Grief and healing...

Some days it sweeps over me like a surge after the hurricane... the loss. Not because I cried myself to death but the loss of self that occurred before I finally pulled the plug on a life sadly lived.

But it didn't have to be that way, I think...

There is a portrait of me in one of my mother's disorganized shoe boxes: A blonde puppy sitting atypically quiet, droopingly contemplating a spot to curl up in, a chubby hand resting on his back having been posed by the nearby photographer. The tiny teeth of the toddler gleam whitely, sandy blonde hair combed and curled in an unusually ruly manner (there were probably some tears over this fuss), a crinkled nose and ornery twinkle in the eye that held the unspoken threat "I'm only here for a minute, you better take the picture quick."

Having caught the glimmer, it cannot escape the viewer's eye that the little girl has been still-lifed in her natural state. This is the pre-me... the me that knows what she likes and doesn't like (and believe me I KNEW I didn't like many things) and who will reject anything that doesn't meet her standards. Later, hours of solitude and quiet nurture the imagination and reading stirs the vivid mind. There is promise here-- life that has not yet been stymied-- squelched.

Alas, food and clothing were the only battles that were won for the tottler unfortunately. I floundered before I found wing. At what point I began losing that small bud of self, I cannot tell you and the only real evidence that it was tangible and not just a fluke of the shutter are the flashes of the mind and imagination that appear like lightning in a storm then lay dormant over the course of the next few years. But if a moment must be pointed by the pin, then the battering of the soul most likely began with the knowledge of good and evil-- not the day I awoke to find that I'd had my own pandorean moment, but rather the bright Sunday morning I was instructed on Eve's fatal decision and my own culpability in her ancient crime against God.

My Sunday schooling or bible literacy, began before I knew I was a self. My parents and grandparents were regular attendees of the Collinsville Mennonite Brethren Church, the German Church as it was locally known, and our family's arrival at services found us among the bodies to warm the tiny steepled building. I was cradled in the life of the church, nursed by the stories of the Bible and inculcated Christian dogma by women whose familiarity with the ancient text extended little further than Mother Goose… the Bible, of course, having been verbally transmitted, then translated, edited, retranslated, homogenized, and, like Millie, thoroughly modernized in the interim. How anyone can expect a child to hear the story of Adam and Eve in the garden with anything approaching the necessary mental acuity befuddles me even more as an adult than as a rather too gullible youngster. My Sunday school teacher, I recall, seemed never to flinch and possessed even a suspicious note of satisfaction as she recounted the tale of mankind’s fall and the wrath of God poured out on two protohumans. And of course why the teachers, who in most cultures are the personality types who ask questions, accepted the account of creation as literal is another matter altogether.

And how I was included in this momentary lapse on Eve's part is a piece of the story that is as opaque as a fog laden midnight. The Sunday school teacher's cross-examination by the inquiring minds who wanted to know was unsatisfactorily brought to a close leaving the explanation in the vast neverland of "because I said so". So why did God decided to curse all of humanity because of this one woman's failure? Who knows? The burden is there just the same. I, by default of being a human child and even worse, a daughter of Eve, had mightily sinned against God and I was fated to try and correct that wrong for the rest of my days.

This "original sin"- this ontological view of human sin coupled with the unfortunate coupling of my parents was deposited on my shoulders, a checkrein that would have a similar effect as that on the equus in Victorian England. And no less damaging.

I Grieve

It was only one hour ago
It was all so different then
Nothing yet has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
It's just the way that we are tied in
But there's noone home
I grieve...
for you
You leave...
Me
So hard to move on
Still loving what's gone
Said life carries on...
Carries on and on and on...
And on
The news that truly shocks
is the empty, empty page
While the final rattle rocks
Its empty, empty cage...
And I can't handle this
I grieve...
For you
You leave...
Me
Let it out and move on
Missing what's gone
Said life carries on...
I said life carries on and on...
And on
Life carries on in the people I meet
In every one that's out on the street
In all the dogs and cats
In the flies and rats
the rot and the rust
In the ashes and the dust
Life carries on and on and on...
And on
Life carries on and on and on...
Life carries on and on and on...
And on
Life carries on and on and on...
Just the car that we ride in
The home we reside in
The face that we hide in
The way we are tied in
As life carries on and on and on...
And on
Life carries on and on and on...
Did I dream this belief
Or did I believe this dream
How I will find relief
I grieve...

~~Peter Gabriel

A favorite character...

Maurice and I both love Sheriff Cody, but Cody is really Maurice's most favoritist. The only way to describe him is to let him introduce himself...

Sheriff Cody - You the individual shot his vehicle?

Seamus - Yes sir.

Sheriff Cody - Well, there ain't crime against killin' cars, long as your weapon's registered. And it is – I checked. Let me intro myself. I'm Sheriff Cody Jeremiah Jefferson. I'm a direct descendent of Wyatt Earp and the Lone Ranger. My personal heroes are Ted Nugent, Buddah, and Davy Crockett. I am the last real lawman and the first peace officer of the 21st century. Pleased to meet you, sir. You need a friend? I'm your best friend. I teach Tai Chi every morning at the lagoon. Here's my number – you're invited. I'm a triple Leo, but I'm not attached to authority. I'm a part of the flow that started with the Hammurabi Code, worked it's way on down through the U.S. Constitution, on through me, ends with enlightenment or the electric chair. Your choice. But! If you cross over to the dark side of the force I will become Obi-Wan Kenobi. You do damage first offense you will be invited to join my personal re-centering program. You will be doing pushups! You will be running laps and doing Tai Chi with me in the mornings! You will be drinking raw broccoli juice! Right on, Abednigo?

JoJo - That the drink you drink in hell, mon!

Sheriff Cody - That's first offense! Second time is hard time. You'll be practicing your Mantra in a small dark room provided by the U.S. government. I got a 100% conviction rate. The choice is yours. I gotta run. And remember, this force is on you side! Peace!

Splinter

Every once in a while a memory will come crowding in-- unbidden and unwanted. All the more destructive in it's benignity. Seems harmless. Appears innocuous. But it's seeming inoffensiveness is exactly what makes it excruciating. And perhaps equally frustrating is the tip-of-the-pin exploration that is required in order to describe the tapestry with any adequacy.