Look, See, Be A Warrior

“Warrior” (Photo credit: tiseb)

I’m in a new phase of life, the one that wants me to jump (okay get) out of bed and explore new things, consignment stores, nature, things to put together, photographs that I have taken, blending, coloring, initiating, cooking and baking. New things. What it will turn out to be I do not know but I am excited about having something new to do. I want to explore all new things. It’s been three days, so far so good.I’ve decided to focus on myself. It’s a whole new world out there.

My conscience is my conscience.

I need a new mission other than complaining on this blog. Don’t worry, I’ll still be here, sometimes, but I need to branch out in different directions. Instead of those huge collages I used to make for years to express myself, (they gave me so much happiness)  maybe I need to make them again in a different version of what they were. Smaller? Tighter? In another form?  Or give them as gifts, to brighten someone’s day. Drawing isn’t really my thing although I am proud I tried it, I want to try it now with my non-dominant hand and yes, I am a left-handed.

Color picture (Photo credit: @Doug88888)

I want to learn many new things out of my comfort zone, what’s the fun of staying inside? It’s been established that I can draw within the lines, I want out and not just with the #2 pencils but with bright purples and bold green, dancing red lines and orange oranges. I will dress in only colorful clothing, bright colors, no beige, tan or white (only with a colorful scarf.) I will wear earrings and for the first time, I wore make-up yesterday, oh yes I did. At my advanced age I should have worn make-up for the last 40 years. I thought lipstick counted. I felt great and I know I came off totally differently, with confidence, cheerful. People smiled at me, first.

I’ve had enough of old me, time for new me, it may last, it may not. Just going on to try it on for a little while. Also, I’m going to buy myself a present. Simply because I want to and can and I have saved up money for it. It’s mine, all mine, no thank you notes, no guilt, no, begging, no wish list. I saw it last year but it didn’t feel right to buy it back then. After a grueling seven to eight months of medical hell, I’m celebrating, by myself, for myself.

Tomorrow, a new day in my new life, empowerment, spirituality, more meditation, a light shining down even when it is cloudy, walking, noticing, keeping busy, getting unstuck. Will I make mistakes? Of course, I will go backwards at times. I need to realize it when it happens and accept it but, get up again.

And, I will earn money, someway, somehow. This is my Time.

The Fox And The Wolf

Rainy Golestan National Park (Photo credit: brum d)

I have a friend, a dear friend, a soul sister that I have forged a deep connection with and recently learned she is sick. I fear she is very sick and while I may write and sob, wearing my heart always, on my sleeve, she is calm and accepting and talks about life after death calmly. I am here, a long way from her, this friend I have never even met, and I am crying, my tears flowing down my red cheeks without stopping. I don’t even attempt to dab at the waterfall cascading from my green eyes, I could not keep up. In some way I don’t want to mop up my tears and have a clean face; it just doesn’t feel right.

I try to put on a brave front but she knows me and can see through my pretenses. “You have lost many people and you just don’t want to lose your new friend, your soul sister” she writes to me as if to explain. I put my head in my hands and rock myself while she is trying to comfort me from afar. She is a brave warrior and I feel like a fearful, young, gray mouse yet we coexist in nature. I have learned more from this friend about life and yes, death, than from many people I have known a long time. People can call themselves “best friends” but it’s only a label, an artificial one.

She and I connect, spiritually. She sent me a poem that used in one of her pieces of writing and it turns out to be the same poem (* see below ) I had read at my father’s funeral. It did not surprise me but as wonderful as the poem is, it does not quiet my heart when I miss my dad the most and that, she acknowledges,  is true. I wish I could wrap her up in a cocoon of the softest, silky threads and take care of her, feed her so she will stop losing weight rapidly, sing folk songs deep into the night, looking at the stars and making her tea with tupelo honey.

We have never met, she and I, but we know each other well, like wildlife in nature, harmoniously living together, understanding intuitively what is good, what is bad, a friend, a foe.  I hope to meet her someday soon but even if I don’t and even if she does die, as we all will, I know now, that feeling connected to another person, is worth the sadness that might occur later. For everyone, for everything, give people your heart and appreciate whatever time you have with them. Because, without them you would have been a lesser person, a smaller animal in the beautiful green forest.

Thinking of an anticipated good-bye is downright torture for me, it’s like squeezing blood from my brittle bones, without anesthesia.

*Do not stand at my grave and weep is a poem written in 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye. Although the origin of the poem was disputed until later in her life, Mary Frye’s authorship was confirmed in 1998 after research by Abigail Van Buren, a newspaper columnist.^[1]

Full text

The “definitive version,” as published by The Times and The Sunday Times in Frye’s obituary, 5 November 2004:^[2]

Do not stand at my grave and weep,

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circling flight.

I am the soft star-shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.

dedicated to my friend, with love. she knows who she is.