So there could be decades more to do..

A question I ask today is, is this day a cross road or just a new day?  It has rained hard; forcefully at times.   The water pumped off the yet to be opened pool has been replaced with this rain water.  The dog still awaits his walk. The pills scheduled for 4 PM just gets popped into my system 4 hours late.  I have been picking at to do’s refining language and pictures.  I have taken steps to engage in a new endeavor.  It could be transforming.  In the background there is a story playing on the TV that I edited.  It is one in which I take some pride. 

I have connected to some 30 years back a few times today… I had imaged being in so different place now, back then.  For an extended time I have deluded myself with thoughts that I did not have expectations and plans; but I did. I never intended to leave the city.  I expected to have lots of kids and long term relations; to remain physically vibrant and creative. I expected to run for a government office at the state level like Joan H under the mentorship of Irv S.  I was a deacon in my church, a community leader, a foster mom. I was a solid performer in the work place.  But I made one choice both preclusive and precursory about an expected lifetime partnership – that was poor.  I still fail to trust my choices because of this one; however, the best in life thus far is a product of that choice.

I occasionally search to see if he is dead yet. If I find evidence how will I feel?  There were rumors a few years back that it was imminent but I find no evidence of his demise.  It is like closure will not come until he is truly gone. In 2008 his mother passed.  I did comment on the public registry: When memory fails to be a constant reminder of small joys,...  Few others posted comments. They could be counted on one hand. Yet she had been a community matriarch of sorts. I found this fact of so few condolences and stories disturbing.  Did the secrets in her life obliterate much of the essence of her life? Her obituary was an obfuscation stating what would be best in a public statement of a women who was the Nursery School matron of a quaint CT town Above all, she was a devoted wife, mother and grandmother. Contributions were to go to Alzheimer's Association. I remember wondering then and again now if losing touch with the secrets was indeed a release from a purgatory on earth. Am I like her dabbling in words & pictures of distraction.  She created worlds of wonder for 3 and 4 year olds day after day for decades. She did it long into her years but I can not give a breadth of time to the absence of this distraction in her life. It must have been numbing. I do not want this. 

In 110 days I will be 60. Is that old? At one time it was ancient. It might not even be.
Tomorrow I will drive always a risk to my life and others.  I will try to stay open to possibility and create more distance from the secrets that collapsed my confidence and early dreams of having some good effect on the world.  There was a book to write as well. It had a name. Kindle. It had a premise of pass it on. It is now a common technology object and the pseudonym I was to write under is now a popular singer's name.  Nothing is as it seemed possible to be then; so I avoid imagining so as not to be disappointed.  This seems wrong; but inertia wins most often.

As Blue plays; today's random connections to faith

All I really want to do is bring out the best....the road travelled in the pursuit of faith or social networks ... starts with a white New England church on the river.  Here I put poems in the collection basket because it was what I valued and the best I had to give. I imagined that counting of money might be more enchanting with notes of promise. I do not have copies of these offerings. Fitting as they would not be gifts if I kept them.  I wanted the words to be like Joni's ... simple in their universality. I scribbled about the powers of water, the mysteries of gravestones and the wonder of light coming through colored glass, bespeaking more of distraction than talent. Once a month I got to reflect on the blood of the lamb; or the marketing of Welches.

A decade later I was the counter of monies and I wistfully wished for a note of promises but the congregation was thin on youthfulness and numbers in general.  The mysteries were more around the out-of-the box use of the building for non-traditional worshipers: the LBG Community of New Haven and Koreans. 

I do have a great fondness for my time in this community. When I was a new mom; they rallied helping my 1st 10 days to be full of comfort and friendship.  I was the biggest fan of this gathering of strangers that shared pot luck and some need for heaven.  The organ player, a lonely gay man, was like a hero on Sunday mornings taking all our spirits to a place of communion with his music. It was a piece of heaven ... this loose but remarkable connection to human kind.

Today was Same Day Sunday .... the preparation of local Sunday Services for digital sharing for those house bound or not willing to submit to the suffocating heat. Sometimes I want to share the blood; sometimes illusions comfort but on the River, I choose to skate away.  Like Holiday music the air fills sweetly for a season and promises to return again about the same time next year.

... a concept that is on my heart

Creation was written in 1993 (20 years ago). My life was in a tornado then: destruction yet to be in full view. My personal journal into which this was scribbled was an exploration of Mercy. Others encouraged me to look to God for transformation of self. Ironically I was not able to take communion where I kneeled with them to worship. I later became uncomfortable with the use of "He" in this poem but I saw it comforted others and I could not otherwise label the source of creation in a way that was satisfying to me.  It remains a testimony to the wonders of our universe and my most treasured gift: Motherhood. I visit it here in times of need to be open to the unknown.

Jupiter, Venus and Mercury after buckets of rain

We create our own mythology...of this I have no doubt. Mine is imbued with rain...just missed or mist, gentle, hard or driving, devastating or cleansing. The mud is still tracking from the most recent buckets. No final assessment on its impact as either good, or not so. In the mix Joni, Gatsby, veterans, rainbow colors in glass and confetti a.k.a. myth, hope, sacrifice and fads & fakes: my own Chelsea Morning remix with a curtain opening on the question of the day: Will he stay?

Last night as I looked up in the sky I did see a pleasing arrays of light or dots against darkness but nothing more informs my gaze up at the alignment of Jupiter, Venus and Mercury. They will not have this dance again until 2040. It is my only dance with such a moment. I wonder if it has consequences beyond my understanding?   We are connected to much over which we have no control but does this stuff have any control over us? Why does our species look to the heavens?  On this night a young friends dog jumped to his death from an urban rooftop.  Did it have some knowing that propelled it?  Is there value in questions? Do answers ever satisfy?

I am not inspired to write at the moment but I did not want to miss sharing the richness of receiving and reading Joni: The Creative Odyssey of Joni Mitchell, by Postmedia journalist Katherine Monk. Similarly going to the movies with knowing companions to re-experience God's Eyes in the film version of The Great Gatsby. All this is imbued with a sense that somehow crossroads have been set in motion. Ironically I looked for Clouds in the Goodwill Record bin to no avail but amidst the vinyl there were things that I can say "I know that I miss you, but I don't know where ...." moments connecting like clouds across time.

We can only look behind from where we came and go round and round in the circle game....