Kiyotoe

Email me. Apple won't let me email you my way (and isn't that odd?).

robin_vice@yahoo.com.

How glad I am to hear from you.

No other land but this....

Almost a year ago I posted this on the 'quotes' area of my blog, because.... Because I had been left.

You must live in the present, launch yourself on every wave, find your eternity in each moment. Fools stand on their opportunities and look toward another land. There is no other land; there is no other land but this.
--Henry David Thoreau

The heart obviously knew it, but every logical and emotional part of me just wasn't ready. I think that's human nature. I couldn't have 'found my eternity' to save my life, the moment I posted it. But obviously the heart and the spirit had different ideas and quietly introduced us.

I am sorry to acknowledge this, but I'm going to because I think it's important. There isn't a piece of me that could commit suicide, but I remember sitting on my bed in sheer terror, wondering, back then. And as I wondered, I knew it could never happen in that way you just 'KNOW', but I did finally understand how those that have just too much pain might opt for it. I could see how life could somehow be too much to take. That's an understanding I will hold dear.

There have been people who have bolstered me. I sometimes think/thought that comments like "Hang in there.", "Have Faith", "It will improve." was so much fluff, but what else is there to say? Those comments come from either people who have gone through what you have, or those who are afraid to. And when push comes to shove, they mean the best and you're going to survive as you will... knowing they cared for you enough to write something kind is a testament of some wonderful kind.

This morning I went out to my car late for work, got in, looked up, grabbed the camera and shot.


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I suppose I could zoom in and get the pretty image of 'almost' sunrise' but I choose to keep it as I saw it... far away, muted, dusky, rich.



That didn't keep me from hurrying to the wall to grab a closer shot, but the sun was quicker. It was rising whether I was ready or not. I just kept shooting.



There are people who have left my life, and there are people who have arrived late to my party. In that realm there is sadness and wonder. What am I leaving, and what land am I headed for?



A year ago I couldn't imagine this hope.



I'm afraid to imagine, but nonetheless I am still searching, and glad of it.

And that's good.

Morning

I am not a morning person.

As I get older and my ideas change, I wish I were.... but let me state again.... I am not a morning person.

Nonetheless, this week my manager has found it important to have me at work by seven (Yes, that one vehicle in the parking lot... you know, the red pick-up?.... is there simply for a Peace Lily.)

If I'm to be there at seven, I have to be up by 5:15 at the latest. It's dark then. Dark used to mean bright lights and loud music. Now dark means; where's my soda, cigarette's, pants and the dog? Because we have to either walk or play.

At six in the morning we usually walk, and oh, what glorious walks they've been these past two mornings. This morning I just stopped for the sound in the trees. It was so unexpected Meander just stood there with me as I listened.

The birds are coming back and they are feisty. I've never heard them like this before. They are insistent and strident and loud. There is one song I've heard only occasionally, but I come to think it's from a Robin.... singing some weird, "I'm here. Where are you', thing.... but it's so full and liquid in the hearing. There were other songs... many other songs... and when you listened you heard call-backs. All that communication, just in sound.

As we stood and listened I saw the sky over the lake. The sun had a good way to go before cresting, so there were only dusky blue clouds creating a comma in front some clear, pink and lavender sky... far out. Mostly, it was dim.

The thing that I noticed was that as I stood there and took in the sound and the sky and the water, which was only a lazy lapping... I could ( somewhat) hear traffic, but it didn't matter. What I was truly, quietly 'witnessing' as I stood there with Meander, was what the world has always been no matter what we've etched upon it.

You think about what's happened in Japan, close to the sea.... caused in part by the sea. I imagine as people sit amongst the rubble and contemplate, fear and try to realign their future, they hear the birdsong... see the dawning sky. When you are in that much pain and confusion, does the sound and sight of it offer certain solace because it's one thing you know or sorrow because it's something you know that goes on forever without you?

I have reason to think that my life might get better, but I don't think it would matter.

There is wisdom in understanding that every spring the Baltimore Oriole will stop by a park in a northern suburb before going on to his summer home. That the Robins will be everywhere. The that Barn Swallows will be back to our porches, looking for last years home. That Reva might be able to feed her Hummingbirds again.

I might be able to watch the Swallows again, thanks to a friend. I might be able to do many things, but it's sweet to know that in the end, nature will out.

Romero

I sat in the room alone with you and watched as your chest went up and down, up and down as the machine helped you breathe and the drugs helped you forget. Your body shuddered with every breath and heartbeat and I didn't know what that meant, didn't know what anything meant.... Not, the numbers on the monitor, or the backpacks on the floor or the empty space on the dry erase board where it said 'Discharge Date'.

I looked out the window beyond you and watched a man come out on his balcony to smoke. How ironic.

I thought about your wedding at my house, where Keith had made a cross out of branches and entwined it with Orchids. How you and Michael had been so happy. The fact that Sammy was there.

I thought about Christmas' together. How Kevin gave you that ornament she made and you couldn't figure it out.... a tiny red ribbon with.... and we made you say it... a 'jingle bell, jingle bell, jingle bell, rock' on it, in descending order and once you got the joke, you couldn't stop laughing for a good half hour.

You just have to come out of this.

This just has to be one of those times when everything looks dire and dramatic, and they tell you it could go badly at any moment and you listen to the fear in a sister's voice and you worry hour by hour, minute by minute, and then the good news comes.

This just has to be one of those times.