Joy

Not happiness.
Better.
An All Encompassing Happiness/Glee
Open….
Full….
Total….
Wonder….
Gratitude….

May you feel it daily.

….eldermuse.net….


Joy is returning to my soul, my Being. I can feel her creep back in…. slowly,
yet surely.

One way she manifests is through music.
For months my world was silence, broken by the news, Bill Moyers, Ellen, Mad Men, Rachel Maddow; and regular sister phone calls. For months I was in a pit of limbo. The walking dead.

Slowly, slowly, I began to listen to music: at the computer, in the car. Only a little at a time, cause each song, each piece would remind me of Margaret. I’d cry. Especially when driving, and of course at home. Then I wouldn’t listen to music for awhile again. I knew it would cause me to remember.

But I discovered that I could find NEW music (duh! – I know, why didn’t I think of it sooner?....but... I wasn’t ready, truly) and just listen and enjoy this music which has no intrinsic associations with Margaret. So I found Annie Lennox’s new album and fell in love with her voice; and fell in love again with Tina Turner’s voice; and now Beyonce. She is the new Tina, she sizzles.

I’m now not just listening, but enjoying it too.
I am loving the sound of good music. I was unhearing before.

I was sleeping before, sleeping the Deep Sleep of Renewal,
the pullback, the necessary solitude of the soul.
I was sleeping to the world, to the beauty of Joy.

Daily Thanking

Extend the Thanksgiving holiday daily into your lives.
Give Thanks to the Divine, to the Divine Mystery, to your Higher Self,
for as much as you can.

Certainly for major events: you caught your child as she was about to fall badly;
you missed the two car collision on the freeway by seconds; you passed your enterance exam.

But more so, for the daily, hour by hour things
which work, which go as intended:
the keys found in a pocket; the bread with jam
which doesn't fall jam side down;
the computer which works smoothly
most of the time;
music;
clouds; cell phones.
And all, any people, when they do something good.

These things, large and small, make up our lives.

Be conscious, as often as you're able.

You'll notice, that when we're conscious of the here and now
(taking a nano second to notice),
only then, when we're conscious of what we have,
can we give Thanks.

Create Thanks as part of the consciousness of the good in your life, in the world.

This is what I try to do. I wish this for you. Daily Thanking.

Sister, The One Left

Sister, let’s not fight.
Let not words of bitterness, anger
pass between us.
Know that we love each other and always will.

We meet with friends of our most beloved,
departed middle sister.
We meet monthly, two remaining sisters,
two remaining dear friends, to honor her life.
She brings us together, these four who knew
her best.

Sharing a monthly meal, remembering her smile,
her wit, her politics.
In our monthly gather we see
each others’ near imperceptible changes
and comment on hair, health, a scarf, a pin,
some acknowledgement of love, of being seen.

We ask about the loved ones in our lives, spouses, brothers,
sisters, children. We ask about work, travel, the food.
We toast our lives, her life.
“Happy Birthday!” as glasses tinkle with touch.
“Happy Birthday!” has become our all purpose toast,
coined by a brother whose wit is used to confound others:
Someone always has a birthday, everyday!

The talk always turns to politics, and our sister is
watching and smiling from her place on the other side.
We all agree that things must change,
the insanity of their pay and benefits
while others suffer;
the hatefulness of their words meant to harm.
This is the worst it has ever been, even worse than
the nightmares of 1963 and 1968 and Nixon and Reagan.
This time is worse and God save us from their ignorance.

As we bullet fire our words across the table, my sister, my
sister’s friends, I, interrupt each other;
interject thoughts which can’t wait,
rapid words bursting into the packed din of shared ideas.

And it is always here, at this point, at this apex of our purposeful politicking
that you my sister feels slighted, left behind, unheard,
disrespected; by each, but especially by me.

Our banter winds down, our meal is ended, the next patrons eye our table.
We set another date to meet, next month again,
same time and place.

My sister has something to give me, so we walk to her car and she extracts a bag of her love.
A gift to her youngest sister, her flesh her blood
walking, talking in a separate body.
Always something extra from her home:
some fruit, dish soap, dog treats, a handy container;
something to share, to give, to extend the time, to extend her love.

And always at this time, the other two have long gone,
my sister tells me her hurt;
how she is not heard, not honored, interrupted, by each,
but especially by me.

And always I protest; not true, in fact she is the one who interrupts,
doesn’t let the others, but especially me, finish a sentence.
She vows to stop coming to our monthly meetings to honor our deceased sister.
She vents her hurt at her flesh, her blood, walking, talking in a separate body.
Her words fly, rapid fire, meant to show her hurt, her slight.

We must leave, we are loud in the California parking lot, someone might hear.
We say goodbye, “I’ll see you next week”.
We even kiss, give a slight hug; knowing we would always regret not doing so,
if the worst happens.
She always ends with:
But know that I love you.

And our sister is watching, smiling, silent, from her place on the other side.