Time ticks away,
like a stopwatch,
tick, tick, tick—
until the end is made clear.
Precious like the gold watch,
marking the end of a career,
or possibly a sturdy Timex
that does the job well,
without a thought or a care.
The beat of time is steady,
as it ticks on in our awe,
or with our fear, marking grief
for our loss before it is near.
It is said, “Time marches on.”
The body knows this to be true,
while spirit dances free,
released from the beat,
the measured cadence,
of tick, tock, tick.
“The only reason for time is so that everything doesn’t happen at once.”
Albert Einstein
“Don’t worry about the world coming to an end today. It is already tomorrow in Australia.”
Charles Schultz
“What then is time? If no one asks me, I know what it is. If I wish to explain it to him who asks, I do not know.”
St. Augustine
For Ongoing Resource List: Reading for Heart and Mind
Each Sunday I write a poem or prose inspired by the sacred found in the ordinary during the week.
Today, the sacred is found in the moments watching my husband’s heart beating, pumping, with blood flowing, as the radiologist studies closely to find any abnormalities hidden in the ordinary beating of his heart—that which is extraordinary.
Valves opening and closing in a pulsing rhythm, on and on in each moment, each day. Through all manner of heartache, heart opening, shock, joy, grief, and peace, his heart is relied upon to simply beat.
Then the doctor shows me what he has found; a tiny hole, there from birth, has allowed a blood clot to flow through. For 75 years this hole sat silent, unobserved, hidden in the steady pump of life, until today.
Now we know. With all symptoms of this small stroke relieved, we go home with hearts pumping in gratitude.
Perfection is within imperfection. Joy found in heartache. Calm found in chaos. A heart beating, even now, with a hole hidden, deep within.
“I believe every human has a finite number of heartbeats. I don’t intend to waste any of mine.”
Neil Armstrong
The goal of life is to make your heartbeat match the beat of the universe, to match your nature with Nature.”
Joseph Campbell
“Everything can change in a heartbeat.”
Travis Pastrana
For Ongoing Resource List: Reading for Heart and Mind
I hope this finds you well in this fast moving time. I write today to give you the story of the ups and downs of my book publishing journey.
The process of compiling poems and art for a book started out like the 8-year-old me riding my bike downhill, enjoying the breeze in my hair, feeling like I could even let go of the handlebars and stretch out my arms; suddenly, I find I am going uphill— then up some more. Will this never end? I panicked last week, and a few tears fell with a stranger, on the other end of an email, who was simply trying to design and format my book, as I began to second guess my book printing decisions.
But first, back to the beginning: Digging through my poems and deciding which of my beauties are good enough to go into a book was fun, but it also brought a great deal of loud noise into my head—screaming all the should and should not’s that want to sabotage any new idea. I made my way around the noise and started to put my gems in order, initiated revisions, and cleaned up punctuation. I researched heavily, how to publish a book, and decided to hire an editor— the all-time best decision I made for this project. I chose her for a variety of reasons, but being a former English teacher moved her right up to the top of the list.
Her name is Sage. She took the entire manuscript, sharpened her metaphorical red pencil, and went to work leaving bold marks in the tiniest of spaces. As I was now biking back up hill, I cried out, “I don’t even know how to write a sentence.” You might have thought I would slink out of class with a D, but I didn’t; it turned out to be a fun and educating process. I enjoyed my writing buddy for a couple of weeks as our emails flew back and forth with laughter, encouragement, and suggestions. Then, dusting off her hands, Sage was done; she cleaned out her desk and went home—as she should; I was left on my own to step forward and figure it out.
Then I found Dave (the one on the other end of my email breakdown and my equally best decision) to help me create the cover and design the interior. I rode downhill again as he took my ideas, arranged them, and artfully brought all the elements together with his own flair. The cover, back, and spine were born, and I delighted in them.
Now we are uphill again, maybe the steepest so far, with me feeling, in various moments, like I will not reach the summit. “Whose great idea was it to write a book?” “I made a mistake.” “This is more than I can handle.” “I don’t know what I am doing.” This last one being the most trueful statement. Every little task is monumental in my beginner’s mind. I can’t say I am going downhill yet, but I keep taking in information that will inform me as to when I am ready; and, for a bit, I might just ride on flat terrain.
I know I have more hills to climb but I will write of them another time. For now, I feel grateful for the journey—even as hard as it, at times, presents itself. Even through all the losses and the changes this year has brought us, I find momentum.
Each morning, the news feed stuns me:
images, pain, apprehension—
helplessness in the face of atrocities.
Each morning calls forth:
support, humanitarian aid, food, medical care.
Each morning:
directs me toward the depths of humanity—
that which links us all.
Each morning, I sit in quiet and remember:
go within, anchor in, seek the calm still point,
believe in the sacred seed—within each living thing.
Each morning, I awaken to wonder:
what will be next?
This morning:
I watch the yellow finch,
sip my tea,
sit in my sacred space.
This morning, as the unthinkable looms:
I remember, remember, and remember—
the source, the beauty, and the bounty of this,
our one amazing world.
(reworked poem from March 2022)
“Each one has to find his peace from within. And peace to be real must be unaffected by outside circumstances.”
Mahatma Gandhi
“There is peace even in the storm”
Vincent Van Gogh, The Letters of Vincent Van Gogh
“When I’m in turmoil, when I can’t think, when I’m exhausted and afraid and feeling very, very alone, I go for walks.”
Jim Butcher, Storm Front
For Ongoing Resource List: Reading for Heart and Mind
I feel fascinated by endings that arrive with a multitude of announcement styles leaving us witnessing the crack, the break, the dissolution, or one found within a final breath.
An ending might appear as gently as the period that ends this sentence; it is simply complete, leaving no emotion, question, or further thought.
It might come with one or more question marks: Now? Why? When? Are you kidding????
Or maybe an exclamation with excitement, surprise, or one that is severe and feels like an explosion. Yay, I am done!!! We are finished! or, Today, war is declared!
The end might come like a short story with the announcement of an impending death as we move through, with anticipation, to absorb as much as we are able in a short time, to long for more as the end appears, and to feel the shock of loss as we witness the final whisper of a phrase.
An end might be felt as if it is the end of a saga with a list following a colon. One that we know is coming but takes many chapters to bring us fully to the finale which holds a multitude of emotions: exhaustion, relief, memory, tears, laughter, confusion, and finally, hopefully, a feeling of satisfaction in that all was done, all love expressed.
The end might arrive unannounced, found in a phone call giving information, yet hits the target with a larger font in big bold black letters: THIS DOOR WILL BE CLOSING.
If every beginning holds an ending and every ending holds a beginning, maybe an ending is never really an ending but the birthing of a conversation that lives on in memory, story, reliving, reenactment, or the way we take it apart to more fully understand, conclude, savor, or bring forward, as we learn to live or to act in a new and different way.
With these thoughts, I now say, “The end.”
“Life is like a movie, write your own ending. Keep believing, keep pretending.”
Jim Henson
“The end of THE END is the best place to begin THE END, because if you read THE END from the beginning of the beginning of THE END to the end of the end of THE END, you will arrive at the end.”
Lemon Snicket, The End
“It is always important to know when something has reached its end. Closing circles, shutting doors, finishing chapters, it doesn’t matter what we call it; what matters is to leave in the past those moments in life that are over.”
Paulo Coelho, The Zahir
For Ongoing Reading List: Reading for Heart and Mind
How did I end up compiling a book of my art and poetry at this time in my life?
My summer art and poetry exhibition were well received with many requests from longtime supporters, as well as people I was meeting for the first time, for me to create a book that could be kept in hand to ponder the poetry and the art at leisure. I decided to follow the lead and I began a journey into learning what it takes to self-publish a book, besides, well, writing the book. (More on that wild ride another time.)
I was into a deep research dive when my sister-in-law, Cynthia, was diagnosed with terminal glioblastoma brain cancer and given possibly three months to live. This news numbed my brain while I tried to absorb what this meant for my 61-year-old sister-in-law with new grandbabies to hold and to love, my brother and my nephews who were trying to understand and accept this reality, and all of us who loved and cared for her.
A couple of summers ago at Cynthia and Bill’s cabin, after she and I returned from a robust kayak journey, Cynthia strongly suggested that I write a book about my El Camino experience from 2017. I gave the idea serious thought, but Covid hit, art became my life, and it went on the back burner. Now, it turns out the poetry and art book captured my imagination. As I write and edit, I still see Cynthia at the cabin and hear her speak to me of her vision and her belief in my ability to write. I now draw on that vision to give me momentum.
We all have people in our lives who hold up a mirror for us to better see ourselves. People who have looked upon us and have seen what we have not, or what we have held with uncertainty or even fear. Cynthia, a writer of short stories she hoped to publish, left us after a short two and a half months, but she still reminds me to speak up in support—naming what I see in another’s potential, in a loving and caring way. Is there someone who has influenced you in a way that you did not expect? I would love to hear from you.
The El Camino story is still cooking—gaining steam, making some bubbles.
I see you, deer,
outside the window,
resting on fallen leaves
between the wooden fence rails
and the blue spruce. You appear peaceful
and content, while not twenty feet away
your son or daughter nestles under the apple tree.
How sweet you look in repose,
like the rambunctious toddler
who wreaks havoc when awake,
yet when asleep melts my heart
and I want to give soft kisses,
and think only loving thoughts.
With the view of you, my shoulders release,
I breathe softly. I prepare dinner,
eat, then linger at the table and
relish your presence as you watch over us.
When you are ready, you rise,
wait for your young one,
glance back at the house,
and walk away toward the river.
I thank you for your gentle visit.
Peace—in this moment—
so easy and uncomplicated.
“It is not enough to win a war; it is more important to organize the peace.”
Aristotle
“You find peace not by rearranging the circumstances of your life, but by realizing who you are at the deepest level.”
Eckhart Tolle
“World peace must develop from inner peace. Peace is not just mere absence of violence. Peace is, I think, the manifestation of human compassion.”
He came to see me
after the death
and the days then months
attempting to rebuild what was
to be both she and he
for the little one who longed for just one
as the blocks placed one atop another
crash down to the floor
then stacked and restacked
a life that could no longer be
until he forgot himself
could not sit nor play
with the boy he loved
and lost the sleep longed for
to ease the pain felt in a heart
that ached to open to peace
and being in change
that can’t be contained or
reversed only built upon
as he lives into
being carried and opened
then transformed
as he and his son
walk hand in hand
into a new day.
“The song is ended but the melody lingers on.”
Irving Berlin
“No one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear.”
C. S. Lewis
“You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present.”
Jan Gildwell
For Ongoing Resource List: Reading for Heart and Mind
It is said, “It will last a lifetime!”
“How long is that?” I ask.
Is it the 97 years my mother-in-law
expressed her gratitude’s?
Is it the 7 days my daughter graced
us with her existence?
Maybe the 2 weeks a mosquito
became a pest?
Or the 24-hour life of a mayfly?
Existence—not infinity but arbitrary.
A question of quantity or quality?
Between the intake of breath
to our last expiration, we count days, months,
then years; yet truly, they are breaths.
In each moment, we live a lifetime,
not knowing if we gain one more inhalation,
one more moment to love what we see,
who we are, whom we touch, the
sun kissing our skin, or the colors of a fall tree.
We take it all in; we breathe it out.
One breath, one breath, one holy precious breath. In memory of my bonus sister Cynthia and my Aunt Pat, who within these last three weeks, each breathed a final breath, leaving a world and loved ones held close to their hearts.
“the tired sunsets and the tired people – it takes a lifetime to die and no time at all.”
Charles Bukowski
“It’s not that we have little time, but more that we waste a good deal of it.”
Seneca
…Enjoy this precious single breath, for the harvest of our whole lives is that same one breath.”
Omar Khayyám, Quatrains-Ballades
For Ongoing Resource List: Reading for Heart and Mind
Who am I now?
he inquires of the image—
the me that is not me,
without you,
reflecting
lines of loss as identifiable
as a fingerprint.
In unfamiliar land
he explores, tastes,
tries on identities,
see what fits—
foreign to himself,
a shadow of what was.
Visions arise of what could be.
Body, mind, and heart
tired and worn,
he sees the we
now past.
The future is I.
Who am I now?
“Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. …live in the question.”
Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what’s going to happen next. Delicious Ambiguity.”
