Written after my mother passed away on my 60th birthday 1/2/08
I am still a doubter, a non-believer.
though I am faithful, reverent, and believe in a greater reality.
Call that what you will—even God,
but not the one I don’t believe in—
“micro-manager” with a plan for every one of his children.
Wait, that’s me!
Maybe He/She/It is more a Creator of Necessity
providing circumstances meant to raise consciousness
and engender actions based on the Golden Rule.
Also me—enough said!
I’d rather there is nothingness after death—oblivion
preferable to another journey (or a judgement).
I am a coward,
but consider life heroic—just to struggle through.
I don’t believe in prayer
though I pray without ceasing.
I am no longer a romantic or naive,
usually in "ubi sunt" mode, wondering
“Where have all the flowers gone?”
I am waiting to be saved, delivered, handsomely remunerated.
I am a thinker, inspired by great ideas
realizing there is nothing new under the sun.
I wanted to be somebody.
Do you know who I am?
“I am nobody, who are you?”
I have lived long enough, learned enough to be a wise old crone.
I am afraid I only look like one.
I am always giving advice.
I know it is futile.
Thanks for listening with a straight face when I do.
I love humanity.
It’s individuals I want to change and make more like me.
I want to live to see world peace and harmony.
I have not done a thing to make it happen.
I know it will never happen, until the rapture (which I don’t believe in).
I don’t like change, avoid it, grieving over remembrance of things past.
I am a worrier about things that will never happen.
Some of them have happened—
family and friends lost to addiction, accidents, illness, suicide.
I carry the weight of knowing that existing at every moment are:
poverty, pain, injustice, corruption, crime, torture
war and “rumors of war”
infinite and endless suffering.
I have not done a thing to ease it.
I have a hole in my heart—an “ancient injury that will not heal.”
We all have one,
life being a rock and a hard place.
I am fortunate to feel, receive and give love,
sometimes conditionally (just ask my husband).
I am not my parents, who did everything wrong, well not everything.
They did the best they knew how--me too!
I wished never to see my children suffer
the hurt of rejection, separation, disillusionment.
They have and will suffer, being human.
That is how we become human—
the reason we are here.
Pain is consciousness.
Holes in our own hearts create collateral damage
in our children and others.
I wonder how much.
I hope they will forgive us.
I never forgave my parents
that is until my father became a child
and my mother drew her last breath.
Have you forgiven whomever for whatever?
WARNING: futile advice ahead:
Don’t wait until it is too late.
I am grateful for so much—
for LOVE—shared with
my extraordinarily gifted and faithful husband,
though I must escape from time to time or go mad;
for my children and grandchildren: rare gems
good, beautiful, true, creative, loving, caring
brilliant shining stars
to eclipse the dark matter in my heart;
for my exceptional friends
some have already left this world.
My perpetual light shine upon them.
Others remain with me to speak the language of spirit.
“Besides words, allusions and arguments
the heart knows a hundred thousand ways to speak.”
I look forward to the rest of my life,
even if smaller and increasingly unmanageable,
except for LOVE.
What else is there?
Until . . . THE END
(and maybe beyond?)
