A Prayer for Christmas

Dear God, Creator and Savior, I, who am the least of thy servants, lift my eyes to the heavens and make bold to sing thy praises.  Throughout the year, but especially at this time when we celebrate your greatest gift to us, I am aware of thy greatness, thy mercy, and thy love.  I thank you for all that is seen and unseen.  Look into my heart and test it for truth and love and worthiness.  Speak to my spirit which honors thee and my soul which is the reflection of your divinity.  Thank you for the sunrise and sunset and the ever-changing moon.  They are the manifest evidence of your creation of our universe.  Thank you for the multitude of graces given us by a father's loving intervention in our lives.  I trust that you will lead me to whatever destination pleases you in fulfillment of your plan for me.  You have read my heart and know what is in it.  I ask thy blessing on those I love....that you grant them joy and peace and understanding.  I offer myself as a sacrifice to that purpose and accept thy will, whatever it may be.  Amen.

The Fourth Week of Advent....

Time marches on with incredible dedication.  We have so little of it here.  Some of us have to hurry to complete our "life tasks" and some of us never do finish.  There are those who say this leads inexorably to a return to "earth school" to get through the learning process and accomplish all the things that were intended for us.  I have no idea.  This presumes an active and participatory cosmic supervision of some sort, but then, so do all religious philosphies.  There is a great deal of comfort offered by the notion that there is an external "higher power" to which appeals can be made.  It is my belief that our "Deity" is internal.  If we are made in His image and, Jesus, His incarnation, tells us we each have the spark of divinity within, what else could it mean?  Just maybe we each carry within us the power of God.  Doesn't that require that we be held to a much higher standard?

Remembering something

Yesterday, December 14th, was the 63rd anniversary of my Mom and Dad's wedding......December 14, 1946.  Dad died on July 19,1995, and Mom passed on August 23, 2009.  She never forgave Dad for dying. and spent the last fourteen years of her life being incredibly angry with him and turning into someone that neither I, nor Patricia, nor MaryBeth could recognize.  The three of us independently remembered their anniversary.  It was a quiet recollection.  It was a little sad and painful, but we believe they are together in heaven or waiting for heaven.  In any event, the belief that they are together is comforting to us..  Wherever they are, God keeps them and that is the safest place in the universe.

Sunday morning, clear and warm

Okay, only the lights are on the tree and I didn't finish baking.  Today there are two masses, trips to the pharmacy and the grocery store, tree decorating and baking........."and a partridge in a pear tree."  It can get quite hectic, but I can keep up.  I am filled with anticipation, expectation, elation, joy and love.  The only thing that could possibly make it better is the realization of dreams.

Come Saturday morning.......

Saturdays are the days when chores and errands get done.  Today will be more decorating, complete with photographs.  There is more laundry and baking to do.  Tomorrow will be "clean up" day, as in "all of the things I did not get done today".   

This is the third week-end of Advent.  We will light the rose-colored candle.  Rose is the color for joy in the church.  I am joyful......in my own way.  I love the music of the Church and being in the choir.  I love my relationship with my friend.  I love the possibilities of the future in every aspect of my life. 

I feel love.  I feel loved.  I am love.

O happy day.....O happy, happy Friday....

Yes, indeed, I have survived to see another Friday.

I have so many questions about life..mine and the lives of those I care for.  Like everyone else, I have always had questions.  Life has taught me that sometimes the answers to them are not always what I want....... and sometimes, there aren't any answers at all.   I don't know where I came up with the notion that if you understand why, the circumstances will be more tolerable.  There is a flaw in that logic.  Just because you know that your leg hurts because you broke it, doesn't make the pain more bearable. However, a new day is always an opportunity for new answers and  new experiences.   Any day you wake up is a good day.

Some Mondays are just too much

And today was one of them.  To begin with, the refrigerator died an ugly death on Saturday night.  Well, it didn't actually die, it just stopped being cold, which caused nearly everything in it to die or smell like it did.  Unfortunately, I can't get a reputable repair man here until Tuesday afternoon. 

I just finished paying the November bills.  That was devastating enough because it is already December 7th, Pearl Harbor Day.  Seems some how appropriate.

I don't have my life on track yet and I am 61 years old.  What is wrong with this picture?

By the light of the Cold Moon

She hangs there in the eastern sky tempting me with dreams.  She frost everything with silver and discretely hides my flaws.  Oh, gentle Moon, who bathes with kindness care-worn eyes and an age-worn face, extend your blessing to my world-worn heart and open my soul to the possibility that love might some day come to me.

Nothing is lost that cannot be found, if sought

Love has been lost to me for so many years.  I thought my heart was dessicated and beyond resurrection.  I believed that I would die without ever knowing or feeling love again.  Today, I think that just perhaps, I could be wrong.

Stringing a ukulele

Odd subject you may think.  It is a lesson in both character and patience.  Forty years ago I could string and tune a twelve string guitar.  Eighteen years ago I bought a baritone ukulele.  It was smaller, easier to carry and it was like playing just the bottom four pairs of strings.  Fifteen years ago I broke a string and simply never replaced it.  My mother died in August and in going through everything, we found the ukulele.  I have recently been encouraged by my best friend to resurrect my interest in music.  As a result, I ordered new strings.  They came yesterday.  I have not played for fifteen years and I have not re-strung anything in thirty years.  As I said to my friend, " It's only four strings, how hard could it be?"  As Robert laughed, he said, "Never ask that question."  I came to understand what he meant.  It is absolutely tempting fate to show you exactly how hard it can be.  Yesterday I spent several hours putting strings on, anchoring them incorrectly, putting them in incorrect order and trying to tune each string to a note it was never designed to reach.  Last night I put it all aside because I seemed unable to achieve my objective.  Today when I went to resume this now complex project, I discovered that I had to remove all of the strings and re-sequence and re-tune them.  It is done now, but had I simply done a little research yesterday, I could have saved a lot of time.  I once worked in an accounting office with a boss whose favorite question was, "Why is there never enough time to do it right the first time, but always enough to do it over?"  It was a good question, Harry.  I am still asking that one.  I did, however, learn some  important things about myself.  First, I am stubborn and persistent.  Not bad qualities, but they can cost you time, so whatever it is, needs to be worth it.  Second, I am patient.  Patience somehow imbues the time spent with a special quality of understanding and appreciation.  All in all, re-stringing a ukelele is not a bad Saturday afternoon project.

Brightest and best

Brightest and best of the sons of the morning..........captor of sun and moon, light and dark..........of jeweled visions.......of all that is beautiful.  This son of light, a pantheistic worshiper,  holds in his heart the desire to understand the universe.  I am a daughter of the night and wonder if there is a place in the cosmos where we might co-exist.

Eastern Standard Time

I really dislike Eastern Standard Time.  It is mid-November at  5:40 p.m. (that's 1740 H) to you guys on the military clock) and it is DARK.........as in night time.......I don't mean dusk or twilight........I mean night.  I don't have a problem getting up in the dark.  I like taking my walk before the world starts buzzing around in the full light of day.  But I start my day in the dark and it gets dark again long before I end it.  To me it would make far more sense to just keep Eastern Daylight Time all year round.  We can save a bit on the electric bill in the summer and reduce the amount of anti-depressant medication  needed in the winter due to shorter daylight exposure.  Seems like a win-win situation to me.

Once in a Blue Moon

Occasionally we get two full moons in a single month.......like next month.  The Cold Moon is on December 1st and the Blue Moon is on December 31st.  It is not a frequent phenomenon, hence the comment about things happening "once in a blue moon."

I am an observer of the full moon, the new moon, the quarter moons, the dark of the moon....waxing or waning, it makes no difference.  However, I only sing to the full moon.  Mostly they are wordless songs, although I have been known to sing a tune with a lyric now and then.  The lyrics always have to contain the word moon or refer to her in some way.

This observation of the moon has been a lifelong habit.  It is a wonderful way to spend time alone or with someone.  There is nothing like the magic of her influence.

I Sing Because I Can....

I love singing.  I am no Streisand.  I am a journeyman vocalist........not brilliant, but competent.  I started out singing in church and studied with Norma Tina Russo of the San Carlo Opera Company as a mezzo-soprano.  Things progressed and I wound up with gigs in saloons and stage productions.  Forty years later I am back in church.  Now I am a contralto with a second soprano stretch and I am singing alto, second soprano AND tenor, depending on the piece.  I have also done some acting in my time and although I liked it a lot, I am actually an interpreter of songs.  I like that best of all.  There is more power in words and music than words alone.  Perhaps that is why Saint Augustine said, "...to sing once is to pray twice."   I can get lost in a song and take an audience with me.  It doesn't get any better than that.

Relationships

I know very little about the relationships between men and women.  I know about sex, but it isn't the same.  I am trying to learn, but I am lost and have no idea where to go to understand.  When I was very yong, I thought you just had to give love in order to get love back.  What a fairy tale that is.  It seems to be mostly about manipulation that occurs between the two people involved.........relationship politics.  It is a complex thing and I am too simple to grasp it concepts, much less exercise them.   It seems so easy for most people.  Why is it such a disaster for me?

A Mighty Wind

They talk about highs and lows and pressure gradients.  All I know is that the wind is amazing.  I was walking at 5:30 this morning.  It was cool, but not cold.  The waning moon was shining high overhead and the wind whipped the trees into a frenzy as I walked my 1.2 miles around the blocks in my neighborhood.  The wind was fierce and invigorating.  I breathed deeper and lifted my face boldly as I moved against its force.   I finished my walk with regret.  I was not afraid of all that power.  For that brief space of time, I was part of it.

Oh, world, I cannot hold thee close enough.....

I feel more joyful each and every day.  I am contented, in love with life, and fit comfortably inside my skin.  I am constantly growing intellectually, emotionally, spiritually and changing moment to moment.  I embrace life and love and laughter.  I await the future in anticipation, secure in the belief that life is good, souls are beautiful, and all things are possible. I am filled with a cornucopia of feelings and can hardly find expression for them.  Be patient with me, O World, I am a work in process.

Free to see and feel and be...........

Today was an extraordinary day.  It was so special because I was able to put down a burden I have carried for a lifetime.  With help, I put it down and walked on.  I was able to examine it, pack it up and place it out of the way.  I will not forget it.  I will not suppress it.  The really important thing is that it no longer has the power to hurt me.  For that gift, I am more grateful than I can say.  I see more sharply, hear more clearly, feel more intensely, and have slowed my continuous run to an appropriate walk.  This way I will not miss the important things in my life or the lives of those I love.  There is no overwhelming sense of urgency, no sense that time is running away from me.  I am in the here and now and tomorrow will have to take care of itself.

Dream a little dream.......

I woke up at 3:30 a.m. again this morning.  The cause was a living color, more real than real, flash back forty years in the past.  I could hear the sounds and feel the pain and fear as I experienced it.......... survived it, all those years ago.  I started to remember the details I had blocked out for so long.  I had to take Ativan just to face getting dressed and driving to the doctor's office.  All of the missing pieces began falling into place.  However, it isn't over yet.  I told them I was afraid to go to sleep.  They ordered a really strong sleeping medication and increased the amount of Ativan I have to take for the next thirty-six hours.  Thursday morning I will undergo a therapy that should resolve the emotional trauma and resulting complications.  As I take my sleeping pill, I lift my water glass in a toast and pray for no dreams tonight.

Escape into sleep..........

Tonight I am incredibly tired.  I woke up this morning at 3:30 and just could not go back to sleep no matter how hard I tried.  I am, what my mother used to call, "bone weary".  Such major fatigue magnifies, many times, the severity of the angst I feel and I am experiencing anxiety on several levels.  There is anxiety related to job responsibility......some about financial things.........about the lawn getting mowed........more anxieties about the difficulties of my friends........and a whole lot that has to do with remembering the past.  Normally, I am better at managing my emotional response to circumstances.  However, if you throw in the fact that the moon is full and we just went back to EST, I should probably just get in the bed and pull the covers over my head.

When the saints go marching in.....

Today was All Saints Day.  Believe it or not, we opened with a really jazzed up version of "When the Saints Go Marchin' In".  I couldn't believe it, but we sounded really hot.  We were so good, we got applause.   I felt great about it even though I was a little unsure of myself with all of the new music.   Everyone was friendly.  I had been asked to stay for the noon mass.  It turned out there were only six of us, including the pianist and the director.  The director, Marianne, gave me a music stand and my own microphone.  It made me very self-conscious.  I was praised over and over again and I, who can talk about anything without becoming embarrassed, was so embarrassed, it made me cry.  Thus was my debut in the choir.

All Hallow's Eve

For the first time in nearly ten years, we decorated for Halloween and I dressed up.  So did MaryBeth.  In a neighborhood where, historically, there have been only one or two children calling at our door for candy, we had dozens.  We were out of candy in less than an hour.  We made photos of ourselves and emailed them to everybody.  We had a great time.

I am looking at the Halloween full moon in my eastern window and it is beyond beautiful.  As I sit here, I sing moon songs quietly.  Most of them have no words, only melodies in minor keys, as is appropriate for the goddess who presides over the mysteries of the night.  I watch her as she climbs the night sky chasing after the sun.

Make a joyful noise.....

Last night was my first time back in the choir in nearly ten years.  Participation is a part of my penitent return to the church.  I left in anger and pain that I had accumulated over the years.  I discovered there was a new choir directoress and a completely new choir.  I don' know why I was surprised, ten years is a long time.  I also discovered that they were doing new music written by new composers and that there was very little traditional stuff.  Not only that, but the program is complex and ambitious, so we will be meeting two nights a week instead of one to prepare for the holidays.  There are only two other altos besides me, so we definitely have our work cut out for us.  In spite of these factors and in spite of my multitude of personal problems including the "crisis de jour", I was actually glad to be there.  I think that God's favorite instrument is the human voice, but I have not sung for years........ not even in the shower.  Believe me when I tell you that this instrument needs a lot of tuning.

When the past rises up.....

Sometimes the death of a loved one is the impetus for change.  Most people do not change fundamentally without a crisis.  So it is with me.  Along with the obvious grief and stress of dealing with the death of my mother, came the resurrection of ancient memories connected to a tragedy long ago forgotten.......memories buried so deeply that they could not be brought to consciousness by any other means.  With the reclaiming of these terrible memories, hopefully, will come the release of underlying pain, fear and sorrow, and, perhaps, even a bit of guilt.  My responsibility in this event was based on my own incredibly bad judgement........as though I had invited it to happen.  But I did not ask for what happened to me, nor did I deserve it.  I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  I was the victim of a person unknown to me who was so filled with rage that the only outlet he could find was to beat me into submission and rape me nearly to death.   Now, forty years later, I have to do the work of building a bridge to the past to allow those memories to move forward.  Only by confronting them can I take away their power to hurt me.

                                            

Witchy Women, they've got the moon in their eyes...........

Once upon a time men believed that all women were witches.  They had absolutely no understanding of why these weaker, dependent creatures could exercise such influence over them........could persuade them to risk their lives to feed and clothe them, protect and house them, as well as their offspring, which inevitably arrived on the scene after they began playing the really fun games that women knew how to play.  Since men were stronger and smarter and had a close relationship with God, they realized that women had to be doing something magical to them to get them to do the really stupid things women wanted them to do.  Since men did not know how to do this magic and women did, it had to be evil.  Strong social restrictions were established regarding women and many women were lost as a result of them.  Women sought an alliance with Mother Nature for protection from men.  This is the way religion started.

But let us cultivate our garden.....

There is a lesson to be learned from our favorite philosopher, Dr. Pangloss.  It is not so much that optimism is the cure for depression, but that perception is reality.  Truth is, therefore, subjective and relative as opposed to objective and absolute. That certainly makes the circumstances of fate a lot easier to endure.

Agnus Dei

I walked through the doors of the church, dipped my fingers in the holy water at the door, and made the sign of the cross:  forehead (Father), heart (Son), left shoulder (Holy), right shoulder (Ghost).  I took a bulletin, the news network of the parish, and sought a seat near the choir.  On my way there a rather tall gentleman, probably not much older than me, said hello and walked beside me.  He welcomed me to the church and as I found my seat, he moved on to the choir pit.

As the mass began, memories flooded back......the words, the music......the Alleluia, the Gloria, the Agnus Dei.....Oh, Lamb of God, You who take away the sins of the world, have mercy on us and grant us peace.
Glory be to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Ghost.  As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.  Amen.....Amen.  Priest: Lift up your hearts to the Lord  Congregation:  We have lifted them up to the Lord. Congregation:  It is right to give Him thanks and praise.   Priest:  This is the Lamb of God.  Happy are we who are called to His supper.........This is my body, given up for you .....in the new and everlasting covenant.......I bid you peace.  My peace I give you.....Go forth to love and serve the Lord.

Let me be a shield upon thy heart for I am the gift that God has sent.

I will always be here..........

As the sun and the moon are always predictably present, so am I.  As we all rest in God's love, so you rest in mine.  I offer myself as your equal and I extend my hands and my heart in willing tribute to our friendship. Compassion and understanding are my strength and my armor.  I am a foundation built by God and secured by Him.  I am a rock upon which you can rest, a stream at which you may drink. I am nourishment to the body and soul and like warm honey, my love is sweet and comforting.

I know why the caged bird sings...with apologies to Maya Angelou

I sing of things barely understood and longed for, but I cannot know the sky or the wind unless you open the door of my cage or bend the bars.  You clipped my wings, but they are growing.  One day they will be able to carry me to a place where the sunrise and the moonset are miraculous and magical and I can sing to both of understanding and freedom, of giving and joy, of tenderness and compassion.  God has given a voice to my heart.  Listen to it and take comfort from it.  Be in love, for I am love.

Fear is the absence of faith..........

I think that "faith" must be tended like a garden......to keep out doubt, to strengthen with belief and understanding.  God provides the tools, but we have to do the work every day.

Listen to the pouring rain, listen to it pour..........

After nearly twenty years of obstinancy, of insisting that I could do it all by myself, that I didn't need help from anybody, I broke under the staggering weight of old grief, a new death, loneliness, financial ruin, physical debility, overwhelming responsibility, and desperation. Fortunately for me, although I had lost God in those years, God had not lost me.  When my desolation was so acute that I finally called out His name, He was there to carry me as He has always promised.  So I went back to church, made my confession, took communion and made a commitment to God.  Next spring I will seek confirmation in the church.

Joining the choir was part of the commitment I made.  Tonight when I went to the church, it was pouring rain.  No one else showed up for practice, but I sat in my car and just listened to the sound.  I used to think that rain was sad......the sky weeping as Mother Nature tried to drown her sorrows.  Tonight, I heard extraordinary music.  It wasn't Mother Nature's sorrow I heard, but her philharmonic orchestra, joyously playing in concert.

And you think that she's half crazy......

Forsaken, not quite human, I sank beneath the sorrow in spite of the medication.  I was a wild creature, empty and without understanding.  I was without spirit or soul.  I thought I had both when I got up that morning, but I had somehow misplaced them.  I got down on my knees to try and find them and when I couldn't, I called out a name I had forgotten.  In my desolation I called out to God.  As I covered my face with my hands and sobbed my despair in the darkness, I felt the awful weight lift from my shoulders.  The prayers I knew as a younger woman came almost unbidden to my lips.  Forgive me, oh, God, my offenses against thee.  I am not worthy to speak thy name, but I make so bold as to beg thy mercy.  I offer up my hands in thy service, my heart in thy worship and my voice in thy praise.  The Lord who keeps me, neither slumbers, nor sleeps, and will not suffer my foot to be bruised.  Amen.

We're Riding On The Carousel Of Life......

Buffy St.Marie had it right......we go round and round and round in the "circle game".  This has been more like a roller coaster than a carousel, but it is still a circle. This spiritual emptiness is like a really dark night that never seems to end.  Just when I think dawn must be breaking, I look at the luminous face of my watch and it is still three a.m.  I am lost in the wilderness.  I have been so angry at God, so angry with myself.  Okay, God, I confess!  Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!  

The Rubiyat says:
          "The Moving Finger writes and having writ moves on, nor all your piety nor wit can lure it back to cancel half a line, nor all your tears wash out a word of it."

I cannot change the past, but perhaps I can raise the ransom for the future.

Life as I knew it

I have never been comfortable in the world except as a very little girl.......before school.....when the known world was just Mom and Dad and Home.  I have come to believe that I was never really designed to be "in" the world and "of" it, but I cannot think of anywhere else I might belong.  Sounds like alienation and isolation to me.  I am already on a double dose of Zoloft as it is, but there is only so much "better living through chemistry" a person can tolerate.  I do believe I have hit my limit.  I need to do this on my own.  What is it about Mondays?

Tranformation

Once when my niece, MaryBeth, was three years old, I took her outside to the front yard and showed her the magic of the full moon.  I actually taught her that baying at the moon was a way to show appreciation of this incredible phenomenon and that bathing in moonlight was great for both the body and soul.  I am not certain how much of this she absorbed, but in the years after that, we would occasionally go outside during a full moon and howl like wolves together.

A little while back, but during this tranformative process through which I have been traveling, I told  my friend, Robert, about it and I gave myself a new name......Woman Who Bays At The Moon.  He created a sort of portrait of the "baying" woman, which was very inspirational and also reflective of a certain "wildness" in my behavior.  During a subsequent observation of the full moon, I decided that three in the morning was no time to howl in the yard (which could result in a charge of disturbing the peace and possible arrest), so I chose to sing to the moon instead.  Of course, I sang "moon" songs:  Old Devil Moon, I Only Have Eyes For You, I'll Be Seeing You, Give Me The Moonlight, etc.  That night I changed my name to Woman Who Sings To The Moon.  My ritual observation of the moon is much more eloquant now and deeply appreciated by the neighbors.

Suddenly, this summer

My friend, who is a therapist, calls it "an acute grief reaction." In response to the realization in June that my mother had begun the dying process, I turned into a writer of romanticized sexual encounters. I had not personally engaged in sexual activity of any kind since February 14, 1991, the last time I had sex with my husband.

On May 7, 1991, when my husband died, I closed the door on my life. I did not actively want to die. I wasn't suicidal. I just didn't care about living. I picked up responsibility in order to justify my existence. I worked two and three jobs to fill up my time. My response to the world was totally passive. Sixteen years later, we got my mother's diagnosis.

Like my husband's death, my mother's was an anticipated event. In both cases I had a warning about two years in advance. John died from the complications of AIDS and Mom died from lung cancer. Knowing about these things in advance is supposed to give you some sort of advantage in dealing with death, itself. The fact is that all that advance time just prolongs your suffering. You are dealing with a process you are powerless to change. The very inevitability of it is a constant reminder. When death finally occurs, the devastation is complete. The clock stops. Just breathing causes you pain. Your awareness of the world changes. You are locked inside a room that is filled with your pain and it mocks you. You want to scream to relieve the pressure, but you don't know how. It is as though somebody took your voice away. In the case of my husband's death, you could multiply the sensation a thousand-fold because I carried a burden of soul-crushing guilt. I carried around guilt for my mother as well, just not the same kind.

It took me a while to figure out why my reaction to grieving manifested itself the way it did. It took me time and the insight of friends to begin the process of self-revelation. To this day I don't know why I was so willing and able to understand others and not myself.

It began on a rainy day and my observation to a friend was that "wet clothes cling."

When time ran out........

Although the blog is new, my journey began four months ago. It was June 16, 2009, when I took my mother to the hospital and we discovered that her lung cancer, which had been in remission according to the PET scan in December, had metastized to her brain with multiple lesions. On top of that, one of the lesions had bled giving her a "hemorrhagic stroke." She died August 23rd as I sat on her bed and held her hand. For the last two hours of her life, I said prayers and sang to her. I started out with Protestant prayers and hymns. When I ran out of those, I did all of the Catholic prayers and hymns I knew. I sang and wept until after her breathing stopped and I knew no amount of resuscitative effort could bring her back.

The change in me began in June.

Counting "time"

There is a lot of waiting involved in the evolutionary process. Genetically, the women in my family have never been predisposed to "waiting." I have made a concerted effort to change that in myself, but the effort is sometimes overwhelming. The alternative choice to standing around watching a kettle of water start to boil, is to make use of the time for something else. That is my method of coping............peel a potato, sew on a button, read a book, sing a song...........anything that keeps me from counting the seconds as they go by.

The Divine Nimbus

According to Whitman, I am the gates of the body, and I am the gates of the soul. I contain all qualities, and temper them—I am in my place, and move with perfect balance.

It is so and I am as much ethereal as corporeal. My soul moves between the spheres with grace and compassion. My heart was made for loving and does so without let or hindrance. There is no price that can purchase my love. Yet I am boundless in giving and it is multiplied beyond measure. I will take your pain and give you in its stead, love and joy, and peace.

I celebrate the me that's to come

There are people who believe self-analysis has its limits. Someone once told me to be careful how frequently and how deeply I looked inward because you never know what you will find there. I know that I have found some pretty dark places inside myself........one or two that were downright scary, but I also believe it is a trip we all have to make at some point. Someone has to identify and categorize what is there.........discard things, find out what is missing, make use of any tools. It needs to be done after we have acquired enough skills to deal with what we find, but before we are too old to benefit from it.

My mother's journey through the transition from life to death is what started my evolutionary process. This road to enlightment has been difficult.......sad, painful, but it has also brought me a greater capacity for understanding, compassion and love. I continue the journey.............

I Sing The Body Electric

I re-visited Walt Whitman this morning. He spoke to me with wisdom. Tonight I will sing to the waning quarter moon. I will sing to her of love and friendship and time and longing. I will sing old songs that have no words, but in their melodic sounds convey all that my soul can reveal. It was Whitman who showed me the way. His frankness appeals to me. I am no delicate, lady-like creature. I am tactile and lusty. I have been deprived of life for a very long time. I did not stop breathing, but I might as well. I knew no sensation either physical or emotional..........no, that is not true. I knew pain and sorrow.

Life is a banquet.......

Patrick Dennis' Auntie Mame used to say, "Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!" Surviving pain, loss, death and disaster can give you a ravenous appetite for life, love, joy and laughter. Just remember, you can starve to death at a banquet if you refuse to eat.