The promising green strawberries have appeared
Not yet of a size to weigh down the spindle branches
Not yet of a color to entice the new born rabbits
Not yet ready for picking and eating
Not yet ready to explode in my mouth with the taste of spring.
Those promising strawberries have grown and matured
Their weight now sharply bends their branches
Their color now calling to the rabbits like a siren
Ready for picking and eating . . . by the rabbits faster than me
Exploding in their mouths more often than in mine.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Monday, June 13, 2011
I Think of You
I think of you
I think of you each day
Though I know that you’re not here
I see you everywhere
In the rising of the sun
In the rocking of a chair
Though I can’t see you with my eyes
You’re there when I look inside
Though your words I cannot hear
In my mind they’re always clear
I think of you
I think of you each day
In the warmth of the summer
I feel your deep embrace
Each gently blowing breeze
Is your touch upon my face
In the shining of the sun
I see the smile on your face
The twinkling stars
Are your eyes sparkling with grace
I think of you
I think of you each day
The singing of the birds
Is your whistling without words
The babbling of the creek
Is your laughter oh so sweet
On the road that leads me home
I hear your heartfelt poems
As I walk through the door
I know I always want more
And I think of you
I think of you each day.
Though I know that you’re not here
I see you everywhere
In the rising of the sun
In the rocking of a chair
Though I know I cannot see you
You’re there when I look inside
Though your words I cannot hear
In my mind they’re always near
And I think of you
I think of you each day
Yes I think of you
I think of you each day
I think of you each day
Though I know that you’re not here
I see you everywhere
In the rising of the sun
In the rocking of a chair
Though I can’t see you with my eyes
You’re there when I look inside
Though your words I cannot hear
In my mind they’re always clear
I think of you
I think of you each day
In the warmth of the summer
I feel your deep embrace
Each gently blowing breeze
Is your touch upon my face
In the shining of the sun
I see the smile on your face
The twinkling stars
Are your eyes sparkling with grace
I think of you
I think of you each day
The singing of the birds
Is your whistling without words
The babbling of the creek
Is your laughter oh so sweet
On the road that leads me home
I hear your heartfelt poems
As I walk through the door
I know I always want more
And I think of you
I think of you each day.
Though I know that you’re not here
I see you everywhere
In the rising of the sun
In the rocking of a chair
Though I know I cannot see you
You’re there when I look inside
Though your words I cannot hear
In my mind they’re always near
And I think of you
I think of you each day
Yes I think of you
I think of you each day
Sunday, June 12, 2011
My Mother's Birthday
The following was written on March 2, 2011:
Today would have been my mother's, your mother-in-law's and your Bobi's 94th birthday (born March 2, 1917) and therefore, it is a good time to remember her and to celebrate her life.
If she were here in more than spirit and memories, I think that she would want to remind all of us that she loved us. Indeed, one of her favorite sayings (in addition to describing special events and feelings as "delicious") was to tell me that she loved me and each of you "with all of her life". Easy words, but she really meant them.
She loved many other things deeply and showed that with her actions and dedication. For her, it was her extended family, her Jewish community and her civic community. Though you (my children) may not remember this, your Bobi was honored by countless organizations - both Jewish and civic. She was honored not simply because she was an extraordinary leader - which she was - but because she gave of herself in every way she could - from her vision for what could be to doing what was necessary to bring that vision to a reality.
And through it all, she loved all of us and I hope that you will carry that with you always, and that you find people and causes that you "love with your life".
Let me end with a couple of coincidences.
Today, the Temple Beth Avodah community hopefully will pass an amendment to the By-Laws that govern the Temple so that Mom and I can be co-presidents. It is both a coincidence and fitting that this should happen on my mom's birthday.
Also, every July 4th, one of the local TV channels in Omaha would play "Yankee Doodle Dandy - The Story of George M. Cohan". You have heard me sing the songs "Yankee Doodle Dandy", "It's A Grand Old Flag" and "Over There" for years. When I went downstairs to exercise today, I found that today, of all days, one of the channels was playing the movie. After exercising, I went upstairs to show Mom what was on and, when I turned it on, the song that was being sung was "Mary - Grand As Any Name Can Be". Now, as I end this message to you, the movie is at the point where Cohan receives the Congressional Medal of Honor for his "contributions to the American spirit" and he says that he does not deserve it. Then, President Roosevelt says that a person can give his life to others in many different ways and quite often he is not the best judge of how much he has given. Those words make me think of Mary Arbitman Fellman, and the love and lessons that she gave to all of us - probably without ever fully knowing her legacy.
So, as we celebrate her life today, I want you to be assured that she would be celebrating our lives and would be so proud of each of us.
I love you with my life.
Today would have been my mother's, your mother-in-law's and your Bobi's 94th birthday (born March 2, 1917) and therefore, it is a good time to remember her and to celebrate her life.
If she were here in more than spirit and memories, I think that she would want to remind all of us that she loved us. Indeed, one of her favorite sayings (in addition to describing special events and feelings as "delicious") was to tell me that she loved me and each of you "with all of her life". Easy words, but she really meant them.
She loved many other things deeply and showed that with her actions and dedication. For her, it was her extended family, her Jewish community and her civic community. Though you (my children) may not remember this, your Bobi was honored by countless organizations - both Jewish and civic. She was honored not simply because she was an extraordinary leader - which she was - but because she gave of herself in every way she could - from her vision for what could be to doing what was necessary to bring that vision to a reality.
And through it all, she loved all of us and I hope that you will carry that with you always, and that you find people and causes that you "love with your life".
Let me end with a couple of coincidences.
Today, the Temple Beth Avodah community hopefully will pass an amendment to the By-Laws that govern the Temple so that Mom and I can be co-presidents. It is both a coincidence and fitting that this should happen on my mom's birthday.
Also, every July 4th, one of the local TV channels in Omaha would play "Yankee Doodle Dandy - The Story of George M. Cohan". You have heard me sing the songs "Yankee Doodle Dandy", "It's A Grand Old Flag" and "Over There" for years. When I went downstairs to exercise today, I found that today, of all days, one of the channels was playing the movie. After exercising, I went upstairs to show Mom what was on and, when I turned it on, the song that was being sung was "Mary - Grand As Any Name Can Be". Now, as I end this message to you, the movie is at the point where Cohan receives the Congressional Medal of Honor for his "contributions to the American spirit" and he says that he does not deserve it. Then, President Roosevelt says that a person can give his life to others in many different ways and quite often he is not the best judge of how much he has given. Those words make me think of Mary Arbitman Fellman, and the love and lessons that she gave to all of us - probably without ever fully knowing her legacy.
So, as we celebrate her life today, I want you to be assured that she would be celebrating our lives and would be so proud of each of us.
I love you with my life.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Searching
I listen intently to the silence
Searching for secrets and lessons.
I peer intently into the skies
Searching for the the beginning and the end of infinity.
I look intently inside of myself
Searching for questions and answers.
I roam intently through life
Searching, always searching.
Searching for secrets and lessons.
I peer intently into the skies
Searching for the the beginning and the end of infinity.
I look intently inside of myself
Searching for questions and answers.
I roam intently through life
Searching, always searching.
I Love Life
I love life.
I love my life.
But let me be perfectly honest.
Life is going by too quickly.
How can my children be as old as they are?
How can my marriage be as long (and yet as fresh) as it is?
How can I have lived for so many minutes, hours, days, months and years?
How can I, in reality, have so few moments remaining?
One of the the great challenges of aging is not to reflect on and dissect the past (though that certainly is important),
But
To look forward with the recognition of the rapidly approaching horizon and
To decide how to spend the remaining time we have
Whether it be an instant or decades
For whatever the period, it is a lifetime
I love my life.
But let me be perfectly honest.
Life is going by too quickly.
How can my children be as old as they are?
How can my marriage be as long (and yet as fresh) as it is?
How can I have lived for so many minutes, hours, days, months and years?
How can I, in reality, have so few moments remaining?
One of the the great challenges of aging is not to reflect on and dissect the past (though that certainly is important),
But
To look forward with the recognition of the rapidly approaching horizon and
To decide how to spend the remaining time we have
Whether it be an instant or decades
For whatever the period, it is a lifetime
Friday, June 4, 2010
Your Next Step - One Leads To The Other
As you take the next step in your journey of life,
May you always be helpful, courteous and kind to others, and
May you always be blessed with others who are helpful, courteous and kind to you . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always be patient with and compassionate to yourself, and
May you always be patient with and compassionate to others . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always reach out to comfort those in need, and
May you always be comforted in your times of need . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always respect others. and
May you always be respected by others . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always helps others find the strength to endure their difficult times, and
May you always have the strength to endure the difficult times you will experience . . .
On leads to the other
May you always forgive yourself for the mistakes you will make, and
May you always forgive others for their mistakes . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always extend a welcoming and helping hand to others, and
May you always find a welcoming and helping hand when you reach out . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always open the door for others who are on the outside, and
May you always find an open door when you are on the outside wanting in . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always give the warmth of companionship and caring, and
May you always receive the warmth of the companionship and caring of others . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always ease the pain of others, and
May you always have your pain eased by others . . .
One leads to the other.
May you never reject and desert others, and
May you never be rejected and deserted by others . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always be a good and loyal friend, and
May you always have good and loyal friends . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always like and respect the person you see in the mirror, and
May the person in the mirror always like and respect you . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always create peace in the lives of others, and
May you always find peace in your life . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always give love to the others in your life, and
May you always find love in your life . . .
One leads to the other.
One leads to the other
For just as the love you get
Is equal to the love you give,
So too are all things connected.
May you always be helpful, courteous and kind to others, and
May you always be blessed with others who are helpful, courteous and kind to you . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always be patient with and compassionate to yourself, and
May you always be patient with and compassionate to others . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always reach out to comfort those in need, and
May you always be comforted in your times of need . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always respect others. and
May you always be respected by others . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always helps others find the strength to endure their difficult times, and
May you always have the strength to endure the difficult times you will experience . . .
On leads to the other
May you always forgive yourself for the mistakes you will make, and
May you always forgive others for their mistakes . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always extend a welcoming and helping hand to others, and
May you always find a welcoming and helping hand when you reach out . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always open the door for others who are on the outside, and
May you always find an open door when you are on the outside wanting in . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always give the warmth of companionship and caring, and
May you always receive the warmth of the companionship and caring of others . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always ease the pain of others, and
May you always have your pain eased by others . . .
One leads to the other.
May you never reject and desert others, and
May you never be rejected and deserted by others . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always be a good and loyal friend, and
May you always have good and loyal friends . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always like and respect the person you see in the mirror, and
May the person in the mirror always like and respect you . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always create peace in the lives of others, and
May you always find peace in your life . . .
One leads to the other.
May you always give love to the others in your life, and
May you always find love in your life . . .
One leads to the other.
One leads to the other
For just as the love you get
Is equal to the love you give,
So too are all things connected.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Birthday Reflections – Thankfulness (The Third of Three Reflections)
Recently I was honored by my Temple community,
and I am thankful for the honor and the recognition,
for who would not be.
Yet, the greatest part of the honor was the opportunity
to publicly express my love and thankfulness
for my family and for the life that I have been given.
We each are thrust into this world
at a certain (or perhaps uncertain) time and place, and
from there we are expected to make the best of what we have.
Though we often hear that our lives are in our hands and
that each person has an equal opportunity,
I do not believe that to be the case
for we each have different starting points, different abilities, different benefits and detriments.
So perhaps all that can be expected is that
we each do the best with what we have
in a world that is neither fair not level.
I can only hope that I have done my best
to do well with what I have been given, and
that my life will have done a minimal of harm and,
if I am lucky that my life will have been for some good
and I am thankful for the honor and the recognition,
for who would not be.
Yet, the greatest part of the honor was the opportunity
to publicly express my love and thankfulness
for my family and for the life that I have been given.
We each are thrust into this world
at a certain (or perhaps uncertain) time and place, and
from there we are expected to make the best of what we have.
Though we often hear that our lives are in our hands and
that each person has an equal opportunity,
I do not believe that to be the case
for we each have different starting points, different abilities, different benefits and detriments.
So perhaps all that can be expected is that
we each do the best with what we have
in a world that is neither fair not level.
I can only hope that I have done my best
to do well with what I have been given, and
that my life will have done a minimal of harm and,
if I am lucky that my life will have been for some good
Birthday Reflections – Redemption (The Second of Three Reflections)
Who among us is not constantly in need of redemption?
Only one who does not need . . .
To change paths and recapture purity
To apply the lessons of life to future actions
To use accumulated knowledge to adjust or remake
I for one seek and need such redemption . . . constantly.
Who among us has the right to stand in judgment?
Only one without . . .
Actions that are regretted
Decisions that would not be taken back
Words that we would not withheld
I for one am not able to stand in judgment, but can only offer insight and advice.
Who among us has the right to withhold support and faith?
Only one who . . .
Lives without others
Moves through the world without attachment
Exists independent of the need for human contact
I for one needs and will give support and faith.
Who among does not believe in the possibility of redemption?
Only one who fails to see . . .
The magnificence of evolution
The rebirth of the phoenix
The progressions throughout life
I for one know that redemption is possible and necessary.
Though I know that I cannot recapture my youth nor relive any portion of my life, I know that I have the opportunity with each year, each day, each hour, each minute, each second and each moment to seek and find redemption.
Only one who does not need . . .
To change paths and recapture purity
To apply the lessons of life to future actions
To use accumulated knowledge to adjust or remake
I for one seek and need such redemption . . . constantly.
Who among us has the right to stand in judgment?
Only one without . . .
Actions that are regretted
Decisions that would not be taken back
Words that we would not withheld
I for one am not able to stand in judgment, but can only offer insight and advice.
Who among us has the right to withhold support and faith?
Only one who . . .
Lives without others
Moves through the world without attachment
Exists independent of the need for human contact
I for one needs and will give support and faith.
Who among does not believe in the possibility of redemption?
Only one who fails to see . . .
The magnificence of evolution
The rebirth of the phoenix
The progressions throughout life
I for one know that redemption is possible and necessary.
Though I know that I cannot recapture my youth nor relive any portion of my life, I know that I have the opportunity with each year, each day, each hour, each minute, each second and each moment to seek and find redemption.
Birthday Reflections – Air (The First of Three Reflections)
From the moment of birth
When we leave the nurturing water
We are always enveloped by air
Warm or cool, moist or dry, thick or thin
Always providing life’s sustenance
Wrapping us in its stillness
Preserving, protecting and sustaining
Blowing over and around us
Its speed and direction created
By our own decisions,
Our motions through time and space,
Or causes and conditions beyond our knowledge and control
We luxuriate as the air stimulates our senses
Reacting as each change in the air changes us
Relishing the movement across our bodies, and
The awareness that is created.
The day will come
When the air no longer sustains or preserves me
When I will not feel or react to its changing temperature or composition
When I will be the dust that flies through the air
But that day is not today . . . it is not today.
For today is a day to breath deeply
To run through the fields and feel the wind rushing by
To be still and feel the wind gently wrapping me
To breath in life and exhale happiness and contentment
For life is good . . . life is good, and
I will breath of it . . . deeply.
When we leave the nurturing water
We are always enveloped by air
Warm or cool, moist or dry, thick or thin
Always providing life’s sustenance
Wrapping us in its stillness
Preserving, protecting and sustaining
Blowing over and around us
Its speed and direction created
By our own decisions,
Our motions through time and space,
Or causes and conditions beyond our knowledge and control
We luxuriate as the air stimulates our senses
Reacting as each change in the air changes us
Relishing the movement across our bodies, and
The awareness that is created.
The day will come
When the air no longer sustains or preserves me
When I will not feel or react to its changing temperature or composition
When I will be the dust that flies through the air
But that day is not today . . . it is not today.
For today is a day to breath deeply
To run through the fields and feel the wind rushing by
To be still and feel the wind gently wrapping me
To breath in life and exhale happiness and contentment
For life is good . . . life is good, and
I will breath of it . . . deeply.
Birthday Reflections
Birthdays are wonderful times to reflect and so, on the day before my birthday, my gift to myself is the reflections that are in the following three posts.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Playing with Sounds
Poet Pinsky pronounced prose proudly propelling pupils purposefully.
Rabbi, rubbing raggedly rising rough rubble, responded rapidly.
Dorothy danced dandily deciphering difficult diverse dramatic dialect deftly.
Rabbi, rubbing raggedly rising rough rubble, responded rapidly.
Dorothy danced dandily deciphering difficult diverse dramatic dialect deftly.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Writing Myself A Letter
Neil Young sings of sitting down and writing a letter,
To all the good friends that he's known,
But perhaps we each should write ourselves that letter
For shouldn't we be the best friend that we each know.
Thoughts are fleeting and too easily forgotten
They can be revised as we move forward
Without memorialization, our thoughts are without conviction
They do not hold us accountable.
The written word, however, remains and reminds
It allows us to challenge and to test ourselves
It forces us to be accountable
And in the end, it motivates us to be better.
And so, I write myself this short letter:
Let me make my life one of substance, not of substances,
One in which each day is filled with meaning and movement upward.
Let me not be diverted by the pursuit of the material
To the extent that I miss the paths to all that truly is important.
The paths of loving and connecting,
The paths of learning and sharing,
The paths of thinking and creating,
The paths that will make this world a better place for all.
Let me avoid the paths that lead only to the material
For such paths are so tempting and enticing,
Filled with games having an easy scorecard,
But it is a scorecard in what is ultimately a meaningless game.
Let me find joy in the wonders of life
In the questions that can only be asked and pondered
The questions for which there are no answers
And let me be reminded that there is joy in the pursuit.
Let me remember each day to appreciate life
Simply because I am blessed to have life
For the value of life for me is that I exist
And with that knowledge, let me cherish and respect all life
Let me remember that with each tick of the clock
Those seconds become reflections in the rear view mirror
While the seconds, the minutes and all the time that awaits in the future
Are on the horizon in a direction we must choose.
Let me count my blessings daily
Let me face challenges with strength and conviction
Let me always have my hopes and my dreams
Let me find the places where I am serene
Let me remember that while storms may rage
The sun will always shine again.
Let me remember that the rain nourishes the earth
And the sun will always shine again.
To all the good friends that he's known,
But perhaps we each should write ourselves that letter
For shouldn't we be the best friend that we each know.
Thoughts are fleeting and too easily forgotten
They can be revised as we move forward
Without memorialization, our thoughts are without conviction
They do not hold us accountable.
The written word, however, remains and reminds
It allows us to challenge and to test ourselves
It forces us to be accountable
And in the end, it motivates us to be better.
And so, I write myself this short letter:
Let me make my life one of substance, not of substances,
One in which each day is filled with meaning and movement upward.
Let me not be diverted by the pursuit of the material
To the extent that I miss the paths to all that truly is important.
The paths of loving and connecting,
The paths of learning and sharing,
The paths of thinking and creating,
The paths that will make this world a better place for all.
Let me avoid the paths that lead only to the material
For such paths are so tempting and enticing,
Filled with games having an easy scorecard,
But it is a scorecard in what is ultimately a meaningless game.
Let me find joy in the wonders of life
In the questions that can only be asked and pondered
The questions for which there are no answers
And let me be reminded that there is joy in the pursuit.
Let me remember each day to appreciate life
Simply because I am blessed to have life
For the value of life for me is that I exist
And with that knowledge, let me cherish and respect all life
Let me remember that with each tick of the clock
Those seconds become reflections in the rear view mirror
While the seconds, the minutes and all the time that awaits in the future
Are on the horizon in a direction we must choose.
Let me count my blessings daily
Let me face challenges with strength and conviction
Let me always have my hopes and my dreams
Let me find the places where I am serene
Let me remember that while storms may rage
The sun will always shine again.
Let me remember that the rain nourishes the earth
And the sun will always shine again.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
My Neighborhood
I have a neighborhood where the doors are open
And I am welcome to visit any time I want
No need to make an appointment or ask permission
I just let myself in and look around.
Sometimes I come in through the front entry
And proceed in an orderly fashion from the front to the exit at the rear
Sometimes I come in through the side or even through the back
And just jump around from place to place in no particular order.
I find the most amazing jewels as I explore
Some are bright and shiny so there is no mistaking their value
Others do not appear to be jewels at all until
I turn them and turn them examining each facet closely.
I hold each found jewel carefully until I can hold no more
For certainly the doors have been left open and the jewels displayed for me to do so,
Yet somehow when I return home, I am holding fewer jewels than I left with
Though I can't imagine how some vanished, at least I held them for a moment.
The most wonderful part about my neighborhood
Is that when I revisit a location, the original jewels still are there
And there always are more jewels that must have been hidden away
Or more likely, I just missed them on my prior visits.
I would like to thank everyone in my neighborhood
But I won't be able to send a proper thank you or to find them
So perhaps just a shout in the neighborhood will have to do
And when I do, this is what I will say
Thank you for gift of the places that you have created
With such care that they shall last forever.
Thank you for leaving such beautiful jewels
For me to hold, to examine and to take with me.
Thank you for always being there in my neighborhood
So I always know where to find you.
Thank you my dear friends:
Shakespeare, Fitzgerald and Vonnegut,
Conrad, Lewis and Salinger,
Steinbeck, Orwell and Golding,
Hesse, Casaneda and Quinn,
Asimov, Tolkien and Bradbury,
Diamant, Dawkins and Armstrong,
And to all of the others who have resided there from time to time.
And I am welcome to visit any time I want
No need to make an appointment or ask permission
I just let myself in and look around.
Sometimes I come in through the front entry
And proceed in an orderly fashion from the front to the exit at the rear
Sometimes I come in through the side or even through the back
And just jump around from place to place in no particular order.
I find the most amazing jewels as I explore
Some are bright and shiny so there is no mistaking their value
Others do not appear to be jewels at all until
I turn them and turn them examining each facet closely.
I hold each found jewel carefully until I can hold no more
For certainly the doors have been left open and the jewels displayed for me to do so,
Yet somehow when I return home, I am holding fewer jewels than I left with
Though I can't imagine how some vanished, at least I held them for a moment.
The most wonderful part about my neighborhood
Is that when I revisit a location, the original jewels still are there
And there always are more jewels that must have been hidden away
Or more likely, I just missed them on my prior visits.
I would like to thank everyone in my neighborhood
But I won't be able to send a proper thank you or to find them
So perhaps just a shout in the neighborhood will have to do
And when I do, this is what I will say
Thank you for gift of the places that you have created
With such care that they shall last forever.
Thank you for leaving such beautiful jewels
For me to hold, to examine and to take with me.
Thank you for always being there in my neighborhood
So I always know where to find you.
Thank you my dear friends:
Shakespeare, Fitzgerald and Vonnegut,
Conrad, Lewis and Salinger,
Steinbeck, Orwell and Golding,
Hesse, Casaneda and Quinn,
Asimov, Tolkien and Bradbury,
Diamant, Dawkins and Armstrong,
And to all of the others who have resided there from time to time.
Friday, December 4, 2009
The Trio
Scott's scowl sent scared children scurrying
For Scott was a bully without the benefit of any benevolence
Living with an exterior persona larger than life
With an interior that was just a jumble of jarring confusion
Greg was Scott's henchmen extraordinaire, the enforcer
Of tremendous build for one of such tender age
His height and girth topped with childish blond curls
But for his demeanor, he could have been a dandy
Tony topped off the tremendously powerful trio
The best looking boy of the bunch
His smile able to smoothly switch from love to loathing
Reflecting his mood of the minute marvelously.
Together they traveled toward the edge
While everyone watched wanting to join but wary of doing so
For from that repulsive power arose an attraction
Harnessed and held in check by unknown forces.
Scott eventually died in an accident in which he lost his ear
The ear that had been deaf to the pleas of so many
Greg eventually was sent away for life
Imprisoned just as he had imprisoned others.
Tony eventually turned the corner in time
Finding himself in the service of god.
And those attracted by their awesome childhood power
Continued to live on the edge looking in.
For Scott was a bully without the benefit of any benevolence
Living with an exterior persona larger than life
With an interior that was just a jumble of jarring confusion
Greg was Scott's henchmen extraordinaire, the enforcer
Of tremendous build for one of such tender age
His height and girth topped with childish blond curls
But for his demeanor, he could have been a dandy
Tony topped off the tremendously powerful trio
The best looking boy of the bunch
His smile able to smoothly switch from love to loathing
Reflecting his mood of the minute marvelously.
Together they traveled toward the edge
While everyone watched wanting to join but wary of doing so
For from that repulsive power arose an attraction
Harnessed and held in check by unknown forces.
Scott eventually died in an accident in which he lost his ear
The ear that had been deaf to the pleas of so many
Greg eventually was sent away for life
Imprisoned just as he had imprisoned others.
Tony eventually turned the corner in time
Finding himself in the service of god.
And those attracted by their awesome childhood power
Continued to live on the edge looking in.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Where I Travel and Live
I travel many roads and live in many places
Often losing my way
Always finding my home.
I travel on the surface
Sometimes diving into the depths
Until I need to breath.
I travel at my own speed
Slower is boring
Faster is scary.
I travel toward the sunrise
Sometimes it looks like the sunset
But I am wrong.
I live in uncertainty
I sometimes visit certainty
But I always return.
I live in shades of grey
I sometimes see black and white
But it is just a mirage.
I live in ambiguity
A comfortable place
Without sharp edges.
I live in hope
I sometimes visit despair
But I always return.
I live surrounded by trees
Knowing I am in the forest
Somewhere.
I am home.
Often losing my way
Always finding my home.
I travel on the surface
Sometimes diving into the depths
Until I need to breath.
I travel at my own speed
Slower is boring
Faster is scary.
I travel toward the sunrise
Sometimes it looks like the sunset
But I am wrong.
I live in uncertainty
I sometimes visit certainty
But I always return.
I live in shades of grey
I sometimes see black and white
But it is just a mirage.
I live in ambiguity
A comfortable place
Without sharp edges.
I live in hope
I sometimes visit despair
But I always return.
I live surrounded by trees
Knowing I am in the forest
Somewhere.
I am home.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
All Is A Miracle
The following are lyrics, the music remains in my head
On the day I was born
The sun was a shining
The birds they were a singing
The birds they were flying
I let out a cry
As I opened my eyes
Everything was brand new
Everything a surprise
All was a miracle
The road lay ahead
Each breath was a blessing
Nothing needed to be said
I try to hold onto
That feeling I felt
On my very first day
Its inside of myself
So every morning
As I'm reborn again
As I open my eyes
And let the sun shine in
I hear the birds singing
I know they are flying
I love this life
No need for crying
All still is a miracle
There's road still ahead
Every breath's still a blessing
Nothing more needs to be said.
--
Ron Fellman
On the day I was born
The sun was a shining
The birds they were a singing
The birds they were flying
I let out a cry
As I opened my eyes
Everything was brand new
Everything a surprise
All was a miracle
The road lay ahead
Each breath was a blessing
Nothing needed to be said
I try to hold onto
That feeling I felt
On my very first day
Its inside of myself
So every morning
As I'm reborn again
As I open my eyes
And let the sun shine in
I hear the birds singing
I know they are flying
I love this life
No need for crying
All still is a miracle
There's road still ahead
Every breath's still a blessing
Nothing more needs to be said.
--
Ron Fellman
Monday, October 19, 2009
Prayers of a Child and an Adult
I do not remember being taught the words, perhaps my mother and father instructed me in the phrases to say and perhaps I learned it from listening to my brother give voice to the evening ritual, but however I learned the words, they certainly were internalized at a very early age.
Shema Israel Adonai Eloheynu Adonai Echad Here O'Israel, The Lord is our God, The Lord is one, Bless Mommy and Daddy, Mark and Marsha, Bobi and Papa, Papa Fellman, all of my aunts and uncles and cousins, Anna, Scissors and all of our cats, Keep them all well. Amen.
I do not remember the feelings that those words brought to me, but I assume that they were comforting and allowed me to believe that I had some sort of influence in the world and that there was something greater than me that watched over everyone who I cared about.
I do not remember when the child's bedtime prayer faded from the nightly ritual. I wonder if even after I stopped saying the words aloud I would whisper them to myself - a big boy who was not so big on the inside as he was on the outside.
Like so many other rituals of life, the evening prayer, even the eternal one, eventually faded away without reason, without thought, without a feeling of loss.
But like music that is buried deep within us in a manner that allows us to remember the words and tunes from 30 and more years ago, even as we cannot remember the book we read last year (or even last week), the words of the little boy's evening prayer remain within me.
And so, I find that recently, the child's prayer has reappeared in a new form based on current beliefs, but perhaps serving at least part of the same purpose. The oneness of the child's god has been replaced by a belief in the oneness of all that has been, all that is and all that will be. And so, the adult's evening prayer is one without words, but is simply the nightly attempt to envision the moment of the big bang when out of seeming nothingness (can there be such a thing), to find in the total blackness the sudden burst of a single point of light, rapidly growing until all that there is is light. But, try as I might, I cannot create that vision, neither the blackness of nothing, nor the single point of light. Yet, perhaps it is not the creation of the vision as much as the attempt to create the vision that is important, for it serves as a reminder that we all come from that moment in time.
And, now, in recent days, I have added a morning ritual to remind myself of the glorious opportunity of the day that awaits me. It is not a standard liturgy, but it does create an awareness, The ritual . . . singing Zippity Do Da followed by Let the Sun Shine In and ending with Wonderful World.
So, within me remains the child and perhaps that is one of the miracles of life.
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
My, oh my, what a wonderful day
Plenty of sunshine headin' my way
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
Mister Bluebird's on my shoulder
It's the truth, it's actual
Ev'rything is satisfactual
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
Wonderful feeling, wonderful day.
So let the sun shine in
Face it with a grin
Smilers never lose
And frowners never win
So let the sun shine in
Face it with a grin
Open up your heart and let the sun shine in
I see trees of green........ red roses too
I see em bloom..... for me and for you
And I think to myself.... what a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue..... clouds of white
Bright blessed days....dark sacred nights
And I think to myself .....what a wonderful world.
The colors of a rainbow.....so pretty ..in the sky
Are also on the faces.....of people ..going by
I see friends shaking hands.....sayin.. how do you do
Theyre really sayin......i love you.
I hear babies cry...... I watch them grow
Theyll learn much more.....than Ill never know
And I think to myself .....what a wonderful world
Shema Israel Adonai Eloheynu Adonai Echad Here O'Israel, The Lord is our God, The Lord is one, Bless Mommy and Daddy, Mark and Marsha, Bobi and Papa, Papa Fellman, all of my aunts and uncles and cousins, Anna, Scissors and all of our cats, Keep them all well. Amen.
I do not remember the feelings that those words brought to me, but I assume that they were comforting and allowed me to believe that I had some sort of influence in the world and that there was something greater than me that watched over everyone who I cared about.
I do not remember when the child's bedtime prayer faded from the nightly ritual. I wonder if even after I stopped saying the words aloud I would whisper them to myself - a big boy who was not so big on the inside as he was on the outside.
Like so many other rituals of life, the evening prayer, even the eternal one, eventually faded away without reason, without thought, without a feeling of loss.
But like music that is buried deep within us in a manner that allows us to remember the words and tunes from 30 and more years ago, even as we cannot remember the book we read last year (or even last week), the words of the little boy's evening prayer remain within me.
And so, I find that recently, the child's prayer has reappeared in a new form based on current beliefs, but perhaps serving at least part of the same purpose. The oneness of the child's god has been replaced by a belief in the oneness of all that has been, all that is and all that will be. And so, the adult's evening prayer is one without words, but is simply the nightly attempt to envision the moment of the big bang when out of seeming nothingness (can there be such a thing), to find in the total blackness the sudden burst of a single point of light, rapidly growing until all that there is is light. But, try as I might, I cannot create that vision, neither the blackness of nothing, nor the single point of light. Yet, perhaps it is not the creation of the vision as much as the attempt to create the vision that is important, for it serves as a reminder that we all come from that moment in time.
And, now, in recent days, I have added a morning ritual to remind myself of the glorious opportunity of the day that awaits me. It is not a standard liturgy, but it does create an awareness, The ritual . . . singing Zippity Do Da followed by Let the Sun Shine In and ending with Wonderful World.
So, within me remains the child and perhaps that is one of the miracles of life.
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
My, oh my, what a wonderful day
Plenty of sunshine headin' my way
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
Mister Bluebird's on my shoulder
It's the truth, it's actual
Ev'rything is satisfactual
Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay
Wonderful feeling, wonderful day.
So let the sun shine in
Face it with a grin
Smilers never lose
And frowners never win
So let the sun shine in
Face it with a grin
Open up your heart and let the sun shine in
I see trees of green........ red roses too
I see em bloom..... for me and for you
And I think to myself.... what a wonderful world.
I see skies of blue..... clouds of white
Bright blessed days....dark sacred nights
And I think to myself .....what a wonderful world.
The colors of a rainbow.....so pretty ..in the sky
Are also on the faces.....of people ..going by
I see friends shaking hands.....sayin.. how do you do
Theyre really sayin......i love you.
I hear babies cry...... I watch them grow
Theyll learn much more.....than Ill never know
And I think to myself .....what a wonderful world
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Stepping Back Into The Water
October 3, 2009
After a four month plus period of not posting entries, it is time to return. For anyone who is interested, I will explain in a later entry why I believe the rest was required, but for now, to get any new readers started and to get me revitalized, I simply will re-post a few of my favorites (and, in reviewing my posts, I found that there were many that I do not like as much now as when they were written). Since during the last four months I have spent a significant amount of time reading books on religion and spirituality, I will re-post some posts that are, at some level related to those subjects. Thanks for reading this journal and feel free to look through the archive to find a piece that you like. Also, feel free to post a comment (or not) as you desire.
The following first was posted on April 19, 2009:
In 1867, Emma Lazarus (of “Give Me your Tired” fame) wrote “In the Jewish Synagogue at Newport” which was in response to Henry Wadsworth’s Longfellow’s poem, The Jewish Cemetery at Newport”. Those poems inspired the following entry (Emma Lazarus' is below) – no other comparison or connection is intended.
In the sanctuary, the noises of the outside world
Have been left at the entry threshold
In preparation for uninterrupted reflection
Illuminated by the glow of the past, present and future.
The living and those whose living breath is no more surround
Sounds of prayer fill the space from without and within
Dappled pages with foreign symbols are a harbinger of the journey
All beckons to an encounter with the miraculous spiritual world.
An expedition of perpetual exploration and self-discovery
Where the individual is elevated to a place within the human spirit
Never losing relevance even while being bound with and within the generations
From humankind’s birth through all that was, all that is and all that will be.
Gazing into the layered depths of time and understanding
We are the departing slaves, the bedraggled victims, the huddled masses of immigrants
The sages who ascended to a godly view of all creation
The sculptors and painters of life in every age.
Absorbed in and by all of the elements
Wrapped in the warmth of time, place and life’s vitality
Taking a nostalgic climb through internal seasons
With a personal lens to search for the paradise within.
I am transported to the days of beginning and youth
In another sanctuary thousands of days and miles away
Connected by invisible cords braided like a Sabbath challah
Illuminated by a warm glow like that from the Shabbat candles.
Playing endlessly with the macramé tzitzit of my father's tallis
Four with eight with five forming heart strings which unite all
Watching my mother’s face as she gazes into an unseen world
With a Moses like glow on her face and a tear in her eye.
Rising and falling with other congregants like ocean waves
Learning melodies and words lasting through sometimes lost relevance
Growing year by year toward understanding and conformity, distinction and separation
Watching the changing of the guard as the youth stand on the shoulders of the elders.
And then the internal scroll of life’s story is rolled and dressed
Stored lovingly until the next never-ending return to the sanctuary within
Where defining moments are recorded in mystical ways
The abstract leading to clarity, myth transforming into philosophy.
And still, the physical world awaits just outside the sanctuary
Yet re-entry will be by one who has been further bonded to the oneness of all
Whose way of being in the world has been modified though ever so slightly
Whose path has been varied by another journey of self and generational discovery.
In the Jewish Synagogue at Newport
Here, where the noises of the busy town,
The ocean's plunge and roar can enter not,
We stand and gaze around with fearful awe,
And muse upon the consecrated spot.
No signs of life are here: the very prayers,
Inscribed around are in a language dead,
The light of the "perpetual lamp" is spent
That an undying radiance was to shed.
What prayers were in this temple offered up,
Wrung from sad hearts that knew no joy on earth,
By these lone exiles of a thousand years,
From the fair sunrise land that gave them birth!
Now as we gaze, in this new world of light,
Upon this relic of the days of old,
The present vanishes, and tropic bloom
And Eastern towns and temples we behold.
Again we see the patriarch with his flocks,
The purple seas, the hot sky o'erhead,
The slaves of Egypt--omens, mysteries--
Dark fleeing hosts by flaming angels led.
A wondrous light upon a sky-kissed mount,
A man who reads Jehovah's written law,
'Midst blinding glory and effulgence rare,
Unto a people prone with reverent awe.
The pride of luxury's barbaric pomp,
In the rich court of royal
Solomon-- Alas! we wake: one scene alone remains
The exiles by the streams of Babylon.
Our softened voices send us back again
But mournful echoes through the empty hall;
Our footsteps have a strange, unnatural sound,
And with unwonted gentleness they fall.
The weary ones, the sad, the suffering,
All found their comfort in the holy place,
And children's gladness, and men's gratitude
Took voice and mingled in the chant of praise.
The funeral and the marriage, now, alas!
We know not which is sadder to recall;
For youth and happiness have followed age,
And green grass lieth gently over all.
And still the shrine is holy yet,
With its lone floors where reverent feet once trod.
Take off your shoes as by the burning bush,
Before the mystery of death and God.
After a four month plus period of not posting entries, it is time to return. For anyone who is interested, I will explain in a later entry why I believe the rest was required, but for now, to get any new readers started and to get me revitalized, I simply will re-post a few of my favorites (and, in reviewing my posts, I found that there were many that I do not like as much now as when they were written). Since during the last four months I have spent a significant amount of time reading books on religion and spirituality, I will re-post some posts that are, at some level related to those subjects. Thanks for reading this journal and feel free to look through the archive to find a piece that you like. Also, feel free to post a comment (or not) as you desire.
The following first was posted on April 19, 2009:
In 1867, Emma Lazarus (of “Give Me your Tired” fame) wrote “In the Jewish Synagogue at Newport” which was in response to Henry Wadsworth’s Longfellow’s poem, The Jewish Cemetery at Newport”. Those poems inspired the following entry (Emma Lazarus' is below) – no other comparison or connection is intended.
In the sanctuary, the noises of the outside world
Have been left at the entry threshold
In preparation for uninterrupted reflection
Illuminated by the glow of the past, present and future.
The living and those whose living breath is no more surround
Sounds of prayer fill the space from without and within
Dappled pages with foreign symbols are a harbinger of the journey
All beckons to an encounter with the miraculous spiritual world.
An expedition of perpetual exploration and self-discovery
Where the individual is elevated to a place within the human spirit
Never losing relevance even while being bound with and within the generations
From humankind’s birth through all that was, all that is and all that will be.
Gazing into the layered depths of time and understanding
We are the departing slaves, the bedraggled victims, the huddled masses of immigrants
The sages who ascended to a godly view of all creation
The sculptors and painters of life in every age.
Absorbed in and by all of the elements
Wrapped in the warmth of time, place and life’s vitality
Taking a nostalgic climb through internal seasons
With a personal lens to search for the paradise within.
I am transported to the days of beginning and youth
In another sanctuary thousands of days and miles away
Connected by invisible cords braided like a Sabbath challah
Illuminated by a warm glow like that from the Shabbat candles.
Playing endlessly with the macramé tzitzit of my father's tallis
Four with eight with five forming heart strings which unite all
Watching my mother’s face as she gazes into an unseen world
With a Moses like glow on her face and a tear in her eye.
Rising and falling with other congregants like ocean waves
Learning melodies and words lasting through sometimes lost relevance
Growing year by year toward understanding and conformity, distinction and separation
Watching the changing of the guard as the youth stand on the shoulders of the elders.
And then the internal scroll of life’s story is rolled and dressed
Stored lovingly until the next never-ending return to the sanctuary within
Where defining moments are recorded in mystical ways
The abstract leading to clarity, myth transforming into philosophy.
And still, the physical world awaits just outside the sanctuary
Yet re-entry will be by one who has been further bonded to the oneness of all
Whose way of being in the world has been modified though ever so slightly
Whose path has been varied by another journey of self and generational discovery.
In the Jewish Synagogue at Newport
Here, where the noises of the busy town,
The ocean's plunge and roar can enter not,
We stand and gaze around with fearful awe,
And muse upon the consecrated spot.
No signs of life are here: the very prayers,
Inscribed around are in a language dead,
The light of the "perpetual lamp" is spent
That an undying radiance was to shed.
What prayers were in this temple offered up,
Wrung from sad hearts that knew no joy on earth,
By these lone exiles of a thousand years,
From the fair sunrise land that gave them birth!
Now as we gaze, in this new world of light,
Upon this relic of the days of old,
The present vanishes, and tropic bloom
And Eastern towns and temples we behold.
Again we see the patriarch with his flocks,
The purple seas, the hot sky o'erhead,
The slaves of Egypt--omens, mysteries--
Dark fleeing hosts by flaming angels led.
A wondrous light upon a sky-kissed mount,
A man who reads Jehovah's written law,
'Midst blinding glory and effulgence rare,
Unto a people prone with reverent awe.
The pride of luxury's barbaric pomp,
In the rich court of royal
Solomon-- Alas! we wake: one scene alone remains
The exiles by the streams of Babylon.
Our softened voices send us back again
But mournful echoes through the empty hall;
Our footsteps have a strange, unnatural sound,
And with unwonted gentleness they fall.
The weary ones, the sad, the suffering,
All found their comfort in the holy place,
And children's gladness, and men's gratitude
Took voice and mingled in the chant of praise.
The funeral and the marriage, now, alas!
We know not which is sadder to recall;
For youth and happiness have followed age,
And green grass lieth gently over all.
And still the shrine is holy yet,
With its lone floors where reverent feet once trod.
Take off your shoes as by the burning bush,
Before the mystery of death and God.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Just Call Me
Just call me in the morning
Just call me when it rains
Just call me when you need me
And I’ll come back again
You can call with a whisper
You can call me with a shout
You can call me in your heart
I’ll be with you have no doubt
Though you cannot see me
You can feel me in your soul
Trust that I am always there
In your heart that's what you know
When your walking down the road
You are never really alone
I am always by your side
Guiding you to your home
Call me when you rise
And when you work and when you play
Call me where ever you are
I’ll be there at the end of each day.
Just call me when it rains
Just call me when you need me
And I’ll come back again
You can call with a whisper
You can call me with a shout
You can call me in your heart
I’ll be with you have no doubt
Though you cannot see me
You can feel me in your soul
Trust that I am always there
In your heart that's what you know
When your walking down the road
You are never really alone
I am always by your side
Guiding you to your home
Call me when you rise
And when you work and when you play
Call me where ever you are
I’ll be there at the end of each day.
I've Always Been A Writer
Well I've always been a writer
Though it seems to come and go
I love to put the words down
Letting them find a place to go
Like a composer at the piano
Finding notes that make a song
Like a painter at the easel
Moving colors around and along
Like an inventor at the work bench
Trying to make something new
Like a scientist in the lab
Find which theories are true
Like a chef in the kitchen
Mixing ingredients for the right taste
Like a sculptor with his tools
Carving carefully not in haste
Well I've always been a writer
Though it seems to come and go
I love to put the words down
And let them find a place to go
Though it seems to come and go
I love to put the words down
Letting them find a place to go
Like a composer at the piano
Finding notes that make a song
Like a painter at the easel
Moving colors around and along
Like an inventor at the work bench
Trying to make something new
Like a scientist in the lab
Find which theories are true
Like a chef in the kitchen
Mixing ingredients for the right taste
Like a sculptor with his tools
Carving carefully not in haste
Well I've always been a writer
Though it seems to come and go
I love to put the words down
And let them find a place to go
Embrace Me In Life
Embrace me in life
Don't just weep at my grave
Over the time that we lost
The moments we should have saved
Embrace me in life
Who knows what will comes
Share this life with me
Live our days one by one
Embrace me in life
Sing the songs we love to sing
Dance each minute with me
See what each day will bring
Embrace me in life
Let not a moment go to waste
Walk hand in hand with me
Do so slowly not in haste
Embrace me in life
Embrace me every day
Embrace me with all your heart
For that’s the only way
Embrace me in life
Don't just weep at my grave
Over the time that we lost
The moments we should have saved
Don't just weep at my grave
Over the time that we lost
The moments we should have saved
Embrace me in life
Who knows what will comes
Share this life with me
Live our days one by one
Embrace me in life
Sing the songs we love to sing
Dance each minute with me
See what each day will bring
Embrace me in life
Let not a moment go to waste
Walk hand in hand with me
Do so slowly not in haste
Embrace me in life
Embrace me every day
Embrace me with all your heart
For that’s the only way
Embrace me in life
Don't just weep at my grave
Over the time that we lost
The moments we should have saved
Standing on the Edge
Tonight's personal writing assignment, motivated by watch a show about high school students trying to find their places, was to try to recreate some of the feelings I had at that age.
Well I’m standing on the edge
As I seem to always do
Yes I’m standing on the edge
Trying to find just what to do.
I want to dance with you
To a song that’s fast or slow
But I stand here in the corner
Till the last song signals the time to go.
I want to be the leader
But I’m never at the head the line
Instead I watch the others move forward
While I walk a few steps behind
I want to join in the circle
To grasp other hands in mine
But I stand on the outside
Perhaps it not my time
I wonder if it will happen
If I’ll ever quench my thirst
If the saying will come to be
And the last will be the first
But till then I’ll bide my time
As I seem to always do
Standing on the edge
Dreaming dreams that never come true
Well I’m standing on the edge
As I seem to always do
Yes I’m standing on the edge
Trying to find just what to do.
I want to dance with you
To a song that’s fast or slow
But I stand here in the corner
Till the last song signals the time to go.
I want to be the leader
But I’m never at the head the line
Instead I watch the others move forward
While I walk a few steps behind
I want to join in the circle
To grasp other hands in mine
But I stand on the outside
Perhaps it not my time
I wonder if it will happen
If I’ll ever quench my thirst
If the saying will come to be
And the last will be the first
But till then I’ll bide my time
As I seem to always do
Standing on the edge
Dreaming dreams that never come true
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Mother's Day 2009
It’s Mother’s Day!
I wanted to call you, but I don’t have the number
I remember all the old phone numbers, 7257, 4298, 3402 and 0879
But I know you won’t answer
I know we won’t be able to have the conversations we used to have
Not the ones in recent years where I did all of the talking, repeating the same information with each conversation and during each conversation
Not the earlier ones, before Alzheimer’s, when there was give and take, when there were questions and answers, when there was sadness and laughter, when there was love expressed and silently known
I remember those calls.
It’s Mother’s Day!
I wanted to send you a card and flowers, but I don’t have the address
I remember all the old addresses, 5508, 5961, 9505 and 1554
But I know you aren’t there
I know you won’t be able to smile at the card and smell the flowers with delight
Not the way you did in recent years when you were able to appreciate them over and over not remembering that you had seen them moments before
Not the earlier ways, before Alzheimer’s, when you would call with joy in your voice, when you would express your appreciation, when you would speak of your own mother and how you missed her, when there was love expressed and silently known
I remember those times
It’s Mother’s Day!
I wanted to tell you that I love you, but I don’t know how
I remember all of the times that I did tell you
But I know those ways don’t work now
I know that you won’t be able to hear or see me, or to feel my love
Not the way you did in recent years when you were able to say “I love you with my life” and I was able to repeat those words to you.
Not the earlier ways, before Alzheimer’s, when I brought you the child’s hand drawn cards, when I made you the youngster’s breakfasts, when I bought you the teenager’s presents, when I sent you the young adult’s flowers, when I shared with you the father’s stories
I remember those ways
It’s Mother’s Day!
I wanted to do so much that I know I can no longer do
But I know that on this first Mother’s Day that you are not here to share
I still can have the conversations with the part of you that is a part of me
I still can see the beauty of the world through your eyes
I still can appreciate all I have with the lessons that you taught
I still can love my memories of you
I still can love my family “with my life”
And that is the best way to honor you on this Mother’s Day
As I remember you.
I wanted to call you, but I don’t have the number
I remember all the old phone numbers, 7257, 4298, 3402 and 0879
But I know you won’t answer
I know we won’t be able to have the conversations we used to have
Not the ones in recent years where I did all of the talking, repeating the same information with each conversation and during each conversation
Not the earlier ones, before Alzheimer’s, when there was give and take, when there were questions and answers, when there was sadness and laughter, when there was love expressed and silently known
I remember those calls.
It’s Mother’s Day!
I wanted to send you a card and flowers, but I don’t have the address
I remember all the old addresses, 5508, 5961, 9505 and 1554
But I know you aren’t there
I know you won’t be able to smile at the card and smell the flowers with delight
Not the way you did in recent years when you were able to appreciate them over and over not remembering that you had seen them moments before
Not the earlier ways, before Alzheimer’s, when you would call with joy in your voice, when you would express your appreciation, when you would speak of your own mother and how you missed her, when there was love expressed and silently known
I remember those times
It’s Mother’s Day!
I wanted to tell you that I love you, but I don’t know how
I remember all of the times that I did tell you
But I know those ways don’t work now
I know that you won’t be able to hear or see me, or to feel my love
Not the way you did in recent years when you were able to say “I love you with my life” and I was able to repeat those words to you.
Not the earlier ways, before Alzheimer’s, when I brought you the child’s hand drawn cards, when I made you the youngster’s breakfasts, when I bought you the teenager’s presents, when I sent you the young adult’s flowers, when I shared with you the father’s stories
I remember those ways
It’s Mother’s Day!
I wanted to do so much that I know I can no longer do
But I know that on this first Mother’s Day that you are not here to share
I still can have the conversations with the part of you that is a part of me
I still can see the beauty of the world through your eyes
I still can appreciate all I have with the lessons that you taught
I still can love my memories of you
I still can love my family “with my life”
And that is the best way to honor you on this Mother’s Day
As I remember you.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Golden Books
Rosebud symbolizes the loss of youthful innocence and happiness that Charles Foster Kane unknowingly searched in vain to recapture. Perhaps we each have our own personal Rosebud, a time of pure uncomplicated enjoyment. For me, that time was the time spent with The Little Golden Books into which I could transport myself and from which I learned the lessons that would serve me well throughout life, but I didn’t fully understand the lessons then.
Scuffy the Tugboat was not satisfied with the little world of the bathtub and full of self-confidence, Scuffy takes advantage of the first opportunity that presents itself to travel down a small stream. But, this venture turns out to be a step on a slippery slope and Scuffy finds himself on an unexpected voyage of discovery. After seeing the world from the various waterways, he is reunited with his family. We each set out from time to time on our Scuffy the Tugboat adventures and, in doing so, we expand our world and, if we are lucky, we find our way home and realize how special home is.
For Sooki, The Saggy Baggy Elephant, life’s challenges seemed overwhelming as he viewed himself as one of a kind, alone in the world, like no other, and this belief was reinforced by a parrot’s mocking of his large floppy ears, long nose and wrinkled skin so that this saggy baggy elephant lost all self-confidence. But, this feeling rapidly vanishes when Sooki’s search ends with his meeting of others who look just like him and, in celebration, he explodes with a “one-two-three-kick.” We each have times when we feel that we are alone in the world, that no one shares our thoughts and dreams, but by searching both in and out, if we are lucky, we find others who are like us and realize how special that connection is.
The Poky Little Puppy always seemed to be a step behind his siblings and so, when the others snuck out to frolic, the Poky Little Puppy lagged behind not because of his inability to keep up, but because he observes his world. His action is rewarded when the other puppies, having escaped from their yard by digging under the fence, are caught. While the other puppies are scolded and sent to bed, the Poky Little Puppy gets rice pudding and then, when a similar incident happens, he gets chocolate custard for dessert. Rewarded twice and feeling quite proud of himself, the table turn when the other puppies sneak out, fill the hole under the fence and are rewarded with strawberry shortcake while the Poky Little Puppy arrives too late, has to squeeze through the fence boards, and goes to bed hungry and feeling "very sorry for himself." We each have times when we have met with some success and find ourselves self-assured and certain of future success if we follow the same path, but, with experience, we learn that we have to move beyond observance to action, and to be too full of ourselves.
The Little Golden Books, read to me with love, had so much to offer in a time of innocence and endless possibility.
Scuffy the Tugboat was not satisfied with the little world of the bathtub and full of self-confidence, Scuffy takes advantage of the first opportunity that presents itself to travel down a small stream. But, this venture turns out to be a step on a slippery slope and Scuffy finds himself on an unexpected voyage of discovery. After seeing the world from the various waterways, he is reunited with his family. We each set out from time to time on our Scuffy the Tugboat adventures and, in doing so, we expand our world and, if we are lucky, we find our way home and realize how special home is.
For Sooki, The Saggy Baggy Elephant, life’s challenges seemed overwhelming as he viewed himself as one of a kind, alone in the world, like no other, and this belief was reinforced by a parrot’s mocking of his large floppy ears, long nose and wrinkled skin so that this saggy baggy elephant lost all self-confidence. But, this feeling rapidly vanishes when Sooki’s search ends with his meeting of others who look just like him and, in celebration, he explodes with a “one-two-three-kick.” We each have times when we feel that we are alone in the world, that no one shares our thoughts and dreams, but by searching both in and out, if we are lucky, we find others who are like us and realize how special that connection is.
The Poky Little Puppy always seemed to be a step behind his siblings and so, when the others snuck out to frolic, the Poky Little Puppy lagged behind not because of his inability to keep up, but because he observes his world. His action is rewarded when the other puppies, having escaped from their yard by digging under the fence, are caught. While the other puppies are scolded and sent to bed, the Poky Little Puppy gets rice pudding and then, when a similar incident happens, he gets chocolate custard for dessert. Rewarded twice and feeling quite proud of himself, the table turn when the other puppies sneak out, fill the hole under the fence and are rewarded with strawberry shortcake while the Poky Little Puppy arrives too late, has to squeeze through the fence boards, and goes to bed hungry and feeling "very sorry for himself." We each have times when we have met with some success and find ourselves self-assured and certain of future success if we follow the same path, but, with experience, we learn that we have to move beyond observance to action, and to be too full of ourselves.
The Little Golden Books, read to me with love, had so much to offer in a time of innocence and endless possibility.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Getting Ready For Dinner
Gazing into the mirror, all he could see was his silk bow tie . . . cross, down, around, up the rabbit hole, pull, loop, through the whole, pull, straighten. How many times had he performed this ritual that his father had painstakingly taught him so many years ago. How many times had he created this faux barrier between his head and his body, between his mind and his heart.
Stepping back, pieces of his reflection came into view. His beard, which has been his face’s companion for half a century, no longer held any trace of the earth-brown that it had been in the beginning or the salt and pepper that it had been for so many years, for now it was a simple, uniform white. Still, he like it and, although over the years he had often thought of shaving it off to give his chin and jaw its time in the sun, he had never done so. Perhaps it was the reaction of his wife who, having never known him with a naked face, feigned agreement whenever he threatened to do the deed, but in reality, he could no more lose his beard than he could walk naked in the street for it gave him a certain protection and comfort.
Beneath the beard, he clenched his facial muscles ever so slightly so that his lips pulled outward to form that semi-smile that, at some point many years ago, had replaced the full-toothed grin of his youth. He liked to think of it as his modified, without the teeth showing, Cheshire cat grin, that conveyed a wisdom that had been earned through years or experience, but in reality, he had never liked his teeth for although he had not been a smoker, they were more yellow than white (his doctor having told him once that his bones probably were the same color, but he never would know if that was the case), and they were full of spaces and sharp points rather than the uniform soldiers found in so many other mouths.
With a subtle shift of position, he was able to see his nose that looked as if it had been taken from a different batch of clay and plopped onto his face for its was always redder than the surrounding territory. He alternated between being fascinated by the ever- changing shades of red displayed on his nose to being saddened by the peaks and valleys that formed and vanished from time to time.
Another slight shift brought his eyes into view. At least they had not been drained of their blue color although areas of earthy brown continued to expand. Perhaps that was a sign of becoming more grounded with age, but just as likely it was a sign that his mind’s eyes spent less time soaring into sky and more time contemplating the reality of life on the ground. Though he often thought of looking skyward more often, daily life required a focus at ground level just for survival.
With one more backward movement, he could see his entire head. As a young child, his head had been covered with a thin layer of crew cut hair over which he could run his hand to create a feeling of electricity. Later, he had let it grow to shoulder length, as was the style for so many who wanted to show independence and rejection of standards, only later to realize that it simply was an acceptance of other standards. Then, sometimes after having conformed to the adult business standard, the hair war had begun with some strands surrendering their color first to silver-grey and then to white, and some strands simply choosing to leave and in doing so expose the surface.
Then, with a slight tilt and nod of the head, and a half wink-like approving smile, he turned and walked away for it was dinner time and he long ago had made it a practice not to be late for dinner. He thought about the thousands of dinners of his life. As a young child, the time for dinner was signaled by his suited father walking into the house with a newspaper under his arm and a Jack-In-The-Beanstalk giant bellow of “I’m home, I’m hungry and what’s for dinner?” always followed by a smile, a laugh, a kiss for mother and a hug for the children. Later, dinner was a catch as catch can affair, but those were the days when mealtime was just an interruption in a busy day’s schedule. That had changed with the addition of children for dinner that became the window to the ever-changing landscape of daily life, and the joy and laughter of being surrounded by family and youthful laughter. And when the children were gone, dinner became a time of reflection on the day and on the earlier years, and a time for thinking about the days to come.
And now, dinner had become the focus of the day for it offered familiar faces and connection, but only when one was timely. So, with a hunched shuffle that had long ago replaced the child’s gleeful skipping, the teen’s cool sauntering, the man’s upright, prideful walk, he left his alleyway home and moved to the back of the line of life storied, forgotten men forming at the door to the homeless center food mission.
Stepping back, pieces of his reflection came into view. His beard, which has been his face’s companion for half a century, no longer held any trace of the earth-brown that it had been in the beginning or the salt and pepper that it had been for so many years, for now it was a simple, uniform white. Still, he like it and, although over the years he had often thought of shaving it off to give his chin and jaw its time in the sun, he had never done so. Perhaps it was the reaction of his wife who, having never known him with a naked face, feigned agreement whenever he threatened to do the deed, but in reality, he could no more lose his beard than he could walk naked in the street for it gave him a certain protection and comfort.
Beneath the beard, he clenched his facial muscles ever so slightly so that his lips pulled outward to form that semi-smile that, at some point many years ago, had replaced the full-toothed grin of his youth. He liked to think of it as his modified, without the teeth showing, Cheshire cat grin, that conveyed a wisdom that had been earned through years or experience, but in reality, he had never liked his teeth for although he had not been a smoker, they were more yellow than white (his doctor having told him once that his bones probably were the same color, but he never would know if that was the case), and they were full of spaces and sharp points rather than the uniform soldiers found in so many other mouths.
With a subtle shift of position, he was able to see his nose that looked as if it had been taken from a different batch of clay and plopped onto his face for its was always redder than the surrounding territory. He alternated between being fascinated by the ever- changing shades of red displayed on his nose to being saddened by the peaks and valleys that formed and vanished from time to time.
Another slight shift brought his eyes into view. At least they had not been drained of their blue color although areas of earthy brown continued to expand. Perhaps that was a sign of becoming more grounded with age, but just as likely it was a sign that his mind’s eyes spent less time soaring into sky and more time contemplating the reality of life on the ground. Though he often thought of looking skyward more often, daily life required a focus at ground level just for survival.
With one more backward movement, he could see his entire head. As a young child, his head had been covered with a thin layer of crew cut hair over which he could run his hand to create a feeling of electricity. Later, he had let it grow to shoulder length, as was the style for so many who wanted to show independence and rejection of standards, only later to realize that it simply was an acceptance of other standards. Then, sometimes after having conformed to the adult business standard, the hair war had begun with some strands surrendering their color first to silver-grey and then to white, and some strands simply choosing to leave and in doing so expose the surface.
Then, with a slight tilt and nod of the head, and a half wink-like approving smile, he turned and walked away for it was dinner time and he long ago had made it a practice not to be late for dinner. He thought about the thousands of dinners of his life. As a young child, the time for dinner was signaled by his suited father walking into the house with a newspaper under his arm and a Jack-In-The-Beanstalk giant bellow of “I’m home, I’m hungry and what’s for dinner?” always followed by a smile, a laugh, a kiss for mother and a hug for the children. Later, dinner was a catch as catch can affair, but those were the days when mealtime was just an interruption in a busy day’s schedule. That had changed with the addition of children for dinner that became the window to the ever-changing landscape of daily life, and the joy and laughter of being surrounded by family and youthful laughter. And when the children were gone, dinner became a time of reflection on the day and on the earlier years, and a time for thinking about the days to come.
And now, dinner had become the focus of the day for it offered familiar faces and connection, but only when one was timely. So, with a hunched shuffle that had long ago replaced the child’s gleeful skipping, the teen’s cool sauntering, the man’s upright, prideful walk, he left his alleyway home and moved to the back of the line of life storied, forgotten men forming at the door to the homeless center food mission.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
I Like My Vodka - An Alcoholic's Lament
While walking around Newport a few weeks ago, the phrase "I drink my vodka, because I want ta" came into my head. I hadn't been drinking and don't even like to drink that much, but I liked the phrase so I remembered the phrase. Tonight, I let the words take me on a short journey. I have a tune for the words, but I can't convey it to you. Note that this ditty is a far cry from my prior post called "In The Sanctuary".
I drink my vodka
Cause I want ta
I don't have ta
But I like ta.
I drink it straight up
With some lime
Sometimes a lemon
Is just fine.
I like the feeling
That it gives me
It sends me reeling
It sets me so free.
I drink my vodka
Cause I want ta
I don't have ta
But I like ta
But when I don’t stop
It makes me crazy
I get so foolish
All gets hazy
My head starts throbbin
My eyes start sobbin
I swear to heaven
I’ll never do it again
But the next morning
Without any warning
I grab the bottle
And drink full throttle
while singing
I drink my vodka
Cause I want ta
I don't have ta
But I like ta.
I drink my vodka
Cause I want ta
I don't have ta
But I like ta.
I drink it straight up
With some lime
Sometimes a lemon
Is just fine.
I like the feeling
That it gives me
It sends me reeling
It sets me so free.
I drink my vodka
Cause I want ta
I don't have ta
But I like ta
But when I don’t stop
It makes me crazy
I get so foolish
All gets hazy
My head starts throbbin
My eyes start sobbin
I swear to heaven
I’ll never do it again
But the next morning
Without any warning
I grab the bottle
And drink full throttle
while singing
I drink my vodka
Cause I want ta
I don't have ta
But I like ta.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
In the Sanctuary
In 1867, Emma Lazarus (of “Give Me your Tired” fame) wrote “In the Jewish Synagogue at Newport” which was in response to Henry Wadsworth’s Longfellow’s poem, The Jewish Cemetery at Newport”. Those poems inspired the following entry (Emma Lazarus' is below) – no other comparison or connection is intended.
In the sanctuary, the noises of the outside world
Have been left at the entry threshold
In preparation for uninterrupted reflection
Illuminated by the glow of the past, present and future.
The living and those whose living breath is no more surround
Sounds of prayer fill the space from without and within
Dappled pages with foreign symbols are a harbinger of the journey
All beckons to an encounter with the miraculous spiritual world.
An expedition of perpetual exploration and self-discovery
Where the individual is elevated to a place within the human spirit
Never losing relevance even while being bound with and within the generations
From humankind’s birth through all that was, all that is and all that will be.
Gazing into the layered depths of time and understanding
We are the departing slaves, the bedraggled victims, the huddled masses of immigrants
The sages who ascended to a godly view of all creation
The sculptors and painters of life in every age.
Absorbed in and by all of the elements
Wrapped in the warmth of time, place and life’s vitality
Taking a nostalgic climb through internal seasons
With a personal lens to search for the paradise within.
I am transported to the days of beginning and youth
In another sanctuary thousands of days and miles away
Connected by invisible cords braided like a Sabbath challah
Illuminated by a warm glow like that from the Shabbat candles.
Playing endlessly with the macramé tzitzit of my father's tallis
Four with eight with five forming heart strings which unite all
Watching my mother’s face as she gazes into an unseen world
With a Moses like glow on her face and a tear in her eye.
Rising and falling with other congregants like ocean waves
Learning melodies and words lasting through sometimes lost relevance
Growing year by year toward understanding and conformity, distinction and separation
Watching the changing of the guard as the youth stand on the shoulders of the elders.
And then the internal scroll of life’s story is rolled and dressed
Stored lovingly until the next never-ending return to the sanctuary within
Where defining moments are recorded in mystical ways
The abstract leading to clarity, myth transforming into philosophy.
And still, the physical world awaits just outside the sanctuary
Yet re-entry will be by one who has been further bonded to the oneness of all
Whose way of being in the world has been modified though ever so slightly
Whose path has been varied by another journey of self and generational discovery.
In the Jewish Synagogue at Newport
Here, where the noises of the busy town,
The ocean's plunge and roar can enter not,
We stand and gaze around with fearful awe,
And muse upon the consecrated spot.
No signs of life are here: the very prayers,
Inscribed around are in a language dead,
The light of the "perpetual lamp" is spent
That an undying radiance was to shed.
What prayers were in this temple offered up,
Wrung from sad hearts that knew no joy on earth,
By these lone exiles of a thousand years,
From the fair sunrise land that gave them birth!
Now as we gaze, in this new world of light,
Upon this relic of the days of old,
The present vanishes, and tropic bloom
And Eastern towns and temples we behold.
Again we see the patriarch with his flocks,
The purple seas, the hot sky o'erhead,
The slaves of Egypt--omens, mysteries--
Dark fleeing hosts by flaming angels led.
A wondrous light upon a sky-kissed mount,
A man who reads Jehovah's written law,
'Midst blinding glory and effulgence rare,
Unto a people prone with reverent awe.
The pride of luxury's barbaric pomp,
In the rich court of royal
Solomon-- Alas! we wake: one scene alone remains
The exiles by the streams of Babylon.
Our softened voices send us back again
But mournful echoes through the empty hall;
Our footsteps have a strange, unnatural sound,
And with unwonted gentleness they fall.
The weary ones, the sad, the suffering,
All found their comfort in the holy place,
And children's gladness, and men's gratitude
Took voice and mingled in the chant of praise.
The funeral and the marriage, now, alas!
We know not which is sadder to recall;
For youth and happiness have followed age,
And green grass lieth gently over all.
And still the shrine is holy yet,
With its lone floors where reverent feet once trod.
Take off your shoes as by the burning bush,
Before the mystery of death and God.
In the sanctuary, the noises of the outside world
Have been left at the entry threshold
In preparation for uninterrupted reflection
Illuminated by the glow of the past, present and future.
The living and those whose living breath is no more surround
Sounds of prayer fill the space from without and within
Dappled pages with foreign symbols are a harbinger of the journey
All beckons to an encounter with the miraculous spiritual world.
An expedition of perpetual exploration and self-discovery
Where the individual is elevated to a place within the human spirit
Never losing relevance even while being bound with and within the generations
From humankind’s birth through all that was, all that is and all that will be.
Gazing into the layered depths of time and understanding
We are the departing slaves, the bedraggled victims, the huddled masses of immigrants
The sages who ascended to a godly view of all creation
The sculptors and painters of life in every age.
Absorbed in and by all of the elements
Wrapped in the warmth of time, place and life’s vitality
Taking a nostalgic climb through internal seasons
With a personal lens to search for the paradise within.
I am transported to the days of beginning and youth
In another sanctuary thousands of days and miles away
Connected by invisible cords braided like a Sabbath challah
Illuminated by a warm glow like that from the Shabbat candles.
Playing endlessly with the macramé tzitzit of my father's tallis
Four with eight with five forming heart strings which unite all
Watching my mother’s face as she gazes into an unseen world
With a Moses like glow on her face and a tear in her eye.
Rising and falling with other congregants like ocean waves
Learning melodies and words lasting through sometimes lost relevance
Growing year by year toward understanding and conformity, distinction and separation
Watching the changing of the guard as the youth stand on the shoulders of the elders.
And then the internal scroll of life’s story is rolled and dressed
Stored lovingly until the next never-ending return to the sanctuary within
Where defining moments are recorded in mystical ways
The abstract leading to clarity, myth transforming into philosophy.
And still, the physical world awaits just outside the sanctuary
Yet re-entry will be by one who has been further bonded to the oneness of all
Whose way of being in the world has been modified though ever so slightly
Whose path has been varied by another journey of self and generational discovery.
In the Jewish Synagogue at Newport
Here, where the noises of the busy town,
The ocean's plunge and roar can enter not,
We stand and gaze around with fearful awe,
And muse upon the consecrated spot.
No signs of life are here: the very prayers,
Inscribed around are in a language dead,
The light of the "perpetual lamp" is spent
That an undying radiance was to shed.
What prayers were in this temple offered up,
Wrung from sad hearts that knew no joy on earth,
By these lone exiles of a thousand years,
From the fair sunrise land that gave them birth!
Now as we gaze, in this new world of light,
Upon this relic of the days of old,
The present vanishes, and tropic bloom
And Eastern towns and temples we behold.
Again we see the patriarch with his flocks,
The purple seas, the hot sky o'erhead,
The slaves of Egypt--omens, mysteries--
Dark fleeing hosts by flaming angels led.
A wondrous light upon a sky-kissed mount,
A man who reads Jehovah's written law,
'Midst blinding glory and effulgence rare,
Unto a people prone with reverent awe.
The pride of luxury's barbaric pomp,
In the rich court of royal
Solomon-- Alas! we wake: one scene alone remains
The exiles by the streams of Babylon.
Our softened voices send us back again
But mournful echoes through the empty hall;
Our footsteps have a strange, unnatural sound,
And with unwonted gentleness they fall.
The weary ones, the sad, the suffering,
All found their comfort in the holy place,
And children's gladness, and men's gratitude
Took voice and mingled in the chant of praise.
The funeral and the marriage, now, alas!
We know not which is sadder to recall;
For youth and happiness have followed age,
And green grass lieth gently over all.
And still the shrine is holy yet,
With its lone floors where reverent feet once trod.
Take off your shoes as by the burning bush,
Before the mystery of death and God.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Morning Memory Picture Show
I wake in the dark stillness of the early morning with only the sound of the gentle popping lips floating from the other side of the bed and the forced air shushes of the breathing machine flowing through my Darth Vader mask. One flickering wink is all that is needed to make the choice to close my eyelids like one closes window shades to shut out the world. I want to return to my half dream state in which the mind’s eye views the imagined pictures of memories. I float through the memories of my early life and, as much as I want to linger over every memory, turning and viewing the mirages from every angle, bringing out the details like one develops the latent images of a photograph, the memories move away at their own speed vanishing like smoke vanishes into the air and like a gentle rain vanishes into the ground.
Opening the kitchen cabinets, I pull out my musical pot and spoon instrument to play a tribal melody. Scooting down the nursery school slide, dressed in dark shorts, a light shirt and suspenders, laughing and the run to the ladder to do it again and again. Standing at the front door, I cry as my mother drives away while Anna comforts me. Playing in the bathtub, entering with baby-like smooth skin and leaving with the wrinkled covering of an ancient man. Stretching hand over hand on the monkey bars and gliding to and fro as my brother pushes the swing’s seat and runs beneath. Watching my dog chasing round and round without ever catching his tail. Exploring the hedge maze on the corner hoping to create an adventure. Sitting on the porch waiting for my father to cruise into the drive. Coming into the house to the smell of chocolate chip cookies baking. Catching flickering fireflies in glass jars on warm spring evenings. Designing quickly vanishing air paintings with sizzling sparklers.
Then the memory picture show is interrupted by the soft whispering tones of “happy birthday”, and my day and a new year begins with a smile on my face.
Opening the kitchen cabinets, I pull out my musical pot and spoon instrument to play a tribal melody. Scooting down the nursery school slide, dressed in dark shorts, a light shirt and suspenders, laughing and the run to the ladder to do it again and again. Standing at the front door, I cry as my mother drives away while Anna comforts me. Playing in the bathtub, entering with baby-like smooth skin and leaving with the wrinkled covering of an ancient man. Stretching hand over hand on the monkey bars and gliding to and fro as my brother pushes the swing’s seat and runs beneath. Watching my dog chasing round and round without ever catching his tail. Exploring the hedge maze on the corner hoping to create an adventure. Sitting on the porch waiting for my father to cruise into the drive. Coming into the house to the smell of chocolate chip cookies baking. Catching flickering fireflies in glass jars on warm spring evenings. Designing quickly vanishing air paintings with sizzling sparklers.
Then the memory picture show is interrupted by the soft whispering tones of “happy birthday”, and my day and a new year begins with a smile on my face.
What We Don't Know
We don’t know what we don’t see that the other sees,
We don’t know what we don’t hear that the other hears,
We don’t know what we don’t feel that the other feels,
For you are you, I am me, and that’s the way it has to be
We don’t know the skies in which the other flies
We don’t know the waters in which the other swims
We don’t know the mountains that the other climbs
For you are you, I am me, and that’s the way it has to be
We don’t know the songs that the other sings
We don’t know the loves that the other loves
We don’t know the dreams that the other dreams
For you are you, I am me, and that’s the way it has to be
We don’t know the moments that the other lives
We don’t know the days and weeks that the other lives
We don’t know the world in which the other lives
For you are you, I am me, and that’s the way it has to be
Even though we know so much is out of sight
Even though we know so much cannot be shared
Even though we know what we don’t know
We know that you are you, I am me and together we are we
For we is what binds us together in an unbreakable bond
For we is what lights our path as we walk together holding hands
For we is what gives us strength as together we live our lives
For you may be you, I may be me, but what matters is that we are we
We don’t know what we don’t hear that the other hears,
We don’t know what we don’t feel that the other feels,
For you are you, I am me, and that’s the way it has to be
We don’t know the skies in which the other flies
We don’t know the waters in which the other swims
We don’t know the mountains that the other climbs
For you are you, I am me, and that’s the way it has to be
We don’t know the songs that the other sings
We don’t know the loves that the other loves
We don’t know the dreams that the other dreams
For you are you, I am me, and that’s the way it has to be
We don’t know the moments that the other lives
We don’t know the days and weeks that the other lives
We don’t know the world in which the other lives
For you are you, I am me, and that’s the way it has to be
Even though we know so much is out of sight
Even though we know so much cannot be shared
Even though we know what we don’t know
We know that you are you, I am me and together we are we
For we is what binds us together in an unbreakable bond
For we is what lights our path as we walk together holding hands
For we is what gives us strength as together we live our lives
For you may be you, I may be me, but what matters is that we are we
Saturday, March 28, 2009
It's A Long Road Out of Paradise and I'm in No Rush to Return
In the beginning "the earth was without form and empty, with darkness on the face of the depths".
Depths like that within the womb, without form and empty, filled with darkness, until male and female join together and new life is created.
Created as in Genesis - "male and female He created them", created at the same time, as equals, and placed in the Garden of Eden, just as within the womb new life is placed and bound.
Bound in a place without awareness, without spiritual growth, without learning, for everything is provided, in the Garden of Eden and the womb.
In the Garden of Eden and the womb, where personal efforts are not required, challenges are absent, needs are non-existent.
Non-existent just as are desires, losses and tears, non-existent for all is there for the taking.
Taking without effort, taking without appreciation, taking without understanding, taking without love, without even an understanding of love.
Love does not exist, in the Garden of Eden or in the womb, for without awareness, there only is . . .
Existence
Existence without knowledge,
Existence without the knowledge that comes from experiences.
Experiences that only are found on the journey that begins when woman and man are expelled from the Garden of Eden to discover life,
Life filled with the knowledge of good and evil, life filled with work to produce food, shelter and clothing, life lived with the knowledge that life will end somewhere along the journey.
The journey that for each starts upon being expelled from the womb, our own personal original Garden of Eden, to venture forth to experience all that life has to offer, satiation and hunger, successes and failures, joy and sadness, birth and death, love and loss, sunrises and sunsets.
Sunsets that one day come without a sunrise, a final sunset that signals the return to the womb of Mother Earth, to the earth’s Garden of Eden, to the place where there is no further awareness, no further needs, no further desires.
Desires that propel us along life’s journey, a journey with its share of losses, pain and tears, a journey filled with more than its share of learning, loving and living, a journey to be appreciated and savoured.
Having left the Garden of Eden, I am in no rush to return.
Depths like that within the womb, without form and empty, filled with darkness, until male and female join together and new life is created.
Created as in Genesis - "male and female He created them", created at the same time, as equals, and placed in the Garden of Eden, just as within the womb new life is placed and bound.
Bound in a place without awareness, without spiritual growth, without learning, for everything is provided, in the Garden of Eden and the womb.
In the Garden of Eden and the womb, where personal efforts are not required, challenges are absent, needs are non-existent.
Non-existent just as are desires, losses and tears, non-existent for all is there for the taking.
Taking without effort, taking without appreciation, taking without understanding, taking without love, without even an understanding of love.
Love does not exist, in the Garden of Eden or in the womb, for without awareness, there only is . . .
Existence
Existence without knowledge,
Existence without the knowledge that comes from experiences.
Experiences that only are found on the journey that begins when woman and man are expelled from the Garden of Eden to discover life,
Life filled with the knowledge of good and evil, life filled with work to produce food, shelter and clothing, life lived with the knowledge that life will end somewhere along the journey.
The journey that for each starts upon being expelled from the womb, our own personal original Garden of Eden, to venture forth to experience all that life has to offer, satiation and hunger, successes and failures, joy and sadness, birth and death, love and loss, sunrises and sunsets.
Sunsets that one day come without a sunrise, a final sunset that signals the return to the womb of Mother Earth, to the earth’s Garden of Eden, to the place where there is no further awareness, no further needs, no further desires.
Desires that propel us along life’s journey, a journey with its share of losses, pain and tears, a journey filled with more than its share of learning, loving and living, a journey to be appreciated and savoured.
Having left the Garden of Eden, I am in no rush to return.
Friday, March 27, 2009
The Smile
Pictures capture only moments
Moments reflect only instances
Instances are fleeting
But imagine a life
Captured in pictures
Each picture containing a smiling face
Not just a smile
But a radiating smile
One that warms all who see it.
Not just a radiating warming smile
But a smile that says "I love you"
A love that fills the essence of your soul
Not just an "I love you" smile
But a smile that says "I love this world"
A love that changes the way of life.
Not just a life changing smile
But a smile that says "I love life"
A love that makes you remember how great it is to be alive
Not just a smile
But a window to the world
A reflection of the love inside spilling out
A love that was put into action
A love that called others to action
A love that cared for others
A love that caused others to care
A love that knew no end
A love that created unending love in others
Pictures capture only moments
Moments reflect only instances
Instances are fleeting
But the memory of the smile
The memory and the love will live on
The memory and love of Peter.
Moments reflect only instances
Instances are fleeting
But imagine a life
Captured in pictures
Each picture containing a smiling face
Not just a smile
But a radiating smile
One that warms all who see it.
Not just a radiating warming smile
But a smile that says "I love you"
A love that fills the essence of your soul
Not just an "I love you" smile
But a smile that says "I love this world"
A love that changes the way of life.
Not just a life changing smile
But a smile that says "I love life"
A love that makes you remember how great it is to be alive
Not just a smile
But a window to the world
A reflection of the love inside spilling out
A love that was put into action
A love that called others to action
A love that cared for others
A love that caused others to care
A love that knew no end
A love that created unending love in others
Pictures capture only moments
Moments reflect only instances
Instances are fleeting
But the memory of the smile
The memory and the love will live on
The memory and love of Peter.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Memories and Visions
All the times that I remember
Looking back over fifty-seven years
Love and smiles and laughter
Sadness, frowns and sometimes tears
And I cherish every single moment
From childhood to this very day
For life is a wonderful journey
In which I continue to find my way
Sometimes life’s path has been cloudy and dark
More often light has filled every corner of my life
Sometimes the going seemed so easy
Occasionally the path was littered with strife
I know enough to be so thankful
For each moment and how I am blessed
For the life that I am living
Is the only one and also the best
So as I celebrate my birthday
And slide quietly into another year
I am filled with love and hope
With visions that are quiet clear
I see all my life has been
And all my life can still be
And with all that I have learned
I will live my life now stretching before me
Through the sunrises and sunsets
Through the clouds and stormy days
I will try to live as well as I can
For what more can I pray
So I venture into tomorrow
Remembering from where I came
Knowing that all that I can strive for
Is always to do honor to my name.
Looking back over fifty-seven years
Love and smiles and laughter
Sadness, frowns and sometimes tears
And I cherish every single moment
From childhood to this very day
For life is a wonderful journey
In which I continue to find my way
Sometimes life’s path has been cloudy and dark
More often light has filled every corner of my life
Sometimes the going seemed so easy
Occasionally the path was littered with strife
I know enough to be so thankful
For each moment and how I am blessed
For the life that I am living
Is the only one and also the best
So as I celebrate my birthday
And slide quietly into another year
I am filled with love and hope
With visions that are quiet clear
I see all my life has been
And all my life can still be
And with all that I have learned
I will live my life now stretching before me
Through the sunrises and sunsets
Through the clouds and stormy days
I will try to live as well as I can
For what more can I pray
So I venture into tomorrow
Remembering from where I came
Knowing that all that I can strive for
Is always to do honor to my name.
A New Garden - 2009
The seeds were dropped gently into the welcoming soil
Then each was covered with a loving touch
Water was added until moisture surrounded the seeds
Then it was time to wait and wait and wait
While on the surface there was no sign of life
Beneath the sprouts to be were being nourished
Until like a chick breaking out of its shell
The unseen seedlings break free from their encasements
Then feeling the warmth and sensing the light
The sprouts begin the journey out of the rich dark soil
Until in a Rocky like pose they reach toward the sky
Silently shouting in celebration
The sprouts of cucumber and squash race forth
While the tomatoes of multiple varieties
Move forth in an orderly no need to rush fashion
And the peppers refuse to get out from under the covers
The excitement of watching new life burst forth
The thrill of knowing that the circle is unbroken
The hope for all that the growing season will bring
The anticipation of the fruits and vegetables of my labors.
Then each was covered with a loving touch
Water was added until moisture surrounded the seeds
Then it was time to wait and wait and wait
While on the surface there was no sign of life
Beneath the sprouts to be were being nourished
Until like a chick breaking out of its shell
The unseen seedlings break free from their encasements
Then feeling the warmth and sensing the light
The sprouts begin the journey out of the rich dark soil
Until in a Rocky like pose they reach toward the sky
Silently shouting in celebration
The sprouts of cucumber and squash race forth
While the tomatoes of multiple varieties
Move forth in an orderly no need to rush fashion
And the peppers refuse to get out from under the covers
The excitement of watching new life burst forth
The thrill of knowing that the circle is unbroken
The hope for all that the growing season will bring
The anticipation of the fruits and vegetables of my labors.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Twenty-Six Years Today
My brother's voice came through the phone with a directness that is saved for these types of calls
Dad is in the hospital - He passed out this morning - The ambulance rushed him to the hospital - Mom is there with him - So is Phyllis - That's all I know.
The second call came within minutes and my brother's voice is different, the voice that is saved for these types of calls
Dad is gone - I don't know what happened - There was a code blue - They couldn't save him - That's all I know - I am so sorry - I love you - Dad is gone.
I hung up the phone overwhelmed, in an instant the world having changed in a way that is saved for these types of losses
Dad is gone - No more calls - No more source of fatherly advice - No more fatherly love - No more fatherly smiles and jokes - No more father-son relationship - No more shared times.
I packed without thought and went home in a dazed trip that is saved for these types of returns home.
Dad is gone - Mom needs support - Funeral plans need to be made - Stories need to be shared - Plans for the living need to be made.
I looked at Dad's final resting place with a teary stare that is saved for these types of good-byes
Dad is physically gone - Dad's voice is gone from the world - Dad's touch is gone - Dad's smiles are gone - Dad's pride is gone.
I moved forward in life in the way that one must with a strength that is saved for these types of life changes
Dad's words still can be heard in my mind - Dad's eyes still stare at me in the mirror - Dad's advice still guides me - Dad's love will never be lost.
Thanks Dad!
Dad is in the hospital - He passed out this morning - The ambulance rushed him to the hospital - Mom is there with him - So is Phyllis - That's all I know.
The second call came within minutes and my brother's voice is different, the voice that is saved for these types of calls
Dad is gone - I don't know what happened - There was a code blue - They couldn't save him - That's all I know - I am so sorry - I love you - Dad is gone.
I hung up the phone overwhelmed, in an instant the world having changed in a way that is saved for these types of losses
Dad is gone - No more calls - No more source of fatherly advice - No more fatherly love - No more fatherly smiles and jokes - No more father-son relationship - No more shared times.
I packed without thought and went home in a dazed trip that is saved for these types of returns home.
Dad is gone - Mom needs support - Funeral plans need to be made - Stories need to be shared - Plans for the living need to be made.
I looked at Dad's final resting place with a teary stare that is saved for these types of good-byes
Dad is physically gone - Dad's voice is gone from the world - Dad's touch is gone - Dad's smiles are gone - Dad's pride is gone.
I moved forward in life in the way that one must with a strength that is saved for these types of life changes
Dad's words still can be heard in my mind - Dad's eyes still stare at me in the mirror - Dad's advice still guides me - Dad's love will never be lost.
Thanks Dad!
But I Was Wrong
As a wide eyed three year old
I left the protective shell of my home behind and entered nursery school
Certain that a great play adventure awaited me
But I had no way of knowing the life that awaited me.
As a confident five year old,
I left the childish play of nursery school behind and entered kindergarten
Certain that I understood the ways of the big kid world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an excited nine year old,
I left the childish play of the primary grades behind and entered fourth grade
Certain that I understood the ways of the upper school world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an eager twelve year old,
I left the elementary ways of the upper grades behind and entered junior high
Certain that I understood the ways of the endless hallways and changing classes
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a feeling my oats fifteen year old,
I left junior high grades behind and entered high school
Certain that I understood the ways of the teenage world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an independent eighteen year old,
I left high school behind and entered college
Certain that I understood the ways of the world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a confident twenty-one year old,
I left college behind and entered the work world
Certain that I understood the ways of adults
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an adventurous twenty-five year old,
I left the work world temporarily behind and entered graduate school
Certain that I understood my profession and the working world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a self believing twenty-six year old,
I left graduate school behind and re-entered teacherhood
Certain that I understood how to shape the minds of children
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an joyful twenty-eight year old,
I left single life behind and entered married life
Certain that I understood love and relationships
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a prepared for what may come twenty-eight year old
I left the paying work world behind and entered law school
Certain that I understood what awaited me
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a saddened thirty year old,
I said good-bye to my father (twenty-six years ago today)
Certain that I understood what it meant to be an independent adult
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an excited thirty-one year old, thirty-five year old and forty-year old
I said hello to each of my children with thrill and sky-high dreams
Certain that I understood how to raise a child
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a thought I was prepared thirty-one year old
I said good-bye to law school and entered the legal world
Certain that I understood how to be a lawyer
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As content fifty year old
I said good-bye to the first half century and hello to my fifties
Certain that I understood how to live and love
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a saddened fifty-six year old,
I said good-bye to my mother
Certain that I understood the ways of life
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a confident fifty-five year old lawyer and employer
I surveyed my professional life
Certain that I understood how to operate in my professional world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
Now as a "days away from being" fifty-seven years old
I reflect upon my life - my family, my friends, my work, my interests
Certain that I understand how to balance and orchestrate my life
But even now I know that I will be wrong
For having taken this introspective journey
Through a life for which I am thankful
I now am certain that I understand
There always is so much more to learn.
I left the protective shell of my home behind and entered nursery school
Certain that a great play adventure awaited me
But I had no way of knowing the life that awaited me.
As a confident five year old,
I left the childish play of nursery school behind and entered kindergarten
Certain that I understood the ways of the big kid world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an excited nine year old,
I left the childish play of the primary grades behind and entered fourth grade
Certain that I understood the ways of the upper school world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an eager twelve year old,
I left the elementary ways of the upper grades behind and entered junior high
Certain that I understood the ways of the endless hallways and changing classes
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a feeling my oats fifteen year old,
I left junior high grades behind and entered high school
Certain that I understood the ways of the teenage world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an independent eighteen year old,
I left high school behind and entered college
Certain that I understood the ways of the world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a confident twenty-one year old,
I left college behind and entered the work world
Certain that I understood the ways of adults
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an adventurous twenty-five year old,
I left the work world temporarily behind and entered graduate school
Certain that I understood my profession and the working world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a self believing twenty-six year old,
I left graduate school behind and re-entered teacherhood
Certain that I understood how to shape the minds of children
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an joyful twenty-eight year old,
I left single life behind and entered married life
Certain that I understood love and relationships
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a prepared for what may come twenty-eight year old
I left the paying work world behind and entered law school
Certain that I understood what awaited me
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a saddened thirty year old,
I said good-bye to my father (twenty-six years ago today)
Certain that I understood what it meant to be an independent adult
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As an excited thirty-one year old, thirty-five year old and forty-year old
I said hello to each of my children with thrill and sky-high dreams
Certain that I understood how to raise a child
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a thought I was prepared thirty-one year old
I said good-bye to law school and entered the legal world
Certain that I understood how to be a lawyer
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As content fifty year old
I said good-bye to the first half century and hello to my fifties
Certain that I understood how to live and love
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a saddened fifty-six year old,
I said good-bye to my mother
Certain that I understood the ways of life
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
As a confident fifty-five year old lawyer and employer
I surveyed my professional life
Certain that I understood how to operate in my professional world
But I was wrong for there was so much more to learn.
Now as a "days away from being" fifty-seven years old
I reflect upon my life - my family, my friends, my work, my interests
Certain that I understand how to balance and orchestrate my life
But even now I know that I will be wrong
For having taken this introspective journey
Through a life for which I am thankful
I now am certain that I understand
There always is so much more to learn.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Eyes Have It
The baby’s eyes darted continuously for everything was new.
The child’s eyes opened wide for everything was exciting.
The young person’s eyes glanced around wondering how everything fit together.
The teenager’s eyes peered about trying to see everything into the shadows.
The young man’s eyes squinted at everything searching for the unseen.
The middle age man’s eyes starred at everything with learned cynicism.
The old man’s eyes looked at everything wondering where the years had gone.
The old man’s mind eye saw everything and longed to see again with the eyes of the baby, the child, the teenager and the young man.
The child’s eyes opened wide for everything was exciting.
The young person’s eyes glanced around wondering how everything fit together.
The teenager’s eyes peered about trying to see everything into the shadows.
The young man’s eyes squinted at everything searching for the unseen.
The middle age man’s eyes starred at everything with learned cynicism.
The old man’s eyes looked at everything wondering where the years had gone.
The old man’s mind eye saw everything and longed to see again with the eyes of the baby, the child, the teenager and the young man.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Before My Eyes
Like a child’s transformer
They change before my eyes,
In unimaginable ways
From softly shaped infants
To well defined adults
Ever growing and changing
Ever remaining the same
Like lava lamps
The essence remains consistent
While the outlines continually evolve
From lumps of clay
To magnificent sculptures
Beautiful works of life
They change before my eyes,
In unimaginable ways
From softly shaped infants
To well defined adults
Ever growing and changing
Ever remaining the same
Like lava lamps
The essence remains consistent
While the outlines continually evolve
From lumps of clay
To magnificent sculptures
Beautiful works of life
The Layman Philosopher
As I exited the rain forest warm environment of my car, the cold shocked my entire being into a new reality creating a brain freeze as intense as any coming by way of a quickly eaten ice cream cone. I turned to begin an iceman slide-walk to the my destination, dressed in my multi-layered coat and Mt. Everest quality gloves, a young man in a simple summer-weight sweatshirt and holey blue jeans approached. In amazement, I called out “Nice weather, huh” and fully expected him to reply with a quivering shivering voice that his heated car was just a few steps away. Instead, he replied with a simple statement, “If you don’t have occasional pain, how do you know you are alive”. And so, I spent different parts of my day thinking about that statement from the layman philosopher. I had heard his lifetime lesson in various forms many time before, but just as one can walk the same path every day and still, from time to time, see something new that always was there, my attention had been drawn to a fact that always was there – it is sometimes that pain that lets us appreciate pleasure, the sadness that lets us appreciate happiness, the loss that lets us appreciate all we have.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Water
The water forming the lake ripples gently
As the soft breeze dances lightly across its dark blue surface
The air is mountain clean
But its silent invisibility is filled with the moisture evaporating from lake
Ascending toward the heavens where it will join with moisture relatives
Forming wisps of white drawn together like magnets
Transforming into magnificent billowing powder puff clouds of virgin white And so they would remain if the moisture and constantly birthed wisps Would stop their transformation and immigration into the whiteness
But that is not the nature of water for it seeks to be with its family
In whatever form that family may be
And so, with time, the white transitions through shades of grey
Toward a stormy menacing restless blackness
Until with a flash and a shout the clouds open their fortress like doors
Exploding like suicide bombes
Spilling out their very essence until they fade from existence
And as that essence falls earthward
Sometimes along a hurried direct route as bullets seeking a target
Sometimes carried by the winds in a circuitous path
Up and down, side to side
But always reaching its next way station of ground
Where in time it finds a way to the streams
Some on the surface and others hidden
Some natural and some man made
And then from the steams to the lakes
And so it goes
So it goes
As the soft breeze dances lightly across its dark blue surface
The air is mountain clean
But its silent invisibility is filled with the moisture evaporating from lake
Ascending toward the heavens where it will join with moisture relatives
Forming wisps of white drawn together like magnets
Transforming into magnificent billowing powder puff clouds of virgin white And so they would remain if the moisture and constantly birthed wisps Would stop their transformation and immigration into the whiteness
But that is not the nature of water for it seeks to be with its family
In whatever form that family may be
And so, with time, the white transitions through shades of grey
Toward a stormy menacing restless blackness
Until with a flash and a shout the clouds open their fortress like doors
Exploding like suicide bombes
Spilling out their very essence until they fade from existence
And as that essence falls earthward
Sometimes along a hurried direct route as bullets seeking a target
Sometimes carried by the winds in a circuitous path
Up and down, side to side
But always reaching its next way station of ground
Where in time it finds a way to the streams
Some on the surface and others hidden
Some natural and some man made
And then from the steams to the lakes
And so it goes
So it goes
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Below the Surface
Every aspect of the household appeared impeccably neat
With items large and small seemingly in place as if in its own seat
Until I approached the cabinets for a container to look
When a warning came forth, “Be careful - beware before that door you unhook!!”
Not believing that possible in a house so well organized
I flung the door open and received a shocking surprise
As plastic of every size and shape tumbled in a cascade
I tried not to reveal my amazement or that I was afraid
Perhaps you wonder what I saw that did scare me
Certainly some bouncing plastic is not truly what I did see
What I saw was all of the seemingly well-organized aspects of life
Seemingly all in its place but within there’s so much strife
In an instant I thought of the lifestyle we lead
Where throughout our globe so many yearn to be free
I thought of the economy that we now know to have been a fake
What should have been transparent was so very opaque
I thought of the people who appear to have it under control
Who seem to have set and then achieved every goal
I wondered what is within each such heart and mind
If I could view inside perhaps a messy cabinet I would find
Then I thought of my own cabinets, closets and each storage area
And I realized that there was no need for hysteria
For in living our lives those portions sometimes will be in disarray
And so we just reorganize once again and live for another day
Inspired by M&EK
With items large and small seemingly in place as if in its own seat
Until I approached the cabinets for a container to look
When a warning came forth, “Be careful - beware before that door you unhook!!”
Not believing that possible in a house so well organized
I flung the door open and received a shocking surprise
As plastic of every size and shape tumbled in a cascade
I tried not to reveal my amazement or that I was afraid
Perhaps you wonder what I saw that did scare me
Certainly some bouncing plastic is not truly what I did see
What I saw was all of the seemingly well-organized aspects of life
Seemingly all in its place but within there’s so much strife
In an instant I thought of the lifestyle we lead
Where throughout our globe so many yearn to be free
I thought of the economy that we now know to have been a fake
What should have been transparent was so very opaque
I thought of the people who appear to have it under control
Who seem to have set and then achieved every goal
I wondered what is within each such heart and mind
If I could view inside perhaps a messy cabinet I would find
Then I thought of my own cabinets, closets and each storage area
And I realized that there was no need for hysteria
For in living our lives those portions sometimes will be in disarray
And so we just reorganize once again and live for another day
Inspired by M&EK
Imagining Great Lovers
Imagine I was Adam and you were Eve
With all the time in the world to please
To take care of nature and each other’s needs
Until the serpent with us would plead
We’d gain the knowledge but lose the idyllic life
As we would leave the garden for a lifetime of strife
Still I would be your husband and you would be my wife
Relying on our love and wits (as sharp as a well-honed knife)
Imagine you were Cleopatra and I was Anthony
Before us lay the world and our futures to see
With such immense love our lives would be carefree
Little would we know or care what awaited you and me
For there would be those who would plot
To make sure that our love would be for naught
And though we would end our lives to avoid the onslaught
We would do so in love and not be distraught
Imagine you were Juliet and I was Romeo
Two star-crossed lovers from long ago
You as my girl and I as your beau
With burning desires creating an internal glow
And if our families would not allow
The two of us together then and now
We would flee to take our eternal vow
Trusting our hearts to let us know how
Imagine you were Bonnie and I was Clyde
No living in public we’d have to hide
No rules to follow at least none we’d abide
We’d live life together on a non-stop joy ride
And if eventually we were tracked down
So that one day the police did fully surround
We’d hold hands and smile, there’d be no frown
As our love would vanish the fear of being cut down
No need to imagine ourselves as historic lovers
For to us our own love is a love like no others
Though sometimes we stumble along (like many fathers and mothers)
We know that for each one of us there is no other
So someday let someone write about our love
Let them describe its range as much more than an octave
Let them compare it in beauty to a pair of pure white doves
Circling high in the sky within the world and yet above
With all the time in the world to please
To take care of nature and each other’s needs
Until the serpent with us would plead
We’d gain the knowledge but lose the idyllic life
As we would leave the garden for a lifetime of strife
Still I would be your husband and you would be my wife
Relying on our love and wits (as sharp as a well-honed knife)
Imagine you were Cleopatra and I was Anthony
Before us lay the world and our futures to see
With such immense love our lives would be carefree
Little would we know or care what awaited you and me
For there would be those who would plot
To make sure that our love would be for naught
And though we would end our lives to avoid the onslaught
We would do so in love and not be distraught
Imagine you were Juliet and I was Romeo
Two star-crossed lovers from long ago
You as my girl and I as your beau
With burning desires creating an internal glow
And if our families would not allow
The two of us together then and now
We would flee to take our eternal vow
Trusting our hearts to let us know how
Imagine you were Bonnie and I was Clyde
No living in public we’d have to hide
No rules to follow at least none we’d abide
We’d live life together on a non-stop joy ride
And if eventually we were tracked down
So that one day the police did fully surround
We’d hold hands and smile, there’d be no frown
As our love would vanish the fear of being cut down
No need to imagine ourselves as historic lovers
For to us our own love is a love like no others
Though sometimes we stumble along (like many fathers and mothers)
We know that for each one of us there is no other
So someday let someone write about our love
Let them describe its range as much more than an octave
Let them compare it in beauty to a pair of pure white doves
Circling high in the sky within the world and yet above
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The Brain and The Mind
Our Brain
Encased in a protective bone shell
Tangled neurons generating electrical signals
A barrage of nerves creating our individual consciousness
Our Mind
Consciousness of our glorious world
Our identity and all information, and the gift of memory
Tears and smiles, moans and laughter, hate and love, all that we are
Our Visions
Of what has been and what can be
Of the world as a living hell full of pain and misery
Or as a Garden of Eden in which the lions and lambs rest together
Our Thoughts
Of all that could be
By treating our world as a treasure
By recognizing the value and worth of each person
Our Appreciation
For the scents that fill our world
For the multitude of sounds that surround us
For the beauty of the diverse elements of our world
Our Longings
For connections with our world
For companionship and friendship with others
For acceptance and love, peace on earth and good will to all
Our Mind
Our Consciousness
Our Visions and Thoughts
Our Appreciation and Longings
All from our Brain
All from our Brain
Inspired by an article in Discover entitled "Brain Trust".
Encased in a protective bone shell
Tangled neurons generating electrical signals
A barrage of nerves creating our individual consciousness
Our Mind
Consciousness of our glorious world
Our identity and all information, and the gift of memory
Tears and smiles, moans and laughter, hate and love, all that we are
Our Visions
Of what has been and what can be
Of the world as a living hell full of pain and misery
Or as a Garden of Eden in which the lions and lambs rest together
Our Thoughts
Of all that could be
By treating our world as a treasure
By recognizing the value and worth of each person
Our Appreciation
For the scents that fill our world
For the multitude of sounds that surround us
For the beauty of the diverse elements of our world
Our Longings
For connections with our world
For companionship and friendship with others
For acceptance and love, peace on earth and good will to all
Our Mind
Our Consciousness
Our Visions and Thoughts
Our Appreciation and Longings
All from our Brain
All from our Brain
Inspired by an article in Discover entitled "Brain Trust".
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Reflections
Reflections of the beginning when they sat with childlike wide opened eyes
Thinking themselves prepared to absorb and process
And, in doing so, to expand their minds and mature their lives.
Reflections of moving their minds from static to dynamic
From unknowing to the knowing to unknowing
And, in doing so, to comprehend that they will forever be unknowing.
Reflections of realizing the value of both experience and knowledge
Gaining a perspective from which to see connections and disconnections
And, in doing so, to recognize that gaps and tensions forever exist.
Reflections of living with co-existing humility and pride, confidence and guilt
Proceeding with a focus on growth rather than nurturing shame
And, in doing so, to move toward the light away from the dark.
Thinking themselves prepared to absorb and process
And, in doing so, to expand their minds and mature their lives.
Reflections of moving their minds from static to dynamic
From unknowing to the knowing to unknowing
And, in doing so, to comprehend that they will forever be unknowing.
Reflections of realizing the value of both experience and knowledge
Gaining a perspective from which to see connections and disconnections
And, in doing so, to recognize that gaps and tensions forever exist.
Reflections of living with co-existing humility and pride, confidence and guilt
Proceeding with a focus on growth rather than nurturing shame
And, in doing so, to move toward the light away from the dark.
Hidden Within
I once had a computer generated picture
Composed of seemingly random colorful dots
But with time and unfocused perceiving eyes
The picture within emerged from its plain sight hiding place.
I wonder if our world is like that picture
Composed of seemingly random sights, sounds, smells and textures
So that with time and unfocused perceiving senses
The world that is hidden in plain view will reveal itself.
Composed of seemingly random colorful dots
But with time and unfocused perceiving eyes
The picture within emerged from its plain sight hiding place.
I wonder if our world is like that picture
Composed of seemingly random sights, sounds, smells and textures
So that with time and unfocused perceiving senses
The world that is hidden in plain view will reveal itself.
Monday, February 16, 2009
My Body Cries Out
I remember springing from bed
Each morning ready to face the world
Full of energy and vigor
Totally unaware of my body.
My mind still says "spring forth"
But my body no longer obeys
And when it finally moves
My body parts shout forth in unison
Ankles and knees clicking loudly
Muscles straining to elongate
Against rubber band like resistance
Shoulders and back ratcheting open
I wish my body were not so busy
Making itself known to me
I liked it when it was so silent
I did not know it was there.
Each morning ready to face the world
Full of energy and vigor
Totally unaware of my body.
My mind still says "spring forth"
But my body no longer obeys
And when it finally moves
My body parts shout forth in unison
Ankles and knees clicking loudly
Muscles straining to elongate
Against rubber band like resistance
Shoulders and back ratcheting open
I wish my body were not so busy
Making itself known to me
I liked it when it was so silent
I did not know it was there.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Transition
At times it seems as if the snow and cold will never go away
That the green and blossoms of spring will never reappear
That the chilling numbness brought by the cold winds will last forever
That the warming sensations brought by the tropic breezes will never come
At times it seems as if the night and darkness will never go away
That the glowing and redness of the horizon will never reappear
That the trembling uncertainty brought by the pitch blackness will last forever
That the calming feelings brought by the rising sun will never come
At times it seems as if the stillness and silence will never go away
That the moving and sounds of life will never reappear
That the being motionless brought by the living sleep will last forever
That the dancing steps brought by the music of life will never come
But in its time, always in its own time
The warming tropic breezes reappear
The rising sun brings forth the calmness
The music of life is heard again and the dance begins.
That the green and blossoms of spring will never reappear
That the chilling numbness brought by the cold winds will last forever
That the warming sensations brought by the tropic breezes will never come
At times it seems as if the night and darkness will never go away
That the glowing and redness of the horizon will never reappear
That the trembling uncertainty brought by the pitch blackness will last forever
That the calming feelings brought by the rising sun will never come
At times it seems as if the stillness and silence will never go away
That the moving and sounds of life will never reappear
That the being motionless brought by the living sleep will last forever
That the dancing steps brought by the music of life will never come
But in its time, always in its own time
The warming tropic breezes reappear
The rising sun brings forth the calmness
The music of life is heard again and the dance begins.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
The Last Week of January 2009
Last week there were endings
Opportunities for new beginnings
Or so the song lyrics tell me
But ending are endings, beginnings are beginnings
A year of working on my Israel video production
With hours of fine tuning
Elements that matter only to me
Finally showing and distributing
The end of production, the beginning of preserved shared memories.
Six months of living with my father-in-law
With hours of shared time
Elements that matter to us both
Finally hugging and handshaking
The end of house sharing, the beginning of new times together.
Years of working with my fellow lawyers
With hours of interacting
Building a community and firm together
Finally reducing numbers and people
The end of firm building, the beginning of survival and re-growth
Opportunities for new beginnings
Or so the song lyrics tell me
But ending are endings, beginnings are beginnings
A year of working on my Israel video production
With hours of fine tuning
Elements that matter only to me
Finally showing and distributing
The end of production, the beginning of preserved shared memories.
Six months of living with my father-in-law
With hours of shared time
Elements that matter to us both
Finally hugging and handshaking
The end of house sharing, the beginning of new times together.
Years of working with my fellow lawyers
With hours of interacting
Building a community and firm together
Finally reducing numbers and people
The end of firm building, the beginning of survival and re-growth
Songs of Youth and Reflections
Sixty thousand years ago, the bow and arrow was "invented", whatever that means. Then, the device seems to have "disappeared" for over thirty thousand years at which point it was used with a vengeance both in terms of its popularity and its intended use (at least from the point of view of the recipient of the arrow).
Around ten thousand years ago, the agricultural revolution "started", whatever that means. Agricultural certainly was not invented at that time, but it was around then that people developed the ability to work with some parts of nature (hence, controlled irrigation) and in doing so, they were able to grow more food than was needed for their immediate needs and they no longer had to rely on the ability to kill wild animals (some days that worked and the people were satiated, other days it didn't work and the people remained hungry. and some days, it didn't wok and the wild animals ate well).
As a result of man's "advance", whatever that means, it became necessary to store the harvest and to protect the stored harvest. And so, armed forces were used (undoubtedly using the bows and arrows that had been developed just twenty or fifty thousand years ago, depending on one's point of view).
Some four thousand years ago, Abraham comes onto the world stage, whatever that means, but it was a stage that already was well established and then around five hundred years later, there was "Moses", whatever that means (another revolution).
Around two thousand five hundred years ago, Darius the Great, whatever that means, ruled much of his world, and enjoyed archaeology as a pastime (maybe he was looking for the roots of the agricultural revolution but even for him, that was long in the past).
Two thousand years ago, we have Jesus as a world changer with the start of a religious revolution, whatever that means.
Around fourteen hundred years ago, we have Mohammed as another world change with the start of a different religious revolution, whatever that means.
Some thousand years ago, Leif Erickson becomes the first European to "discover" North America, whatever that means because it probably never was lost but it became forgotten because then some five hundred years ago, Columbus "discovers" North America all over again.
Some two hundred thirty years ago, the United States is born, whatever that means.
Some one hundred fifty years ago, the Civil War almost kills the United States, whatever that means.
Some ninety and some seventy years ago, the World Wars threaten to bring an end to life as we know it, whatever that means.
Some (almost) fifty-seven years ago, I was born and in less than fifty years, I will be dead, whatever that means.
So, although my life seems short to me in terms of how quickly it is going by, it is oh so much shorter when taking into account the history of the world, whatever that means.
So, do you know what this means? If you do, let me know, because I don't?
I do know this, however. I can travel into the past by listening to music with each song taking me back to the time that I listened to it - I become young again.
I do know this, too. I can be brought to reality by looking in a mirror for it is then I see the the lines of life etching their way into my face, etching that certainly is taking place internally for I now feel parts of my body that before were silent partners, but no more.
So, although there is little to do about the body parts that are crying out, I think that I will cover the mirrors and turn on the oldies, and just live this short lifetime with a song of my youth on my lips and a smile on my face, for life, no matter how long, is short, it is very short.
And if they can lose the bow and arrow and North America, think how quickly memory of one's life can be lost, whatever that means.
Around ten thousand years ago, the agricultural revolution "started", whatever that means. Agricultural certainly was not invented at that time, but it was around then that people developed the ability to work with some parts of nature (hence, controlled irrigation) and in doing so, they were able to grow more food than was needed for their immediate needs and they no longer had to rely on the ability to kill wild animals (some days that worked and the people were satiated, other days it didn't work and the people remained hungry. and some days, it didn't wok and the wild animals ate well).
As a result of man's "advance", whatever that means, it became necessary to store the harvest and to protect the stored harvest. And so, armed forces were used (undoubtedly using the bows and arrows that had been developed just twenty or fifty thousand years ago, depending on one's point of view).
Some four thousand years ago, Abraham comes onto the world stage, whatever that means, but it was a stage that already was well established and then around five hundred years later, there was "Moses", whatever that means (another revolution).
Around two thousand five hundred years ago, Darius the Great, whatever that means, ruled much of his world, and enjoyed archaeology as a pastime (maybe he was looking for the roots of the agricultural revolution but even for him, that was long in the past).
Two thousand years ago, we have Jesus as a world changer with the start of a religious revolution, whatever that means.
Around fourteen hundred years ago, we have Mohammed as another world change with the start of a different religious revolution, whatever that means.
Some thousand years ago, Leif Erickson becomes the first European to "discover" North America, whatever that means because it probably never was lost but it became forgotten because then some five hundred years ago, Columbus "discovers" North America all over again.
Some two hundred thirty years ago, the United States is born, whatever that means.
Some one hundred fifty years ago, the Civil War almost kills the United States, whatever that means.
Some ninety and some seventy years ago, the World Wars threaten to bring an end to life as we know it, whatever that means.
Some (almost) fifty-seven years ago, I was born and in less than fifty years, I will be dead, whatever that means.
So, although my life seems short to me in terms of how quickly it is going by, it is oh so much shorter when taking into account the history of the world, whatever that means.
So, do you know what this means? If you do, let me know, because I don't?
I do know this, however. I can travel into the past by listening to music with each song taking me back to the time that I listened to it - I become young again.
I do know this, too. I can be brought to reality by looking in a mirror for it is then I see the the lines of life etching their way into my face, etching that certainly is taking place internally for I now feel parts of my body that before were silent partners, but no more.
So, although there is little to do about the body parts that are crying out, I think that I will cover the mirrors and turn on the oldies, and just live this short lifetime with a song of my youth on my lips and a smile on my face, for life, no matter how long, is short, it is very short.
And if they can lose the bow and arrow and North America, think how quickly memory of one's life can be lost, whatever that means.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Kindergarten Thoughts
When it was time for the first day of kindergarten
I was home in bed with pneumonia
So I started two weeks later than everyone else
I wish I had caught up with life, but don’t think I have
When I finally arrived I was asked to draw a picture
Red and blue lines scribbled on the page in a meaningless way
But I was asked to explain so I said it was a roadmap
I wish I had the ability to draw a roadmap for life
Each of us had to bring from home a nap mat
Mine was a multi-colored plaid like a Scottish cloth
Those were the days when a mid-morning nap was required
I wish I had the time now to take mid-morning naps
On the playground my favorite game was freeze tag
As the “It” moved to touch me I bent my head slightly
I was so short that the “it” missed and I freed everyone
I wish I had the ability to avoid being frozen and to save everyone
One day I was dressed in my white clam-diggers
Three quarter length pants with a red stripe on each leg
I was so proud of the outfit until I looked back at the pictures
I wish I had a better sense of style then and now
When I spoke my name (then) Ronnie, it was heard by others as Lonnie
So saying my name and certain words became frustrating
But a speech teacher taught me to pronounce and endure
I wish I had a life teacher as I continue to mature
Kindergarten was a time for beginnings
A time for dreaming without limits
A time when all one’s dreams had time to come true
I wish I had more time for dreaming and more time for the dreams to come true.
I was home in bed with pneumonia
So I started two weeks later than everyone else
I wish I had caught up with life, but don’t think I have
When I finally arrived I was asked to draw a picture
Red and blue lines scribbled on the page in a meaningless way
But I was asked to explain so I said it was a roadmap
I wish I had the ability to draw a roadmap for life
Each of us had to bring from home a nap mat
Mine was a multi-colored plaid like a Scottish cloth
Those were the days when a mid-morning nap was required
I wish I had the time now to take mid-morning naps
On the playground my favorite game was freeze tag
As the “It” moved to touch me I bent my head slightly
I was so short that the “it” missed and I freed everyone
I wish I had the ability to avoid being frozen and to save everyone
One day I was dressed in my white clam-diggers
Three quarter length pants with a red stripe on each leg
I was so proud of the outfit until I looked back at the pictures
I wish I had a better sense of style then and now
When I spoke my name (then) Ronnie, it was heard by others as Lonnie
So saying my name and certain words became frustrating
But a speech teacher taught me to pronounce and endure
I wish I had a life teacher as I continue to mature
Kindergarten was a time for beginnings
A time for dreaming without limits
A time when all one’s dreams had time to come true
I wish I had more time for dreaming and more time for the dreams to come true.
Rambling Random Thoughts
Perhaps we are being moved along on the field of life
Like plastic football player pieces on a vibrating board
Like a fallen leaf floating down the meandering stream
Like a plastic wrapper blown aimlessly by the wind
If we live our lives only looking forward
Without looking at where we have been
We will be like the foolish women
Who would only fly toward the west
Appearance versus reality
Important to consider as are
Beautiful lies and ugly truths
Sad births and joyful deaths
Unjust rewards and undeserved losses
Pure black being the absence of anything
White being the combination of all
Like plastic football player pieces on a vibrating board
Like a fallen leaf floating down the meandering stream
Like a plastic wrapper blown aimlessly by the wind
If we live our lives only looking forward
Without looking at where we have been
We will be like the foolish women
Who would only fly toward the west
Appearance versus reality
Important to consider as are
Beautiful lies and ugly truths
Sad births and joyful deaths
Unjust rewards and undeserved losses
Pure black being the absence of anything
White being the combination of all
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