Friday, January 1, 2010
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Lasting Relationships
“Some of the biggest challenges in relationships come from the fact that most people enter a relationship in order to get something: they're trying to find someone who's going to make them feel good. In reality, the only way a relationship will last is if you see your relationship as a place that you go to give, and not a place that you go to take.” -Anthony Robbins
Monday, March 9, 2009
The Winner Is
I've learned that when you have an argument with your spouse, the first one who says, 'I'm sorry I hurt your feelings; please forgive me,' is the winner. ~unknown
Friday, March 6, 2009
Caution
Caution
Even now
having recently removed
the last long thorn from my flesh
the wound has scabbed over
but not healed
perhaps it never will
or maybe it is waiting...
patiently
like a spy in dark shadows
for me to acknowledge
it may have all been an illusion
disguised by candlelight
infused with wine
and twisted emotions
I catch my reflection
in the window
an older woman
stares back at me
where did the years go?
my youth passed all too soon
On the horizon
I see I see him staring back at me
standing in a now barren field
miles away, as always
out of reach
on the other side of the wall
that is his comfort zone
Experiences of the heart
transform or consume us
in unpredictable ways
I remember the fire
the intensity, the vivid colors
I also remember
crawling out of the ashes
after the flames died down
after the last ember
stopped smoldering
I see myself
as if viewing a stranger
half-frozen
speechless
unable to warn her
to stop
STOP
move away from the flame
or risk being consumed
once again
Monday, March 2, 2009
"My God" by M.K. Gandhi
It matters not what we call our heavenly Father, what matters is that we find our path to Him. Sadly, more have been killed in the name of organized religion than anything else.
I love this quote.....
From: “My God” by M.K. Gandhi
Religions are different roads converging to the same point. What does it matter that we take different roads, so long as we reach the same goal? In reality, there are as many religions as there are individuals.
All faiths are a gift of God, but partake of human imperfection as they pass through the medium of humanity. God-given religion is beyond all speech. Imperfect men put it into such language as they can command, and their words are interpreted by other men equally imperfect.
Whose interpretation must be held to be the right one? Every one is right from his own standpoint, but it is not impossible that every one is wrong. Hence the necessity for tolerance, which does not mean indifference towards one’s own faith, but a more intelligent and purer love for it.
Tolerance gives us spiritual insight, which is as far from fanaticism as the north pole is from the south. True knowledge of religion breaks down the barriers between faith and faith and gives rise to tolerance. Cultivation of tolerance for other faiths will impart to us a truer understanding of our own.
I have said I do not disbelieve in idol-worship. An idol does not excite any feeling of veneration in me. But I think that idol-worship is part of human nature. We hanker after symbolism.
I am both an idolater and an iconoclast in what I conceive to be the true senses of the terms. I value the spirit behind idol worship. It plays a most important part in the uplift of the human race. And I would like to possess the ability to defend with my life the thousands of holy temples which sanctify this land of ours.
I am an iconoclast in the sense that I break down the subtle form of idolatry in the shape of fanaticism that refuses to see any virtue in any other form of worshipping the Deity save one’s own. This form of idolatry is more deadly for being more fine and evasive than the tangible and gross form of worship that identifies the Deity with a little bit of a stone or a golden image.
Bitter experience has taught me that all temples are not houses of God. They can be habitations of the devil. These places of worship have no value unless the keeper is a good man of God. Temples,mosques, churches are what man makes them to be.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Touching Fire
Perhaps, in the autumn of my life
I will sit near a window
in the late afternoon sun
drinking tea from fine china
or cheap red wine
depending on my mood
and the weather
Perhaps I will sit
wrapped in an old blanket
watching trees
release their leaves
one by one
much like one deals with loss
in small increments
to soften the blow
Yes, perhaps then I will
reflect on him
tincture of time is a wonderful healer
so they tell me
only time will tell
perhaps then
emotions will not run high
I will no longer stop in my tracks
at odd hours with thoughts of him..
those eyes looking back at me
as only a lover can
Perhaps red wine will dull that ache
Perhaps I will no longer miss noisy sex
and will be able to eat raspberries
without the first thought of him
Perhaps on that autumn afternoon
after my third glass of wine
I will forget that I once
touched fire
felt the warmth and the burn
love changes everything
if you let it
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The Artist
Jackson Pollock (American, 1912–1956)
In his mind he is still the man
who worked in a mahogany paneled office
dined in the finest restaurants
and tangoed till 2 am
he served in the WWII
married his college sweetheart
was head of a company
and the life of a party
he is never without a tie
even now
He reads the Wall Street Journal
Time magazine
and large print books
the pages never turn
he once knew my first and middle name
now he calls me Lillian, Doris or the flavor of the day
he is always delighted to see me
his smile radiant
his hand shake as genuine as first love
his eyes never leave mine
He fears being yet another white haired man
with soft hands
sitting quietly in the long autumn sun
watching cloud formations drift by
as the wind secretly replays
love's last gasps in his ears
wondering where the years went
wishing he could die before an easel
or in the arms of a woman who loves him
wishing
even now, for a woman whose breasts sag
whose heart still beats loud
warm flesh against flesh
as familiar as his face against her cleavage
fast forward many years
his face against a cold window pane
fearing yet another winter
alone
in his room is a canvas
his last work in progress
he dabbles in oils
moves it around to catch shadows
and yet another sunset
as if it were his last
he says it is to let the sun in
the warmth
love
energy
all the things that his aging body
lacks
he hobbles a few steps away
both hands gripping his walker
his eyes fill with pride as he asks me
what I see in his painting
it matters not what I say
dementia makes every day new
the painting in progress has been
a million different things
a blackbird on a wooden fence at dusk
two boys and a frog at the water's edge
a sailboat at sunset
a baby in his mothers arms
Paris after the war
each time he is delighted
that I see it just as he does
that day
but each day
before I go
his long term memory returns
and with tearful eyes he tells me
he is painting it for the woman
with hair like mine
not too short or too long
a wonderful shade of red
like an autumn sky that melted
on her head
he knows she'll return
to see his painting
he points to the corner of his palette
a dried pile of "autumn" waits there
along with his eyes
his soft hands
his memory of a woman who loved him
when time stood still.
(c) 2007
Wee Hours Realization
Photo by Deannster on FlickrWee Hours Realization
We lie together naked
Under the new April moon
Spooning the way
True lovers do
His strong arms wrap around me
His cologne lingers on his skin
I breathe him in
Deep inside of me
And into my heart
I wondered if he knew
I was falling deeper in love with him
Safe within his arms
Peacefully drifting in time
I have no use for the morning sun
Life Goes On....
Life goes on ….
Three Septembers ago, I heard the fear in her voice. We sat in her backyard drinking coffee with the chiminea aglow, her face mostly in shadows except for the tears trickling down her cheeks.Her fear was not for herself, not for the days ahead when the beast would have its way with her, taking a breast was not enough, it would soon claim all of her.
She worried how he would get along without her, how he would handle the silence, shop for groceries, care for three children off in different directions, while juggling a demanding career, remember to keep doctor appointments etc.
Her voice lowered to a whisper. She told me she did something very right all those years ago, she married a wonderful man. When she was diagnosed, he was there, telling her it was their battle. When she was sick, he cared for her without her asking. When she cried, he held her and comforted her and not once did she have to ask, he was always there for her.
She looked at me with eyes that pleaded for answers.
“When I am gone, who will care for him? What if this happens to him, who will be there for him?”
She knew how essential his support had been in the early days, it was even more so now.
I wrapped a blanket around her and refilled her coffee as she looked up at the stars. A symphony of crickets filled the damp night air.She turned to look at me, pointing to the heavens.
“Do you see that really bright star over those old oak trees?”
I nodded, holding back tears, selfishly wondering what I was going to do without her.
She continued, “Right there, right there is where I want him to look for me. We’ve sat out here for 30 years and there’s always a bright star right over those trees. Me and the Oaks, that’s where I’ll be.”
Her voice trailed off, perhaps she was wondering how far away she’d be.
“He needs to remarry, you know. He’s a good man, some woman will be happy with him……..perhaps Diana would be a good fit for him? You know, I can see them together; they’d probably live in her home. Or maybe you should make sure he finds someone who loves to dance; I never liked it but he always loved dancing. You will need to keep your eye on him, to make sure he goes on.”
Three weeks later she slipped into a coma.
He called me to sit with him. When I arrived he was painting her toe nails, her pillow had recently been fluffed. He had her favorite candles burning and a photo of them on the nightstand. He held her hand so tenderly and told me that even then, with her bald head and emaciated body, he looked at her and saw a gorgeous woman who loved him with all she had every day and every night. My heart ached for them, for what they were losing....and especially for him.
They used to glance at each other across a room and everyone recognized the look. He looked at her the same way right up until the end.
She slipped quietly away the next day.
Last night I attended his wedding – alone.
He looked at his new bride and I once again recognized the look of love. At the reception she told me his my friend, his former wife, wrote a letter to "the woman he would marry after she was gone". She said it was the most touching, thoughtful letter, stained with her tears…… welcoming her into his life, the life she left behind.
She was quite a woman, that friend of mine.
I heard someone ask them if they’d be living in her house. She said, “No, we will live in his house, it has the most magnificent view of the night sky, right over the old oaks.”
I knew what that meant, more importantly, I knew what that meant to him.
How sweet, how wonderful, two people who truly love and understand each other.
We should all be so blessed. He found it twice, I’m still searching for once -perhaps someday.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
It's All About Love - AND Forgiveness!
"The Fetzer Institute, as part of its Campaign for Love & Forgiveness, supported the Religion Newswriters Association in the production of a comprehensive guide for journalists reporting on love and forgiveness. The guide features experts in the fields of science, medicine, politics, religion, and criminal justice who can explain how and why forgiveness and benevolent love are central to so many news stories (and why the lack of them could be the root of much of the violence and conflict that so often dominate the news). "
Posts
