We Endure 3-29-21
The days I felt as though I could not brave another day,
The nights I was sure I would succumb to the darkness
To ever be where no light existed, no love and surely no hope.
One day melting and leading into another, ceaselessly on,
Immobilized and paralyzed with intolerable grief and loss,
I survived those days finding myself here, so many days hence.
We endure. Somehow we manage to count every second,
Those eternal measures of time that prey upon our minds.
We do endure it all in spite of ourselves, in spite of it all.
Our minds seek the light when we are submerged in blackness.
We strain our eyes to see beyond the heavy shroud of night,
One day to find ourselves shielding against the returning light
I don’t remember the day the color came back into my world
I just know it had returned and I noticed, feeling alive once more.
Relishing the long moments, I tarried and then chose to stay.
To bear tragedies that would surely kill us if we conjured them
Is the mystery of our ability to endure the impossibilities.
Curiously we seek and find higher ground to view the horizon.
When the sorrow and sadness eventually becomes uninteresting,
The thirst for life shifts towards an insatiable desire to live and thrive.
And so in spite of the occasional eclipse, I will linger to endure.
To Die Is To Live Again 3-22-21
Black silhouetted ravens dance amongst gathering clouds
Soaring high above me, I imagine myself, there, with them.
Reminding myself to notice the subtle nuances of nature,
Contrasting colors, the sounds of music playing on the wind,
The sadness that has dogged me of late begins to fade some.
I am thinking of a broken world, a broken spirit, a broken me
How to fix any of it, if even feasible and where would I begin?
Perhaps it is not possible to fix, making things right is relative.
Considering what is and accepting things as they are, as imperfect,
Presents an opportunity to let go of the mounting outrage.
To recognize that which is outrageous is not the same thing
As finding myself lost in the maize and seduction of egregiousness.
Stepping back into a balancing perspective clears my vision,
A chance to see what it is I can do and what I cannot change.
Receding into minuteness helps me to see the broader picture.
Allowing myself to be lost, to be directionless to feel purposeless
To float freely high above the clouds, abandoning all like the birds,
Letting the sorrow, disappointment and fear fly away with the wind.
Perhaps I might discover within this weightlessness, some comfort
A restoring of my fractured soul, a chance to find a lasting peace.
The frenetic distractions of life do not satisfy the emptiness.
Frantically pouring kinetic cement into all the cracks and holes
Serves only to buy a bit of time, delaying the inevitable pain of loss.
The fire breathing dragon waits patiently for me to succumb
So now, I cease the running and fighting, letting flames consume me.
Lying quietly in the darkness of my tomb, surrendering to nature,
This is my return to the dust which first created me so long ago.
In life we die many times, to reappear, renewed, more than before.
Brokenness is necessary in all things for ongoing change to occur.
So it is with me, another resurrection for my wounded soul to come home .
There’s a purple flower out side my window
Stretching it’s petals out as far it is able to
Catching every ray of nourishing sunshine.
Its simplicity reminds me of my own desires,
Needs and wants which now have retreated
To the uncomplicated, easier and quieter.
What sustains me these days is much reduced.
Ambitions have lessoned, hunger tempered.
The insatiable lust to get ahead now sleeps.
Now is the time to reflect, to mourn, to grieve
To remember those who have passed and gone.
Feeling their weight, grateful for their worth.
Like the little purple blossom lazily basking
I am attempting to replicate this modest change.
The essence of life expresses in its innocence.
The Gifts of Choice 3-4-19
From my window I’m observing the world as it is awakening,
It’s ahead of me this morning but I won’t play catch-up.
I’ve come to appreciate these solemn moments of pondering
Where thoughts are not contrived or managed in any direction.
Memories play within empty halls inside leaving behind echoes.
To fill up that space seems wrong right now, so I leave it be.
The need to be someone is gone and that allows for a freedom,
Like a vast and empty canvas to throw color at , unplanned.
Each day presented now relaxes into itself, ripening and expanding.
The lists and agendas dance about in my mind and I see to them.
That constant, inside badgering to prepare, produce and provide
Has quieted itself and flows gently in it’s own free direction.
I am removing the sticks and stones that have deterred the waters
Letting them ripple spontaneously wherever they may decide to go.
A slight breeze is evidenced in the gentle rocking of yellow daffodils
While raindrops bounce and jump about the puddles in the yard.
I am realizing that life is and always has been chaotically ordered
Furious and deafening, constantly moving, yet ultimately purposeful.
I cannot and do not desire to change it but rather, I can treading and out
Letting it carry me from one place to another, I can determine my own course.
Like a fast moving passenger train, life surely races swiftly through time
I’m learning to embark and disembark as the need arises and choice dictates..
No longer pushed or pulled in directions I would prefer not to go in
I’m choosing to get on board, riding along and enjoying the scenery.
I’ve been given the opportunity to retreat occasionally for the needed R&R
Filling up my reserves for another attempt to meet the pandemonium.
I’ve discovered a level of personal choice I hadn’t known before.
This time I am not some witless weed being tossed about by the wind.
This time I am choosing to remain planted until my flowers fully bloom.
Remaining & admiring the view or deciding to move again, the choice is mine.
Being Seventy Something 3-2-21
At some point,
Don’t know when or where
I stepped off the path and decided
Enough was enough!!!
One day I had decided
To get off the beaten path
Park myself and sit awhile.
Watching my memories
Swept along in a current
I was acutely aware
I had no desire
To get back on the road.
I'd grown tired of the pace
Preferring to stop and observe.
After all I am still reeling
At seeing my age printed
Right at the top of a page.
When did that happen?
I really can’t relate to it
Back to slowing the pace
I've been letting myself
Revisit the, “Back-When” again
I can feel myself exhale.
To be honest, it's all just fine.
I’m still upright and breathing.
And that’s a good thing any day.
I am amused just recalling
The cacophonous noise
Of crowded dance floors,
Perfectly content to say
"Been there, done that!"
These 72 year old bones
Would rather just and watch.
Swept along in a current
Of living life on the edge,
Frantically trying to keep up.
Comparing my progress
To the rest of the herd
My fragile self esteem became
Battered and bruised.
In between all the the fun,
The frenetic pace and
The adrenaline rushes
Going back for more,
When I knew I shouldn’t
Seduced by the drama of it all
I’m comfortable right where I am.
So, I’m seventy two, so what!!
I’ve survived my past and
Lived to tell about it.
That’s an accomplishment
` In and of itself.
I don’t waste the time I’ve got left
With regrets. It doesn't change a thing.
Having a furry companion is paramount to surviving the trials of life. The truth is I don't know if I'd do very well without mine.❤️
Yoga With My Dog 11-29-17
Before dawn the sky is an ineffable hue.
Nighttime’s blanket of stillness remains.
Sunrise still awhile away, morning approaches.
I watch the sun paint the leaves of each tree.
Rendering them gold, they light the garden.
I am inside wrapped in my night clothes, warm.
In my hands I am holding a hot cup of coffee
Feeling and tasting it’s warmth and comfort.
A candle breaks the dawn with its flickering.
On a pillow on the floor I welcome the morning.
Listening to the soft meditative words of a song
I find my center letting thoughts drift in and out.
Tears come and are replaced with a memory and I smile.
Nearby I hear the rustling of my little companion.
He nuzzles me and pushes himself into my space.
Moving through poses meant to loosen my limbs
He rolls over and lets me scratch his fur
Joining in the stretch, he and I greet the day.
From: A Widow's Walk by Diane Burns-Haussler