recuerda mi corazon

harvesting light

 

 

 

 

 

share the jOy thursdays

light of the living

my husband drives to the infusion center and leaves me

surrounded with the hopeful and dying,

for his sunlicked life.

all of us lined up like cord wood

veins in various degrees of disrepair

a benign number 6 hovers above, marking my place,

i am in my stall, my station of the cross, my weary recliner

that requires only a white wristband and a menacing sequence of inborn errors

and gulps entire days in slow increments of nurses

collecting temperatures and heartbeats.

the cost of anyones dreamhouse, throw in a brand new car while you are at it

seaping into my veins.

the cost of a life takes an entire day

to drip into rivers of hope and spits me out

in time to wonder at the magnificence of sunset,

the promise of stars, the strength of trees, two more weeks of sunrises.

colours so startlingly bright,

i wonder why anyone is sitting in their cars impatient eyes

indignant at red lights

i want to throw open doors and storm everyone into the light.

even the pet therapy dog struggles, distracted,

his own legs starting to deceive him,

greying and slowing down he looks past us,

wanting what we all want,

to walk bare foot

resilient under forgiving skies on the gently rounding earth.

there are two flat screen televisions at each end of the white recliner filled room

the programs change like pages in a noisy book

where actors look strangely fleshy and frivolous

and i want to stop them too,

i want to shake them awake

plead with them to take their beautiful perfect cells and LIVE,

run away from the one hundred puny distractions

and out into the electric air and breathe

while   everything   is   still   possible.

the harpist in a long flowering skirt arrives,

so long you cannot see her feet.

she glides across the room of the unmoving.

nurses thankfully turn the volume off the always too loud tvs,

move the wheelchairs to accommodate her wooden sail of a harp

and she begins plucking the strings in strangely perfect whole notes

one associates with angels and clouds and arriving....

but it all feels like letting go

as the nurse returns to make sure my heart is still beating just enough,

to register the light

 

poem for the silver winged

 
it is a parable to feel the earth tilt

while skimming on still waters.

 

 

this is a story of noticing.

this is the sound of clarity watching over you

even while you sleep.

 

this is when

lying there, under the lightening stars

it might have been loons

requiring  me

to lift my head above the extra covers of autumns reproach.

what waited was sky

held in breathless fascination of a blue glass lake.

sky falling into open water, water reflecting the face of sky.

everything in between

stained in 

adoration.

  

 
we threw off our separate dreams,

dressed in a silver canoe and

together floated weightless

on all that surrenders.

this is when i felt the earth move.

 

my husband,

so strong and longer limbed

stroked effortlessly into the willing water.

stationed in front,

i could not see his silver dipping arcs becoming wings, 

dripping crystal water,

i could hear that it was so.

from behind, he held witness to the majesty of mine.

the two of us from a distance

became a single bird 

he the left wing, me the right.

sailing 

forward 

in all that shimmering light.

 

was it purely the act of willfully leaving behind

 the tangle of gravity and time?

the dark weight of physical constraints becoming 

round smooth manageable stones whirled 

freely from open palms to sing 

across the open lake.

 

no

need,

no matter.

just the magnificence of wings and weightless surrender.

there, in front, set free, flying

my oars circling in utter silent delight. 

countless drops of clarity dripping off our every move.

he could not see my tear bright cheeks, my lifted heart.

but the breeze that drifted back to him...

that rolled off the silhouette of joy

carried the distinct taste

of love, a holy trace 

of brine.

 

postcards from paradise catching the light

this morning

  knowing the entire length 

 of our eastern seaboard,

 has been weathering the challenges, 

courageously facing the uncertainty

of irene..

postcards from paradise  

 
became a fervent search for 

the promise of light.

 

wherever you are in this wheel of life,

whatever our challenges;

may we all know love, shelter, safety, peace, comfort,

and always, always the presence of light.

***

postcards from paradise 

an open door to the house of belonging.

 won't you join me?

throw a life line of beauty,

leave a word of kindness on each others blogs   

and let the circle grow.