my brother had the perfunctory paper route.
easy task on weekday afternoons,
just nailing doormats with newspapers,
and fleeing from the occasional dog
on an old Schwinn bike.
the white canvas bag hanging full,
front and back
with just a grinning preteen cruising an ever widening world
oblivious to the weight of all those words.
his tom sawyer persuasion enlisted me weekdays
folding all that black and white.
inverted wings,
compressing all those contradictions
in a tight red band.
those words could F L Y from the open hand of
an older brother.
we played music and worked tirelessly each day after school,
but sundays, we stood beside each other
while it seemed the entire world was sleeping.
outside, with the occasional marauding cat and haloed street lights
it was a neighborhood transformed by stillness.
my brother loathed the 4 a.m. wake up call,
while only one step into the nocturnal world
wedded me firmly to the mystery of the moon and softening stars;
the thrill of tipping the scales of darkness into light.
where he saw the drudgery of weighty newspapers,
i came willingly for a chance to
walk beneath the hem of the whitening sky.
i walked with the soft feet of innocence.
before the first birds began calling, before death came knocking.
loss visited. before darkening
hearts or crushing disappointments, self doubt, or reckless seasons arrived
like the inevitable slap of a morning paper.
past the cookie cutter neighborhood where every fifth house
began the cycle of their monotonous tract all over again,
stars were vanishing.
somewhere between the seen and unseen worlds,
that mystical portal that lasts but a few fleeting moments
i entered a courtyard.
the language of flowers were braille to my soul.
baskets of tendrils reaching down,
arms of trees
reaching up.
lush, dark shadows with secret blossoms.
fragrance.
possibilities,
sudden beauty.
to a towheaded girl of eight,
EDEN.
i walked softly as a whisper towards the front door,
and that is when i saw her.
standing in a shower of flowers that rained in a perfect arch around her,
a stone statue of the virgin mary.
i cannot tell you why i felt so compelled in that moment
to drop to my knees,
but i did without forethought or hesitation.
the heavy gaping mouth of the canvas bag with all those folded wings
in front and behind me, cumbersome forgotten words
replaced by prayer.
head bent. eyes closed. hands folded.
the light of mary flooded my heart
with pure intension.
our religious upbringing; a thin perfunctory thread simply stitched
at the end of each week,
never pierced my soul with such conviction.
i cannot tell you
how long i perched like a small bird before her
nor can i recall what words comprised my prayers.
i can tell you
my heart was filled.
my soul
lifted
to a place life had not yet taken me.
i rose softly and solemnly before her
just as the light of day cracked open the ceiling of the sky.
stepping backwards in awe and respect of her,
towards the streets of my youth
my eyes holy upon her eyes,
when suddenly
my heart froze as it noticed one aging hand slowly
closing the curtain from the window above.
the innocent dawn, the promise of flowers,
the aging witness of those hands in the window.
the unseen eyes drinking in that moment
when mary captured the heart of
a freckled newspaper girl.
the days of my brother needing me for such easy labor,
replaced with much heavier burdens to carry.
gone the songs of that distant summer,
gone too, our father,
all folded permanently into our hearts.
my mother has been a widow for more than a dozen years.
my brother, now the single father of girls.
my grown son sleeping even as i write, my husband in the kitchen talking to our aging cat.
soon there will be breakfast,
as our clothes dry like so many prayer flags on the clothes line
above the landscape of our chosen and un-chosen lives.
my heart floods with memories of a childhood neighborhood
i could not leave fast enough for wilder ground.
yet even as i traveled the world, finally and forever settled down,
i am always looking for the sacred in the mundane.
the unexpected hidden in the ordinary.
a glimpse into the heart of mystery.
i rise early.
to find my place in the portal of those few fleeting moments
between the seen and unseen worlds.
to pull back the aging curtains of all that comprises life
and wait for the return to innocence,
simply
wait for the arrival of light.
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What an incredible piece of writing and such a beautiful experience, Rebecca. This is really the best writing I've seen from you. It's exceptional!
Posted by: Delphyne | December 11, 2012 at 07:17 AM
Mr. Linky doesn't seem to want to wake up this morning - I can't get it to record the information.
Posted by: Delphyne | December 11, 2012 at 07:20 AM
Absolutely, undeniably, incredibly DIVINE...
I am going back to re-read...now that I know how it ends I want to savor it slooowly.
♥♥♥
Posted by: priti.lisa | December 11, 2012 at 07:25 AM
Exceptional is the right word! this is breathtaking - I have read and re-read it - it is as though I am there with that little girl - you have inspired me to resume my pre-dawn meditations!! thank you for such an incredible blessing as this piece of prose!!
Posted by: Hettienne Grobler | December 11, 2012 at 07:25 AM
Yes, I too, seek the sacred in the mundane. I think we are all doing that collectively here with you at the helm. Your words are as beautiful as you describe that arch of flowers and provides a universe of inspiration.
Posted by: Paula Scott Molokai Girl Studio | December 11, 2012 at 07:56 AM
P.S. my four brothers had a paper route too-much of what you described here is familiar to mee too. FOlding all those issues and stuffing the Sunday paper. It was hard work for them-particularly as some homes had vicious dogs to guard the property!
Posted by: Paula Scott Molokai Girl Studio | December 11, 2012 at 07:58 AM
Rebecca I'm coming back to this.....
Ruby
Posted by: Forest Dream Weaver | December 11, 2012 at 08:22 AM
Rebecca what beautiful writing. I was lost in your words. It reminded me of when my younger son David had a route and I was doing the same, except that I didn't run into Mary in a garden. Wish I had. Thank you so much for your words. I was there.
Posted by: gloria | December 11, 2012 at 08:30 AM
Your waiting is a sacred task...
Posted by: Magical Mystical Teacher | December 11, 2012 at 08:46 AM
Dawn is sacred. This morning there was a Moon smile and two big stars in the east waiting for the rising sun.
Posted by: gemma | December 11, 2012 at 08:58 AM
Your poetry is an incredible gift. I feel indescribably enriched and can only say thank you.
Posted by: Leah | December 11, 2012 at 09:06 AM
Rebecca, your words, your stories and memories, transport the reader right into the page with you, right into the thought, right into that moment in time. This is lovely, it's beautiful, at the same time heartbreaking, having to leave that moment. Thank you for this wonderful journey. I even felt the unseen eyes, as a child would, in that window. I know, that you know, that you are blessed.
Posted by: judie | December 11, 2012 at 09:09 AM
Oh my, Rebecca, this is such a moving post! What a lovely story you tell. I can't tell you how uplifting this was for me. Thank you.xx
Posted by: Lizbeth | December 11, 2012 at 09:32 AM
Another magnificent post and photography ~ I agree with the memory of feeling something special when I first saw a statue of Our Lady ~ it was profound and loving ~
(A Creative Harbor) aka artmusedog and Carol ^_^
Posted by: Carol | December 11, 2012 at 10:14 AM
Oh, my goodness, Rebecca, your talents blow me away. I love how your words are woven to perfection. My mind's eye follows your journey from childhood to now.
Posted by: Nonnie aka Scrappy Grams | December 11, 2012 at 10:21 AM
I forgot to say how much I love the first shot of Mary. It made me gasp at your first sighting of Mary.
Posted by: Nonnie aka Scrappy Grams | December 11, 2012 at 10:23 AM
Finding the sacred in the mundane is so important and it's always there,a shift in perception is all that's needed.Thanks for sharing your memories,and as always your writing is very special.Love your photos too Rebecca.....lovely light!
Blessings,
Ruby
Posted by: Forest Dream Weaver | December 11, 2012 at 11:14 AM
Speechless....I am, taking it all in. I see a lovely little "mornings with Mary" book that needs to be published by you!!!
I'd keep it by my bedside!
Posted by: peggy gatto | December 11, 2012 at 11:14 AM
This is beautiful heartfelt prose. A warm cup of tea on an icy winter day. Thank you.
Posted by: Lisa at Greenbow | December 11, 2012 at 11:32 AM
I often think of the times as a child, teenager, maybe even early 20's when i would wake completely refreshed, 100% repaired and remade, feeling like everything in my young life had been made new with the passing of a night and the light of dawn.. the image a sheer white curtain, waving in soft light smelling of fresh laundry.. maybe i too wait for a return to innocence, healing light..
Posted by: Lenora | December 11, 2012 at 02:20 PM
amazing, astounding, breathtaking, extraordinary, impressive, marvelous, miraculous, spectacular, staggering, startling, striking, stunning, stupefying, stupendous, wonderful, wondrous - YES, this is definitely ALL THAT.
Posted by: annie | December 11, 2012 at 03:29 PM
oh Rebecca, what a gift you have...of story telling from heart to heart.
x..x
Posted by: Stephanie | December 11, 2012 at 03:43 PM
The personal story of how you found Mary in your childhood and your relationship with your brother and the newspapers touched me to the depths. Where was the courtyard that you entered and saw Mary at age 8? Do you still live in that town? All that innocence--before the losses, and difficult times weathered you are heart-rending.
Posted by: Fran aka Redondowriter | December 11, 2012 at 03:53 PM
Rebecca,
I am blown away at the beauty of your tales of childhood awareness and devotion. Your writing is truly wonderous...I eagarly drank it all in, languishing in awe as your story unfolded...relating to some parts and astonished by others...thouroughly enjoying every second...
Posted by: AlterEgoMexicana | December 11, 2012 at 06:14 PM
Pardon my delay in posting today. So much to do to finish up my semester at the community college. Yes, now to breath and take a few moments to read your words of wisdom for today. And to breath, breath, breath.
Posted by: Laurie Zuckerman | December 11, 2012 at 08:53 PM