friend about a month prior and we had had a very serious conversation about past lives and what happens to the soul after you die. He was a very spiritual man, compassionate and caring to a fault and we had often explored life's mysteries and possibilities beyond that which could be scientifically proved.
I could never have imagined that a month later he would be dead. Nor that I would see him in a dream. I am still in shock. But I have come to the realization that he has moved on to a better place.And as my child in my dream had become a toddler, perhaps my friend is growing and evolving as well... Moving on to a different plane with different lessons to learn.
Bon voyage, my dear friend....May your journey be a good one...Maybe in another time, we'll meet again...
All my love,
D
And so, in the past two years I have often dreamed of things relating to my creativity. I once dreamed of a box of chalk and a baby. The chalk was a gift to me given by the person who inspired me to draw portraits in the first place, the baby my first stage of growth.
Well the other night I dreamed of a small child. It seemed my baby had now become a toddler. As I watched my toddler scamper across the room a man walked by. He was dressed in tan slacks and a cream colored shirt. He was tall, with dark hair and eyes. And though his face wasn't all that clear, I somehow knew his name. He passed by me, smiled and then receded into the background, where he remained in shadow. I peered in to get a closer look but it wasn't possible. It seemed as if he just wanted to check in on me somehow.
When I awoke the next day, I thought that I had had a prophetic dream about someone I was yet to meet. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen. I remember telling a friend about the dream and even posting on Facebook about my uneasiness.
Well the day after that, I learned that a good friend had died unexpectedly at the age of 46. And lo and behold his name was the very same one of the man I had dreamed of. In fact, he fit the description of the man in the dream. But the strangest thing of all was that I had seen that very same friend about a month prior and we had had a very serious conversation about past lives and what happens to the soul after you die. He was a very spiritual man, compassionate and caring to a fault and we had often explored life's mysteries and possibilities beyond that which could be scientifically proved.
I could never have imagined that a month later he would be dead. Nor that I would see him in a dream. I am still in shock. But I have come to the realization that he has moved on to a better place.And as my child in my dream had become a toddler, perhaps my friend is growing and evolving as well... Moving on to a different plane with different lessons to learn.
Bon voyage, my dear friend....May your journey be a good one...Maybe in another time, we'll meet again...
All my love,
D
Thursday, November 11, 2010
ABOUT ME...
I like Monet and Degas, they saw the big picture. I like the big picture. Details just wear me out. Speaking of pictures, I’m a movie buff, of most genres… but especially oldies like those of Betty Davis and Errol Flynn. They knew how to do it with flare! And being a huge fan of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, I love ballroom dancing. The way to my heart is a turn at the tango. As for music, QUEEN ROCKS! But anything from Reggae to Ragtime can sweep me along if the tune is just right. Music speaks to me. It inspires me to dream great dreams and comforts me when nothing else will.
I never do things halfway. It’s an all-or-nothing proposition for me. …If I say I’m gonna do something, I will. And when you ask me my opinion, I’ll give it. In fact, if you asked me who I might have been in another life I would probably tell you I was a warrior, an infamous courtier or burned at the stake.
Don’t talk to me of the weather or the latest game score. Tell me your secret wishes, your greatest dreams and your highest hopes. Speak to me of times past and futures imagined- of poets and politicians and philosophers. Give me your list of things to achieve. And I’ll give you mine. Here goes… I want to jump out of a plane and sail through the sky (with a parachute attached, of course. I might be an idiot but I’m no fool) …I’d like to float up above the hills in the basket of a hot air balloon…to speak Portuguese, the tongue of my Grandfather…to learn to play a piano so I can sing my heart out into the wee hours of the morning…to write one of the greatest love stories of our time…
If life is a highway then I’ve taken a few detours along the way and most times, not of my own choice. Somehow, though, I always manage to find my way back to the Main Road. My motto?....No matter what you do in life, do your best. And go the distance!!!! Better to fail, and ask “What next?” than to withdraw and ask “What if?” Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction but you’ll never know unless you get out there and live it!!! And while you’re living it, please remember to always be kind and throw your trash in the proper receptacle.
I never do things halfway. It’s an all-or-nothing proposition for me. …If I say I’m gonna do something, I will. And when you ask me my opinion, I’ll give it. In fact, if you asked me who I might have been in another life I would probably tell you I was a warrior, an infamous courtier or burned at the stake.
Don’t talk to me of the weather or the latest game score. Tell me your secret wishes, your greatest dreams and your highest hopes. Speak to me of times past and futures imagined- of poets and politicians and philosophers. Give me your list of things to achieve. And I’ll give you mine. Here goes… I want to jump out of a plane and sail through the sky (with a parachute attached, of course. I might be an idiot but I’m no fool) …I’d like to float up above the hills in the basket of a hot air balloon…to speak Portuguese, the tongue of my Grandfather…to learn to play a piano so I can sing my heart out into the wee hours of the morning…to write one of the greatest love stories of our time…
If life is a highway then I’ve taken a few detours along the way and most times, not of my own choice. Somehow, though, I always manage to find my way back to the Main Road. My motto?....No matter what you do in life, do your best. And go the distance!!!! Better to fail, and ask “What next?” than to withdraw and ask “What if?” Sometimes real life is stranger than fiction but you’ll never know unless you get out there and live it!!! And while you’re living it, please remember to always be kind and throw your trash in the proper receptacle.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
The Lady in Black
Once upon a time there was a girl named, Serene, whose voice was so lovely that the people of her town called her the “Nightingale of Newcastle ”. On hot summer nights they would gather on the town square lawn and Serene’s voice would fill the air with a array of notes that was as sweet as any confection known to man. Her Granny took to calling her a little sunflower and said she spread sunshine wherever she went. Folks said it was a gift from God. Serene called it a blessing, as from the time she was aware that she could produce such an enchanting repertoire of musical melodies, she knew that this was what she was born to do.
And though no one could have imagined it possible, as time went on, her voice grew even more beautiful as did Serene. But with this newfound beauty Serene grew restless. Something was missing from her life. Her odd dreams told her so. And though all who heard her sing were in agreement as to the magnitude of her gift, their applause left her wanting.
One day she decided to leave her hometown for a bigger city. She hoped that sharing her gift in a larger place would make her feel whole once again. However, over time as she gained more fame, the emptiness inside only grew. And no accomplishment, not even her gig at the Grand Theatre in the heart of the City could assuage the loneliness she carried within. Then one night, as she walked on stage to perform, she heard a voice inside her head.
“He’s here!”….the voice inside her whispered.
“Who?” She asked aloud. But no answer came.
Her eyes peered into the endless sea of faces in front of her but she was blinded by the lights on stage. Yet her heart sang. And her joy bubbled up and spilled over into the notes of the song that followed. And though she had no explanation for it, for the first time in a very long while she wasn’t lonely. And when her performance was done, they showered her with roses, and applause and suddenly her heart swelled with gratitude for the instrument of her voice.
Afterward she sat in her dressing room, buoyed by the song in her heart that refused to be stilled. Her feet wanted to dance, to whirl around the room in dizzying unison with the music that played in her soul but a knock at the door broke her reverie. Instead of being annoyed, however, she cried out in anticipation. “Come in!”
He entered the room with flowers. But not just any flowers.
“I thought you might like these.” He said with a certainty that made her smile as he handed her the bouquet. His fingers were long and graceful and though she didn’t understand why, she knew that he used them to create beautiful things.
“Indeed…” she replied, motioning him to sit down beside her. She cradled the flowers in her arm, as one would hold a baby. She imagined a painting of herself in shades of gold and yellow doing just this.
“Sunflowers.” She sighed, then glanced at the photograph on her dressing table. His eyes followed her gaze. The picture was yellow with age-- taken by a Brownie camera and worn at the edges. A little girl stood surrounded by the dazzling golden bonnets of sunflowers. They filled the photograph. Her smile , however, overshadowed the entire field.
“Indeed…” He mimicked her, then smiled .
“Granny took that photo.” She simply stated.
“You must have been her little sunflower.” He then laughed. And her heart quickened.
Her eyes came to rest on his...Green pools of light that pulled her into an eddy of contentment. And suddenly she knew….Knew that he was the reason for her song.
“I’m Thomas---”
“I’m Serene---”
They spoke in unison.
“I’m an artist.” he continued….
“I know.” She answered with the same assuredness that he had shown earlier.
“Let’s go to dinner.” It was more a declaration than an invitation and as such, she should have been insulted. But she knew, just as she had known that he was an artist, that things were as they should be.
“Italian?” She stood then readied herself to go . He nodded.
“Spaghetti?” He recommended. She nodded as well.
“And champagne!” She insisted.
“My favorite.” He smiled “Espresso? Afterward?”
“Of course!” She emphatically stated. “How else would we end such an evening?
“End?” He stood, reached for her hand then placed her arm in his. "I suspect, my dear, that for you and I, there will only be a series of intermissions."
And no conclusion was ever truer because from that time on they were inseparable. He bought her Caruso records for her victrola and sunflowers from the florist on the corner. She bought him paints from Paris. They went to dance halls and danced till closing. And on wintry nights when there was nothing to be done they simply talked….Hours spent in conversation and never a lack of topic. And so, within six months they decided to marry.
On nights when Serene was spent, after a long performance, Thomas would draw her a bath and then put her to bed. And on others when he was uninspired he would go to the theatre and sit in his favorite seat where she would be sure to see him. He would close his eyes and simply listen to her make love to him with her voice. And then he would come home and paint, her songs in his heart, her music in the hand that moved across the canvas.
It was not always easy between them. She snored at times and kept him awake. He drank too much on others. And both had strong opinions. But they were as imperfectly perfect as two people could ever be.
Five years passed. Five years of more happiness than either of them had ever imagined possible. And then one Autumn afternoon on a day when Serene did not have to perform she burst through the door of their apartment, her heart aflutter with excitement.
“What is it my darling?” Thomas thought she had never looked lovelier even if she was dressed completely in black.
She placed her purse on the bedside table then reached for the pin in her hat. She wanted to be calm when she told him her news. The light from the window cast a beam of gold upon her and her auburn hair was suddenly ablaze in brandished fire. Thomas audibly sighed.
“Wait!” he cried then stilled her hand. “Don’t move!” Serene watched as he ran to gather his easel and then his paints.
He made her stand in the light, her hair bathed in the beams while he brought her to life on canvas. Serene who was accustomed to his bursts of inspiration was quite content to oblige him. He painted furiously his hand racing against the coming of night…His lady, all in black save for a burst of auburn flame and the honey hue of her skin. But halfway through he glanced up and found her studying him. And when his eyes met hers, she rendered him a smile... A secret smile… designed only for a lover’s eyes…A smile that promised so much more. And suddenly he forgot his good intentions.
He led her to their bed, and beckoned her to sit down. Then he knelt to remove her boots. Carefully with the gentleness of a handmaiden before a queen he helped her remove her garments one by one.And when they were face to face at last, Serene felt such a rush of love for Thomas it filled every space of her being. In that moment there were no words to be uttered and her news was soon forgotten. For love was in a language that had been written long before either of them had ever been born. And he loved her until all rational thought ceased to be.
Darkness enveloped them when she awoke save for a sliver of light from a marquis across the street that glanced over Thomas. She ached to wake him and tell him of her news but he slumbered so peacefully she let him be. Instead she slipped away quietly and ran down to the Italian Restaurant across the street to see if the owners would make her up two plates of spaghetti, antipasto, and whatever else she could think of….And pastries for dessert. For there was much to celebrate--A secret that had been kept for several weeks now until she was certain that it could be revealed.
A few minutes later , she scurried toward the restaurant’s front door, her arm heavy with her purchase and her thoughts a menagerie of daydreams. As she exited, the brisk October night seemed to slap at her taking her breath away. The insults kept coming, a cacophony of rat ta tat tat, that should have alerted her to danger. But her senses had turned inward as she contemplated how happy Thomas would be at her news.
The black sedan sped by spraying the storefront with a maelstrom of bullets. Glass and wood exploded all around her. But she was distracted by the wet spot on her waistcoat now gliding across her abdomen. She reached down to touch the warm fluid that seeped out from some mysterious origin and her hand came away red. Somewhere behind her she heard people scream her name and then the sound of her package hitting the ground. And then there was only silence.
* * * * * * * * *
And though no one could have imagined it possible, as time went on, her voice grew even more beautiful as did Serene. But with this newfound beauty Serene grew restless. Something was missing from her life. Her odd dreams told her so. And though all who heard her sing were in agreement as to the magnitude of her gift, their applause left her wanting.
One day she decided to leave her hometown for a bigger city. She hoped that sharing her gift in a larger place would make her feel whole once again. However, over time as she gained more fame, the emptiness inside only grew. And no accomplishment, not even her gig at the Grand Theatre in the heart of the City could assuage the loneliness she carried within. Then one night, as she walked on stage to perform, she heard a voice inside her head.
“He’s here!”….the voice inside her whispered.
“Who?” She asked aloud. But no answer came.
Her eyes peered into the endless sea of faces in front of her but she was blinded by the lights on stage. Yet her heart sang. And her joy bubbled up and spilled over into the notes of the song that followed. And though she had no explanation for it, for the first time in a very long while she wasn’t lonely. And when her performance was done, they showered her with roses, and applause and suddenly her heart swelled with gratitude for the instrument of her voice.
Afterward she sat in her dressing room, buoyed by the song in her heart that refused to be stilled. Her feet wanted to dance, to whirl around the room in dizzying unison with the music that played in her soul but a knock at the door broke her reverie. Instead of being annoyed, however, she cried out in anticipation. “Come in!”
He entered the room with flowers. But not just any flowers.
“I thought you might like these.” He said with a certainty that made her smile as he handed her the bouquet. His fingers were long and graceful and though she didn’t understand why, she knew that he used them to create beautiful things.
“Indeed…” she replied, motioning him to sit down beside her. She cradled the flowers in her arm, as one would hold a baby. She imagined a painting of herself in shades of gold and yellow doing just this.
“Sunflowers.” She sighed, then glanced at the photograph on her dressing table. His eyes followed her gaze. The picture was yellow with age-- taken by a Brownie camera and worn at the edges. A little girl stood surrounded by the dazzling golden bonnets of sunflowers. They filled the photograph. Her smile , however, overshadowed the entire field.
“Indeed…” He mimicked her, then smiled .
“Granny took that photo.” She simply stated.
“You must have been her little sunflower.” He then laughed. And her heart quickened.
Her eyes came to rest on his...Green pools of light that pulled her into an eddy of contentment. And suddenly she knew….Knew that he was the reason for her song.
“I’m Thomas---”
“I’m Serene---”
They spoke in unison.
“I’m an artist.” he continued….
“I know.” She answered with the same assuredness that he had shown earlier.
“Let’s go to dinner.” It was more a declaration than an invitation and as such, she should have been insulted. But she knew, just as she had known that he was an artist, that things were as they should be.
“Italian?” She stood then readied herself to go . He nodded.
“Spaghetti?” He recommended. She nodded as well.
“And champagne!” She insisted.
“My favorite.” He smiled “Espresso? Afterward?”
“Of course!” She emphatically stated. “How else would we end such an evening?
“End?” He stood, reached for her hand then placed her arm in his. "I suspect, my dear, that for you and I, there will only be a series of intermissions."
And no conclusion was ever truer because from that time on they were inseparable. He bought her Caruso records for her victrola and sunflowers from the florist on the corner. She bought him paints from Paris. They went to dance halls and danced till closing. And on wintry nights when there was nothing to be done they simply talked….Hours spent in conversation and never a lack of topic. And so, within six months they decided to marry.
On nights when Serene was spent, after a long performance, Thomas would draw her a bath and then put her to bed. And on others when he was uninspired he would go to the theatre and sit in his favorite seat where she would be sure to see him. He would close his eyes and simply listen to her make love to him with her voice. And then he would come home and paint, her songs in his heart, her music in the hand that moved across the canvas.
It was not always easy between them. She snored at times and kept him awake. He drank too much on others. And both had strong opinions. But they were as imperfectly perfect as two people could ever be.
Five years passed. Five years of more happiness than either of them had ever imagined possible. And then one Autumn afternoon on a day when Serene did not have to perform she burst through the door of their apartment, her heart aflutter with excitement.
“What is it my darling?” Thomas thought she had never looked lovelier even if she was dressed completely in black.
She placed her purse on the bedside table then reached for the pin in her hat. She wanted to be calm when she told him her news. The light from the window cast a beam of gold upon her and her auburn hair was suddenly ablaze in brandished fire. Thomas audibly sighed.
“Wait!” he cried then stilled her hand. “Don’t move!” Serene watched as he ran to gather his easel and then his paints.
He made her stand in the light, her hair bathed in the beams while he brought her to life on canvas. Serene who was accustomed to his bursts of inspiration was quite content to oblige him. He painted furiously his hand racing against the coming of night…His lady, all in black save for a burst of auburn flame and the honey hue of her skin. But halfway through he glanced up and found her studying him. And when his eyes met hers, she rendered him a smile... A secret smile… designed only for a lover’s eyes…A smile that promised so much more. And suddenly he forgot his good intentions.
He led her to their bed, and beckoned her to sit down. Then he knelt to remove her boots. Carefully with the gentleness of a handmaiden before a queen he helped her remove her garments one by one.And when they were face to face at last, Serene felt such a rush of love for Thomas it filled every space of her being. In that moment there were no words to be uttered and her news was soon forgotten. For love was in a language that had been written long before either of them had ever been born. And he loved her until all rational thought ceased to be.
Darkness enveloped them when she awoke save for a sliver of light from a marquis across the street that glanced over Thomas. She ached to wake him and tell him of her news but he slumbered so peacefully she let him be. Instead she slipped away quietly and ran down to the Italian Restaurant across the street to see if the owners would make her up two plates of spaghetti, antipasto, and whatever else she could think of….And pastries for dessert. For there was much to celebrate--A secret that had been kept for several weeks now until she was certain that it could be revealed.
A few minutes later , she scurried toward the restaurant’s front door, her arm heavy with her purchase and her thoughts a menagerie of daydreams. As she exited, the brisk October night seemed to slap at her taking her breath away. The insults kept coming, a cacophony of rat ta tat tat, that should have alerted her to danger. But her senses had turned inward as she contemplated how happy Thomas would be at her news.
The black sedan sped by spraying the storefront with a maelstrom of bullets. Glass and wood exploded all around her. But she was distracted by the wet spot on her waistcoat now gliding across her abdomen. She reached down to touch the warm fluid that seeped out from some mysterious origin and her hand came away red. Somewhere behind her she heard people scream her name and then the sound of her package hitting the ground. And then there was only silence.
* * * * * * * * *
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