Ashes and Lent

Chasing Rainbows

I AM FOREVER
CHASING THE DREAMS & RAINBOWS OF YOUTH
WATCHING FOR THAT SPECIAL STAR TO TIE UP WITH

SEARCHING FOR THE PERFECT BOAT

FEELING SECURE WITH MY ‘80s
WHILE STILL IN MY ‘50s

BELIEVING MY PAY CHECK WILL BE THERE
AND AT RETIREMENT, MEDICARE WILL CARE

THINKING I WON’T LOOK LIKE THAT WHEN I AM OLD
AND PURPLE IS A GREAT COLOR

KNOWING I WILL NEVER GO TO THE REST HOME
BECAUSE MY CHILDREN WON’T SEND ME THERE

SAYING CHRONIC PAIN WILL NEVER BE MY DIAGNOSIS
AND MY TOENAILS WILL NEVER BE THICK & YELLOW.

I AM AN OPTIMISTIC STAR GAZER
TREKKER COMET WATCHER
A YELLOW BRICK ROAD WALKER
A PAINTER, SCULPTOR, POET, WRITER
A FLOWER CHILD PEACENIK LOVER
A TIE-DIED HIPPIE BELIEVER
IN THE GOOD OF HUMANS & TOMORROW
THERE ARE NO PROBLEMS & OUTCOMES
ONLY
ISSUES & SOLUTIONS

It is very hard to live with these inner core reality convictions in the ‘90s.

Ash Wednesday

He never fails:
I do.
He is on time:
I’m not.
He never changes:
I waver.
He never loses:
I seldom win.

This leaves me
always
searching for mercy,
trying to change,
needing help,
wanting a new heart.

Mostly
I just need.
All the time
I need.

So I go to Grandfather River,
sit down,
shut up,
and listen.
Because He is faithful,
He speaks,
anyway.
It has taken 58 years to learn to listen.

CHRISTMAS & ASH WEDNESDAY IN TEXAS

Once again it is February and I am looking at the lighted Christmas Tree standing tall in the Stone Room over looking the lake. I do love it so. I am eternally grateful for the miracle of artificial greenery. These trees simply stand, lovely in a room available only for viewing. I do not have to hurriedly pitch it, brittle and molting, into the back yard lest it catch fire. Guests need not worry about their allergies to cedar or pine. Decorated Christmas Trees demand nothing of us after the holidays; nor do they remind us of all the things left undone or still needing to be done in order to properly complete the holidays.

Mother always said, "There is nothing more over than sex and Christmas."
Mama had a way with words.

But here in this home, the Christmas Tree stays complete in the Stone Room without the holiday hassle. I look at the tree late at night when the rest of the world is drowsily living in front of a TV or asleep. Around 5am I turn it on again, just to watch it against the moonlight shimmering on the lake.

Through the years I have began to take the tree down later and later after New Year's Eve; soon becoming an extra month or two with no definite day for dismantling. But now I have decided that Ash Wednesday is a good day to start thinking about my fragile mortality while carefully packing away the treasured ornaments. Each one holds a memory of a person, a place, a vacation, a child, a good year, a bad year, a death, a birth, a divorce, a marriage or a faithful dog. These are good thoughts to have on a day like Ash Wednesday. Reflecting on one's life is what Ash Wednesday is all about.

The Germans gave us the ritual of the tree and Yule log. Bringing the life of the tree and the warmth of the Yule log into the house would help encourage them through the long, lean, cold, dark months of a hard winter. I believe the Russians gave us Santa for the children. The English and French gave us lovely songs for the season. China continues to give us a myriad of decorations shipped around the world on vessels blessed by Buddha. Christmas is truly a world gift telling us to stand back and reflect on the good things in our lives; telling us to be grateful and look with hope toward the future.

May each of our lives continue to be a gift to others and may we each be a gift to ourselves.

Good days and calm nights to you all, Gaylee & Paul: 2006

THE GENTLE TUG OF WAR

Another good family friend has gone on. I know that she needed to,due to pain and futility of living. The facts surrounding her death in no way eases the pain. Nor does it lessen the heart pain inflicted on the one left behind, no matter how much death was a dark gift to her stranded soul.

I watched Ruth go, and fought with the juxtaposition of her release and the desire to hang on to her thread of life: for selfish reasons, yes, of course. But this fist, though somewhat detached from me, was there holding on, just the same. Amazed, I watched my fist hold fast her bluing hand.

She left us anyway, like I knew she had to and would do.

I do not understand death, I just know we need it and do not want it; all at the same time. We all hold the hand of Death and the hand of Life. We are like a child between two parents, pulled in unison by them on the path of their design toward the destiny they planned aeons past.

We take side roads, dips, and curves, and change direction. Our feet skip,and hop, and dangle inches off the dusty Life Road.

We remain securely held between these two strong, persevering shepherds of predestination. But approaching the inevitable stroke of the midnight chime sounded from our internal clock, we meet the end of Life and the beginning of Death toward another future life.

Ashes, Ashes, Ashes, Ashes,
Ashes, Ashes, Ashes, Ashes,
Ashes, Ashes, Ashes, Ashes,

Chimes the New Dawn.
Twelve strokes.
Into eternity we go,
on and on.