Saturday, September 8th, 2007
Under the clearest starry sky, I stroke the smooth skin of my freshly washed babe, as he lays peacefully sleeping, after playing Captain; in his first soccer game of the new season. Kaelin has fallen asleep, in front of the heater, in the quiet darkness of the living room.I give thanks for this beauty that so unexpectedly; entered my life, and changed my world; forever. I am blessed too have so much; simply because I truly hold onto that which I know to be invaluable.
I see my Mothers smiling eyes, as I listen to the constant whir of the washing machine. The Himalayan rock salt lamp, in the corner of the living-room, lights my way; vividly, reminding me of the last time I touched my first love's flawless skin. She was preparing for sleep and I massaged her lovely back, as she purred with pure delight. A Daughter can know no greater pleasure than to show love and compassion for the Woman whom so generously gave her her first breath. Even though she shall never, upon this land, breathe, again.
Feeling the finely wrinkled, arthritic hands of my cherished ninety-one year young Great Aunt Thelma, I am in touch with her deepest despair. Tomorrow, I shall visit the 'oldest living relic' in a family separated by dysfunctions too many and varied to save space to mention. Capturing her attention, through love and affection, I shall be rewarded by the light entering her wheelchair ridden vessel, too long left forgotten, by many a darkened soul; enslaved by their own heartless greed and groans of self pity, heard by even seemingly deaf ears.
An 'old' school friend, Dave Cameron, from "class of 78" at CSSS, emailed me. For the first time, in days, since I was last on the computer, I returned his welcome note and can only fondly remember a very bright, quick witted, entertaining fellow graduate. It was Robert Boyd, a mutual classmate and author of a book I photographed, whom first told me of one of our favourite personalities, then, living on Bowen Island; with his wife and wonderful children. Seems, my new web pal watched my YouTube video - "If Stalks Could Talk" and was quite delightfully inspired'; telling me " You still look good" and "your Son looks healthy".
A once upon a time homeless person, held out his hand ... to shake my own. In front of Capers, after spending my last dollars on cantaloupe, garlic, and a couple of apples, a regular sidewalk vendor of The Street News, passed me my favourite local paper and refused to accept the remaining quarter, left to my name. We exchanged names ( yes, I have forgotten his ... ) and understanding, after I spoke of how I'd attempted to contact his editor, after writing "Meth Is No Friend Of Mine". In dedication and heartfelt response to a beautiful poem written by one more crystal addict, whom no longer pauses in this refrain of a lifetime, to write one more verse concerning a deadly drug that ultimately took the last years of her too short visit on this often unfriendly planet.
News of a recently offered bursary, catches my eye, as I so favourably view an offer to join a growing group of visionaries; the end of September, at Sasamat Lake, for a weekend of inspiration and conscious communion. Due to no available funds to join much needed allies, this past week, at Chai Gallery, my heart opens to one more door divinely opening itself for me and the ever expanding growth of my higher self. Elated, I write back to confirm my attendance, before the internet cafe closes its doors for the evening.
Nervous to the core, I ever so quickly type up a clear and concise letter to a lovely lady, who lost her only Child, at the age of five, to MCFD. After warning the 'proper authorities' about the pedophilia tendencies of her daughter's dad, one more defenseless Mother had her own flesh and blood whisked away, to live with none other than 'the accused' and guilty party. It's been years of paperwork, bureaucratic B.S., and perpetuated lies told by a ministry that is paid to take away innocent Children, causing senseless suffering and perpetuate criminal acts; considered 'legal', within a system that devalues the family and awards even more merit points to dysfunction.Must be why I'm so gratefully adding my own good name, onto a string of endless pearls, in a newsworthy class-action suit!
We are awarded so many moments in a day. Silent offerings are ours to accept or graciously decline. We can languish and recline on our old wooden rocker, or we may blow up a storm, before a new sun rises up to face the tender morn. The grace that greets us is ours to keep or scatter to the four winds that continue to furiously fuss and howl. Knowing we can make a difference; irrevocably divides us between beast of burden and that of prey. Making a choice to sit still or take a path, unlit, is only ours to make. We my break a heart or cast a wish upon a shining star. Wherever we choose to travel, we leave a trail more than a million miles long. A gossamer thread hangs between us, others and the place we now and forever, so beautifully belong.