“If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.”
Please don’t be sad for me, today is bereaved Mother’s day, and every single day I honor my son Stevie with my life, for he is always with me….
If I were to tattoo myself with each loss along the way, I would be a magnificent creation of art and the beauty of souls who have touched this skin would be a remembrance of the incredible depths of love that penetrate deep into my heart with gratitude for lives once lived, as each and every one still enlivens my being with the glory of what is being revealed to us…
This is a piece I wrote a year ago, it is a forward-moving re-worked enchantment…
I found you there in translucent light when voices of sorrow overwhelmed us silent tears fell like crystal showers, and scattered beams gently kissed our bodies…
dark undergrowth sighed, our heart spoke out in true confession… words diluted into liquid breath and our suffering flew heavenward, caught up by merciful winds …
Forgetfulness descended into the lightness of being sapphire skies beamed down light danced the cathedral of trees stood over us covering us honoring our courage…
The earth’s foundation quivered as we stepped into the future watching tentatively imagining a different world, beyond all suffering… We bathed in the fragrance of this holy foliage baptized by its forgiving light, butterflies swooped and the forest floor tenderly absorbed all our pain…
And the Time Lords moved among us in silence, while we chiseled our heartbreak into the dark bark of remembrance, a chorus of tree frogs whispered into the stillness… leaves rustled…
we let the magic of the forest soften us, distill us with its cooling breath, and its sweet-scented disposition brought us back to life…
“YOU ARE A FLOWER, Every child is born in the garden of humanity as a flower. Each flower differs from every other flower. As grown-ups, we can remind young people that they’re already beautiful as they are; they don’t have to be someone else.” ― Thích Nhất Hạnh
Let’s revive those ghosts and watch the stars align grill steaks on an open fire until we smell of smoke. keep dancing in the corridors of time.
We are the breath of the immortal we exist in deep longing. Let’s begin the journey back to ourselves and even if doubt lurks in the shadowy parts in hidden corners we cannot forget the divine moments that changed us back into beings of light.
I want to run once more barefoot through steaming rain, jump in puddles of my own reflection watch vapor rise from the hot tarmac. I want to daydream for hours in the veld of my imagination pick wildflowers until I sneeze.
I still visit that place where my dreams were just budding, I sometimes go back there to reclaim the wild things that I lost.
It was a place where beauty inhabited me rearranged me reconfigured me until I was saturated to the core of belonging.
But I was innocent then I had no knowledge of the world.
The joy that brought us here will never be stolen, though the winds delivered us to other places to neighborhoods that were foreign for a time where we re-planted our hopes and dreams and waited until the soil was fertile enough to grow us back into the magnificence of who we were born to be.
I’ll be with you at sunset I’ll watch the same skies we’ll watch the same moon together you through your lens I through mine. let’s remember our wildness let’s reimagine our lives. Let’s forget unspeakable things, like the ocean between us and plagues that have kept us apart.
I have not yet left my childish ways behind, nor have I lived by instruction but by instinct. (some have called me a rebel) I have stumbled many times and fallen sometimes into terrible despair sometimes into grave doubt sometimes I’ve been inconsolable.
And I’ve watched my dreams drift away in rivers of tears that gush back into the cosmic seas to be kept forever in jars. my memories are treasured there…
At times I thought I should never get up again but I did through some supernatural force. It was love that kept me alive.
Now I try to tread more lightly with myself, and when I forget I return to stillness.
We have the capacity to hold great beauty within us it’s just a matter of allowing…
“I thought: maybe death isn’t darkness, after all, but so much light wrapping itself around us— as soft as feathers— that we are instantly weary of looking, and looking, and shut our eyes not without amazement, and let ourselves be carried, as through the translucence of mica, to the river that is without the least dapple or shadow— that is nothing but light—scalding, aortal light— in which we are washed and washed out of our bones.” ― Mary Oliver
Four years ago, today was my last day on earth with you. It seems like yesterday that we sat all day and talked about so much. We even talked about how we would want to die, you said you would prefer to die in your sleep rather than suffer for a long time. Your wish was granted and the next day you went to sleep and woke up in heaven.
Memories are sometimes like shards of pain splintering and falling in waves over me. I am taken to those dark places just so as I can feel the hurt and know I’m still alive and breathing. Holding your memory in my flesh and blood.
I know you were never meant to stay; I know that now, but on that day, I thought it would never end and we would be together until I went into my dotage.
It was a day of remembrance, a sacred day, I even forgot to hang the washing on the line. Everything seemed urgent, things needed to be said. You told me so much, you forgave me and everyone who had ever wronged you.
On looking back, I am grateful you came on this journey with me, and even if it seemed like just a stopover for you, it was really a lifetime for me.
I knew all your sorrow, and you knew mine. We both understood how much we needed to be loved and accepted, just like everyone else on this planet.
Things happen, people stray, some didn’t understand the struggle you went through. You came here as my teacher, to show me how to forgive, to show me the very depths of what it means to never hold a grudge, I’m still learning. I haven’t perfected it yet, I’m a work in progress.
I have learned so much since you left your earth suit, you continue to show me a way out of the darkness, to reconnect me with what is truly holy.
You used to say that it’s a beautiful thing when people are honest about their hurts, their failures, their “humanness”. Some didn’t understand you, the depths of your soul seemed strange to them. Many called you “sentimental Stevie” because you felt things so deeply. Sometimes you even took on the pain of the lost and broken. Your Indian friends called you Satish, which means “truthful god”, you always felt honored by that name.
You still visit many places and many people that you love, and I know they still see you, even if it is only in the shadows…
You wrote this poem in a place called “Heartland”. It was a place where you discovered other imperfect humans living off the land and they loved and treasured you just as you were. it was and still is a place of holy ground!
A Thousand Moonlit Nights
The deepest part of my soul lies dormant, hidden in the shadows of a myriad of masks, no eye has seen it and no hand can reach it, unknown, unseen, and untouched.
Light has now reached it and air has finally found it, my fellows have unmasked the masked man. I stand naked in the moonlit garden, free yet secure under an array of stars.
Dawn is coming, followed by the heat of the sun, Do I stay or go, fight or flight? Or rather duck and cover? I will cover.
Maybe tomorrow night will be a full moon, maybe more will join me in the garden. I am on a journey of a thousand moonlit nights, walking with a few brave souls under the stars.
“He makes me to lie down in green pastures: he leads me beside the still waters” Psalm 23
They say only the good die young, but I don’t believe that, I have known some pretty awesome 89 year olds. I think it’s easier to die young because we don’t have to face the aches and pains of old age, and maybe even the loss of our facilities. My Dad used to say that three score years and 10 was good enough for him, he made it to 75.
I remember when the nurse called us to the hospital to say that my Mother was dying, she said my Mother had opened her eyes for a bit and she had the most beautiful eyes, the color of the sky on a cloudless day. I stood at her bedside and begged her to stay, I wanted her to see my babies grow up.
At first she seemed agitated as if she was trying to hold on for us. We asked a priest in the hospital to pray for her and I saw something change in her countenance. She became peaceful, as though there was an angelic presence in the room. It seemed that something irresistibly beautiful was calling her back to the light. She was only 61. My Mother had known mental anguish, she had understood abandonment, and I think in that moment she let go of all her suffering, and went home. I think a table had been prepared for her, and she was ready to sup with the Divine. She was and still is one of the bright lights of my life, and whenever I look up at the pale blue skies I think of her…
Mother’s day is hard for me and I kind of go into a bit of a decline just before the day. My son’s friend invited us over to his house. It looks over Lake Pleasant and we ate Bass and reminisced about my son. These are the things that get me through the hard times!
In the stillness at the end of day I brightened with each golden ray, and basked in the fading light, and watched the stars impress the night!
The dark stirred me into feelings of bliss, bringing rhythm to the tenderness of being clothed in forgiving breath, from the deep wounds of sudden death. I revisited light and thankfulness, in hideaways of thoughts confessed…