Sunday, October 31, 2010

Cold and Flu

These unwelcome guests have made themselves at home. Let's plan on their quick departure and I'll write again on November 7.

Peace.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Secret Storms

Thunder rumbles into my small piece of the world as lightning races across the midnight sky backlighting rain wrapped tornados. Waves of water deluge the earth; gusts of wind pick up speed; and debris swirls in the midst of the storm. Havoc and chaos form twin torpedoes of destruction and hurl their insults upon the vulnerable.

People can wreak harm as swiftly as tornados breaking free from the clouds and suddenly take that which is not their own. Words aimed with the certainty of missiles to the heart cause the innocent to collapse or fall slowly to private deaths. Thoughtless, careless acts, witnessed by others in the briefest of moments, expose the cold and calloused hearts of the ignorant and illuminate their transgressions.

We can run to our shelters for escape or we can stand exposed to life-- taking chances, living by faith and looking for love. Staring down the storms with open eyes teaches us where to seek refuge and how to gain strength. We learn how to look through howling winds. We touch the source of fury because it first touched us and then we refuse to budge. All that is good and kind, merciful and forgiving, thoughtful and true cannot be wrenched out of our souls. And when the rainbow arches across the sky in shimmering pastels of soft pinks and greens, we will be among kindred spirits racing through the dew wearing grass stained jeans.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Scrapbooks

Today is my birthday, and one of my friends shared that she will be giving me a scrapbook. I began wondering what would go into this keepsake book and if I needed to attend a scrapbook party to decide. I also wondered if I still possessed my childhood scrapbooks, and so I searched for and found these relics of my past; blew off the dust and opened yellowed pages. My youthful life came to life under crinkled tape. A childhood spent reading, writing, earning Girl Scout badges and attending camp. Accomplishments, notes and vaccination records filled the pages.

I think I might put highlights of my life beginning a few years ago as a starting place. I am eager to lay hands on the scrapbook and feel the pages under my fingers as I ponder what items to place within. I imagine that some 50 years into the future, as perhaps I look back and blow the residue of more life from faded pictures, torn ticket stubs and certificates of achievements would only mirror the older scrapbooks.

And yet, I know now what I did not as a child. That scrapbooks and photo collections are only symbols of precious memories stored in the mind; love captured in the heart; and passion emblazoned in the soul. I know my spirit soars when falling leaves the color of pumpkins, squash and cranberries swirl in wooded paths. I understand the power of music to heal and renew. I believe that magical rhythms of words are art and gentle illusions painted on canvasses defy words. I have experienced the beauty of waterfalls, casting double rainbows in the mist, which stopped me in deafening silence. I have felt the roll of thunder rumble through barriers and heal internal fractures. I’ve heard the roar of the crowd at football and hockey games blend with my beating heart and drown out critical voices. I know what it’s like to face death and live. I have watched friends depart on trails that left no footprints and walked alongside others on paths blazed into my heart.

I can’t tape happiness in the scrapbook binder or paste love on its pages. I won’t attempt to capture dreams and contain them under the hard covers. What I can do is live life to the fullest and along the way find mementos to help me remember not what I did, but how I felt during these moments of my life.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Healing Music

Every night, fatigue slammed my body against massive boulders and left me pulverized under the crush of torrential storms and swollen rivers. By the end of the week, I was so tired that creative thought was not an option and my spirit was too heavy for transport. The weekend was a blur and the few moments alone were spent re-applying under eye concealer and changing clothes for the next activity. It ended Sunday night at a jazz concert.

In the historic auditorium, the talented saxophonist did not play his instrument. Instead, he played my heart with long, slim fingers that deftly merged our pulses using the background rhythms of drums and organ. He poured his soul into my molecules and lifted my weighted spirit into the air. Music flowed in the musicians’ veins and I flowed with them tumbling down waterfalls and into swirling foam. We flung our cares into the controlled chaos of the watery abyss and floated on the still of peace. Soon, the only evidence of our journey shone in the lingering moisture in my eyes.

I received more than the joy of hearing good music played by extraordinary musicians, and I certainly received back more than the event ticket price. The ensemble gave me the gift of contentedness. For two hours, I was absorbed into the keys of well loved instruments and thought of nothing; worried about nothing; wished for nothing. For a few short hours, I lived in the music and felt shared heartbeats. I heard the chords and soared in the wind on harmonic tones of life. I was alive and in the place that was exactly where I was supposed to be --in the present moments of my life.

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Wishes

I wish I were the wind, uncontained and wild, meandering through time with freedom. Caressing the cheeks of the suffering; breathing life into the lungs of the weary; and gusting through the minds of the impenetrable.

I wish I were the rain, soft and gentle, falling through dimensions with abandon. Quenching the thirst of the desperate; filling the empty barrels of the needy; and echoing off tin roofs of the untouchables.

I wish I were the sun, radiant and bright, shining through clouds with ease. Lighting the paths of the lost; warming the hearts of the tired; and illuminating the secrets of the isolated.

I wish I could see that my spirit flies in the wind; my heart beats in rhythms of storms; my soul glows in love.

Until then, I will feel my way through life's journey hearing echoing pulses, tasting salty tears, and living in the brevity of peace.