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Posts tagged ‘love’

The Magic of Jocelyn

 Jocelyn is my eldest niece. When she first proposed a visit to me in New Mexico I was in shock. Really? You want to visit with me? Spend your whole vacation out West with me? I hesitated, thrilled but also afraid to be happy. I couldn’t quite believe she was reaching out to me and but also I wondered if I could spend so much time in anyone’s company…Since my parents’ deaths, I know opportunities may only happen once. A precious interchange, a smile, a hug, the half hour perched shoulder-to-shoulder on a stoop in the sun is sometimes the only time, the last time. “Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.”  Potentials may seem eternal but, in fact, are finite. Of course I said ‘yes’. As it turned out that my sense of incapability was an unnecessary worry. Time with Jocelyn was a rare kind of magic. Read more

What Really Makes a Daily Practice

Amanda wrote. She had been thinking of me, of Dancemeditation because she wanted to get going on a daily personal practice. This was not the first time she approached me. Her persistence is a good sign.  Many people seek me out expressing anything from an interest to a desperate need for a regular practice. In response, I have organized trainings bursting with techniques to deepen and relax, increase sensorial existence and calm overactive minds. I have made instructional DVDs and online courses to sustain practice at home. As well, I have written extensively about every aspect of practice. Considering this, I briefly wondered if I had done too much, fostering dependence, making the trudge appear more entertaining than it is. This time with Amanda’s request, a wave of clarity washed over me. I had never said the one, most important thing, possibly because it seemed too obvious. I don’t know. But I had not said this one thing… Read more

The End Days

Mary, our hospice nurse/counsellor, helps me feel tranquil about this period with my mother who is in a soft decline. Mom is fragile and may be swept off by a flu or cough or fall from which she cannot recover, or she may hover for months. She will probably sleep more more and then one day not wake. We cannot know. Read more

Confessions Week 3 – Love Later

Here is an excerpt from notes during my April trip to Ravenrock — a turning point away from the past two years of overwhelming crisis and toward a new period. One thing that changed in a quiet yet dramatic fashion was my deepening feelings toward Ric. 

 

Morning Tea
As the wind on the porch is too cold for sitting out, I tuck into the Croft’s window seat for tea. I remember two years ago. I was alone in the Rim Cabin. My alone-ness overwhelmed me. Now I am weaker, less capable, and intimate with helplessness which should make the rigors of Ravenrock fearful,  but I burble with joy.  I acknowledge the dangers. I acknowledge my frailty. Then I gaze out at the dancing Bowers and heart happiness subsumes me. Almost — I say this hesitantly — being anywhere but on an adventure is a waste of my remaining life.

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Internal

From writings about helping my father as he completes his life.

He is more and more internal. Even when awake he is internal. I am more internal. I write less. Say less. Express less. Except to John, the other caregiver. We talk about him, about how we each see him and this part of his journey. These conversations go very deep. We are powerless, cradled in the palm of the Great Power. Read more

Time for Prayers

From writings about helping my father as he completes his life.

He doesn’t decline uniformly like an orchestra on a river boat, the sound floating away and away. He declines in small bits. When was the last time he woke bright-eyed with the life-long look of himself filling his face, stand with grace to full height, and walk in solid, small, careful sailor steps to the mantlepiece to let his fingers savor the smooth wood? Two weeks now…He was remembering, enjoying. I didn’t realize that the last time he did that would be the last time he could do that. Read more

On the Pitching Deck

From writings about helping my father as he completes his life.

Stepping
Getting from one chair to another. Five steps. Pushing down on the arms of the chair, engaging his shaking thighs, standing in a crumple, and inching one foot forward, then the other, grasping a table edge, a doorknob, the stepping stones of the room. He knows every bump and outcropping of furniture and makes his way like an old mariner on a pitching deck. Read more

I Hold Your Dream, You Hold My Dream

When I first returned from the mesa, I saw very little of Ric. He came and went. We were both content with ourselves and loving toward one another, and I felt such pleasure seeing him buoyant and industrious at 57 after years of doing responsible but unfulfilling work, knowing he had found his place in the world. But there was that first evening…It was 10pm. He had departed twelve hours earlier and I hadn’t seen him since, Read more