2.27.15 Really Meaning It

      My doctor turned to the print on the wall, in front of his desk.

      He said to me "Do you see the person in that painting?"

      I turned and looked at it, and said "Yeah."

      I've memorized his print. It’s a solitary figure. You can see their back, as they walk away from you, holding a walking stick in the right hand. It's a quiet scene. An indeterminate scene, with some things you know, like the quiet walk, the life, the day. And so much else you don't’ know. It's a dirt road, leading off into the distance, with huge trees shading the path.

     He said "I don't know that person, but I really like them.”

"That's me.” I said.  And he smiled, nodded his head.

     “I know I cooked my goose “I told him. "I'm just trying to use everything I can, to prevent further damage."

     He’s been going to India annually for years, something that works for him, while he stops messing with insurance like mine, specializing in chronic conditions his patients experience. Providing them with time. Patience. Measured holistic tools. Empathy. Support. Seeing him is like seeing a different species than normal doctors. I know at some point he’ll retire, the wise person he is, so I relish the times I see him, checking in.

     He tells me how cool my protocol is for the condition I have now; that he’s going to add some of it to his. He tells me how great it would be if each patient had a printed format of what they are doing and taking for their health, and a printed summary. “Just the way I roll” I joke.

     But it is. I need to organize; to have a good snapshot in my mind, both of what I am doing to address health, and the progress.

     “Yeah. Well. ”, I reply, with a smile. “Its hard. Really hard. So I just keep practicing. Being in the moment. Accepting what my life is. What else is there? It’s way harder to sink, than to swim.  It simply is what it is.”

     "I like that you're doing everything you can with your lifestyle.  " He said. “It's the most powerful thing. That, and the awareness you bring to it.”

     I thank him, really meaning it. The acknowledgement. The perusal of what I’m doing, to ensure I’m responsible, while avoiding medications, using holistic tools.

      I mean it, leaving his waiting room, emerging into the freezing cold day.

     Banking up knowing him, for the day when he will be off, no longer in practice, living the very same way.

2.27.15 Something primordial sits up and takes note of the light

      Almost March. Not that March doesn't hold freezing days, snow and ice. Still, all the creatures and live things know the light is changing. The late afternoon sun, low across the land, catches our eye and our notice, as something primordial sits up and takes note of the shift.

      Birds still struggle for enough food to offset the cold temperatures that require so much protein, but are beginning to notice each other, as in, soon to be romping about, with your partner in that spring-enhanced urge, or hooking up with someone that suits your fancy, for procreation, babies, and then, so long.   

 High overhead, I caught sight of an Eagle a few days ago, soaring with not so much as a movement of wing.  I imagined the life; the viewpoint.

     Early this morning, as I stepped out replete with  slippers and pajamas, polar fleece zipped up high, the dogs puttered about, and I took in the untouched beauty of the snow upon the meadows. 

     The sunlight breaking over the mountain range, spilling across the shadowed snows below. 

     The glistening of snowflakes, iridescent in late winter's repose. 

    

      As shut down Mountain Laurel slowly feeds it's buds. 

     As the Sparrows exit the bird houses, and have a chat, waiting for the second serving of bird seed, having risen at dawn to obliterate what was put out last night. 

     As the doves flutter down, safety in numbers, to fill their bellies, as they begin the dance of mating time that is approaching. 

     As crows and coyote know to just hang on, relieved by intermittent warmer days,

      watching the light that tells us a seasonal reprieve is now approaching. 

2.26.15 Tidy, tiny lives lived alone in avoidance of the messy

     We humans can really be so odd; lacking such foresight, while grappling with what path we’re on.

     So often we lose sight entirely of the relationships or events that will come to a close, if we persist in avoiding them this time; then this time, then this,

     Never fully understanding that each choice, each day, of unconnectedness leads us further from the possibility in the future.

     And so we wander along, dingwats, creating what we shall walk into without even realizing it. Without pausing to come to consciousness at the consequence of our choice.

     In this way, relationships fade. They deteriorate. The ‘oh, not quite right’ or the ‘just too hard’ becomes the terrain of the careful aware choices we have made, to no longer go to that place, or connect with that person, because truly it does not fit.

     How we create our own future of what does fit is another thing, and a tawdry one, often.

     Because we search for that which is enlivening, or gratifying. That which acknowledges what we wish to include in our perception. I wonder if any time in history has held groups of humans with such self-centric views of what they most want to spend their time doing, and with whom.

     Tiny circles, we are creating, of tiny experiences, with those who are most like us, or who favor looking only at that which we are most comfortable, and naught else.

     Tidy, tiny lives lived alone in avoidance of the messy, the noisy, the inconvenient, or the erasable.

     And then the moment for knowing others moves, the window closes.

     When we look back, waiting for the entreaties to continue, unsubdued; for the messages and the reaching out to fall short of our own self, turned away, why there is no more.

     We awaken, surprised, wondering where the yearning ones went. Only to find possibility fled; slammed shut, the invitation gone, for good.

2.26.15 Around it goes, over and over, with or without us.

Last summer feels so long ago; so far away, to us now. 

Here, in the midst of -16 at times, of voracious birds and obscuring snowbanks. 

Chugging furnaces and Jack Frost filled windows; here lie the seeds of verdant summer days, so heavy and wet, we can hardly step, eat, sleep. 

Around it goes, over and over, with or without us.

 As the Connecticut melts a bit, the ducks and geese gather, 

and we turn toward looming March.

2.25.15 Unrepentant Into The Light

Winter illuminates

that which would not

be seen, heard

Steam billows from 

pipes , chimneys; the 

mesmerizing  dance now 

white against the  sky

A dove caught by a

young hawk, the patterns of large

wing tips as intricate as fingers 

pressing their lineage 

down into snow  , the blood 

crimson against glistening white

The tracks of the coyote, of the

weasel revealed , or the

moment an owl 

captured this mouse 

it’s exuberant error made

skittering across  the

snow late last night

Here, in your own days there is

much remains unseen, until a

flu brings you down or a

cold night kicks over your furnace

And then, suddenly, so much is

dragged unrepentant into the light







                                                                                                                    T 2.25.15