The Ones Left Behind
We go on living.
We decide slowly, gradually, painfully,
To not give in to despair.
To trust again
That the ones left alive
Will continue to be there
While I am still here.
These friends and family provide
Precious history; balance to the
Chasm of loss.
They allow me to tip the scales to again embrace life.
The ones left. Ahead. Not behind.
They are my future.
(I wrote this July 19, 2008)
October 27, 2008
Release into the Almighty
Release into the Almighty
I allow myself to fully release into the
existence of God, the Almighty,
twice daily, while taking my walks.
For at least a third of the time,
a precious ten or so minutes, twice daily
I am fully at One with the Almighty.
I give myself up to Her sky, Her smell,
Her morning, a new day,
Her stars and moon, visible in Her pink twilight.
I feel God's love and caring and subtle embrace.
I feel sweet, sweetness pervade me.
Love and sweetness.
I pledge then that I am ready to become One.
To give up any and all future bodies. To be One
With You and All.
When I am taken Home.
Until that time, I want to impact with good.
With each step of my twice daily walks, I say
a syllable of the Five Holy Names of God, in Sanskrit.
Often, I'll get caught in the five syllables of the First Name.
I'll repeat this First Name as if it were the Only One.
And why shouldn't She be?
She is the First, the Last and all things made conscious
or which have consciousness residing in yours'.
As with the beautiful beach stone,
Which delighted your eyes, your senses
With its color, shape, imagined form.
Then picked up by you. Washed of sand in the ocean,
Brought home, and lovingly placed on a bookshelf.
Later, when held, looked at, remembered, it is loved by you.
Your love, your consciousness allows
the God in the stone to come out. To affect your heart.
To love back.
To show Herself again to you.
May all things, all souls, get this chance
at least once.
I allow myself to fully release into the
existence of God, the Almighty,
twice daily, while taking my walks.
For at least a third of the time,
a precious ten or so minutes, twice daily
I am fully at One with the Almighty.
I give myself up to Her sky, Her smell,
Her morning, a new day,
Her stars and moon, visible in Her pink twilight.
I feel God's love and caring and subtle embrace.
I feel sweet, sweetness pervade me.
Love and sweetness.
I pledge then that I am ready to become One.
To give up any and all future bodies. To be One
With You and All.
When I am taken Home.
Until that time, I want to impact with good.
With each step of my twice daily walks, I say
a syllable of the Five Holy Names of God, in Sanskrit.
Often, I'll get caught in the five syllables of the First Name.
I'll repeat this First Name as if it were the Only One.
And why shouldn't She be?
She is the First, the Last and all things made conscious
or which have consciousness residing in yours'.
As with the beautiful beach stone,
Which delighted your eyes, your senses
With its color, shape, imagined form.
Then picked up by you. Washed of sand in the ocean,
Brought home, and lovingly placed on a bookshelf.
Later, when held, looked at, remembered, it is loved by you.
Your love, your consciousness allows
the God in the stone to come out. To affect your heart.
To love back.
To show Herself again to you.
May all things, all souls, get this chance
at least once.
October 13, 2008
The Smell of Death
The Smell of Death
Acrid. Foul. Pungent. Just plain Nasty.
Death smells like cigarette smoke.
Lexi tried to hide the smell of her husband's and mother-in-law's smoke.
She bought scores of Irish Spring and Dove soap bars. She placed them in her clothes, in the hallway linen closet, in her bedroom closets, everywhere she could think to mask the offense.
Going through her clothes after her death, the cigarette smoke smell clung to each piece; undeterred by her efforts to neutralize its impact.
Her primary lung cancer was partially from her own smoking years ago, from her late teens to her late 30's. Her own twenty years of inhaling death was contributory. But the cancer really hit because she lived with second hand smoke and stress. Stress of having to house your divorced husband to help pay the bills. Stress from living with a mother-in-law who disregards and dismisses you. Stress from a son who became psychotic and savaged his wife and family. Stress of knowing that she will never be able to retire; her mortgage and bills will require her to work into very old age. And her lung cancer came after being a five year breast cancer survivor.
Walking tonight with Reilley, I smelled cigarette smoke, and felt immediately offended. Invaded.
As I feel when confronted with an "air purifier", those ubiquitious, cheap attempts to cover up normal human odors.
I have been invaded by Death for three plus years; I know how it smells.
It permeates the cells, creating a constant sense of being dragged through Hell. Acrid.
It takes away pleasure. Foul.
It takes away caring, about anything. Pungent.
It made me long for my own death. Just plain nasty.
Acrid. Foul. Pungent. Just plain Nasty.
Death smells like cigarette smoke.
Lexi tried to hide the smell of her husband's and mother-in-law's smoke.
She bought scores of Irish Spring and Dove soap bars. She placed them in her clothes, in the hallway linen closet, in her bedroom closets, everywhere she could think to mask the offense.
Going through her clothes after her death, the cigarette smoke smell clung to each piece; undeterred by her efforts to neutralize its impact.
Her primary lung cancer was partially from her own smoking years ago, from her late teens to her late 30's. Her own twenty years of inhaling death was contributory. But the cancer really hit because she lived with second hand smoke and stress. Stress of having to house your divorced husband to help pay the bills. Stress from living with a mother-in-law who disregards and dismisses you. Stress from a son who became psychotic and savaged his wife and family. Stress of knowing that she will never be able to retire; her mortgage and bills will require her to work into very old age. And her lung cancer came after being a five year breast cancer survivor.
Walking tonight with Reilley, I smelled cigarette smoke, and felt immediately offended. Invaded.
As I feel when confronted with an "air purifier", those ubiquitious, cheap attempts to cover up normal human odors.
I have been invaded by Death for three plus years; I know how it smells.
It permeates the cells, creating a constant sense of being dragged through Hell. Acrid.
It takes away pleasure. Foul.
It takes away caring, about anything. Pungent.
It made me long for my own death. Just plain nasty.
Joe Six Pack
Sarah lauds this Joe Six Pack. He has become the Repuglican symbol for American Freedom.
He is the embodiment of a lifestyle carefully crafted and wooed by the Titans of American Corporations.
Joe is the the driver of the Chevy Silverado/Ford F-150, 18 mpg trucks (maybe even a Hummer); the guzzler of Fast Food; the football fanatic; the one pound plus steak griller and eater; the one who drinks sugared Coke/Pepsi and RedBulls; the Independent One who "lives the American Dream". He is in his mid 30's to mid 40's; has become overweight, if not obese, after teen years playing sports and downing far too many burgers, cokes and fries. He has mild to moderate high blood pressure and is pre-diabetic. He will need the pharmaceutical drugs for impotence very soon, if he's not already using them. And if he's drinking a 6 pack a day, he's an alcoholic.
He is the epitome of a Repuglican campaign which supports a lifestyle of excess and ignorance.
A lifestyle which has impoverished its citizens and keeps us trapped in sub-prime health and earlier death and disease for our children. He is certainly NOT the sort of American who we should attempt to emulate.
He is the embodiment of a lifestyle carefully crafted and wooed by the Titans of American Corporations.
Joe is the the driver of the Chevy Silverado/Ford F-150, 18 mpg trucks (maybe even a Hummer); the guzzler of Fast Food; the football fanatic; the one pound plus steak griller and eater; the one who drinks sugared Coke/Pepsi and RedBulls; the Independent One who "lives the American Dream". He is in his mid 30's to mid 40's; has become overweight, if not obese, after teen years playing sports and downing far too many burgers, cokes and fries. He has mild to moderate high blood pressure and is pre-diabetic. He will need the pharmaceutical drugs for impotence very soon, if he's not already using them. And if he's drinking a 6 pack a day, he's an alcoholic.
He is the epitome of a Repuglican campaign which supports a lifestyle of excess and ignorance.
A lifestyle which has impoverished its citizens and keeps us trapped in sub-prime health and earlier death and disease for our children. He is certainly NOT the sort of American who we should attempt to emulate.
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