Another Spring

Lord, let there be more springs,
Sun warmed air and sharp, clean scents.
Birds aerial dancing, mating rituals,
Building nests to hold new life.

Bees make me smile,
Fuzzy honey stumbling flight,
Furry bodies unknowing,
The technical impossibility of flight.

I breathe in peace, I breathe in life,
Each precious breath a quiet content,
Affirming life goes on.

The weaving of light

Words tumble from the air,
My hands reach out to hold,
To weave a weft of light,
And love and laughter,
Patterns bright with joy.

To go beyond

To go beyond
Interior landscape
Unfamiliar formation
Jagged, barren emotion
Shared with only those
Who journeyed before.
A shadowland straddling
Life and death,
Bereft, stripped bare,
Naked and yet clothed
In the sack cloth and ashes
Of suffering.

I do not want to leave,
My story half-told,
Many unknown twists and turns,
So much beauty to be lived.

I miss you, Mum.

I miss you, Mum,
And yet,
Would not have you back,
The pain shadowed wraith,
Moving into death.

I miss you Mum,
Your soft and gentle voice,
The way you held me close,
Safe in your embrace,
Daring death to take you, not me.

I miss you, Mum,
Who never missed a concert,
Play or recitation,
As though I was the only one,
Not lost amongst the ten.

I miss your quiet beauty,
The radiance of your face,
Never knowing your allure,
The heads you turned.

I miss the music of your voice,
The rich emotions pouring out,
Wrapping all who heard
Cocooned in loving comfort.

I miss your hand in mine,
As I waited to hear,
If I would live or die,
On that hideous day.

I miss you and I love you,
I carry you inside my heart,
You who taught me how to love,
Beloved mother, forever mine.

Broken Wings

Broken winged
The eagle lies
Trapped within a form
Intended for free flight.

Broken winged
The soul rises
On eternal wings
Soaring to infinity.

My broken wings
Are of the body
And like the eagle,
My soul flies free.

In loving memory of my friend Stephen.

Stephen was the grand dramatic passion of my life, the blood on fire, heart slashed open, operatic aria of a relationship. It was brief, passionate, young, tender and its ending was devastating to an inexperienced and open hearted twenty year old. We went our separate ways and in time I found my deep and gentle love, the man I knew almost instantly would be my forever love. Twenty five years on and we are still together.

I often thought of Stephen, occasionally hearing from mutual friends what his latest life and love adventures were. Eventually I heard he had married and moved to Australia. We both had a son and there our paths diverged. My marriage stayed steady in the storms of life but his ended with his wife's chronic alcoholism and neglect of their child. He was given full custody and raised the boy on his own.

It is a strange synchronicity but some thirty years later literally days after I took part in a Huna based ritual of cutting residual connections to people from my past, which included Stephen, I received an email from him. He had been thinking about me and suddenly had the impulse to look for me on the web. This was the start of a deep and loving friendship, a joyful meeting of minds which was my great privilege to experience. Stephen was not a conventional man. In many ways he was a hedonist but he was also a warm, loving, highly intelligent man. I treasure our correspondence and the memory of his birthday flowers and his calls to sing me Happy Birthday. We could talk about anything and I will always be grateful to whatever fate brought us together.

When I was diagnosed with cancer in 2009, he was steadfast in his support and encouragement.  We talked of the deep and meaningful things in life. We avoided nothing. We had planned a visit because he wanted to meet my family. Then out of the blue the message from him was that he had cancer too and was about to undertake a gruelling and risky chemotherapy assault as the cancer was advanced. He would not be back in touch but his new wife would let me know if he did not make it. She did not have to tell me. I simply knew. Our paths had crossed for the last time and he was gone leaving me a richness of memories of a dear and loving friend.

I wrote the following just after I confirmed that what I sensed had been reality.

Suddenly there is a huge full stop in my life. Stephen is dead and I cannot cry. It is as though all connection with him was terminated by his passing. Perhaps I am simply too numb. I can no longer reach in and feel sorrow or pain.

Perhaps, it is simply that in the face of so much death and dying, I have moved from resistance to acceptance.

"Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds" ( Shakespeare)

He is dead. I cannot hear him, see him, touch him. There will be no more calls from Australia. There will be no more serenades. I will not record the next chapter of Wind in the Willows for him.

Stephen is gone and part of my heart has gone with him.

Predator

Written on the 2nd January, as I contemplated the internal process of the cancer which lurks in my body, held in check by potent drugs and sometimes I sense by sheer stubborn, will power. It is a challenge to contemplate how the beauty of the body at a cellular level can turn rogue and sow the seeds of ultimate destruction. I find it both fascinating and horrifying that something so intrinsically perfect as the division and replication of our cells can wreak such havoc. I talk to my cancer cells from time to time and imagine explaining to them that there is no escape for them. In the destruction of their host lies death for them, so why not do the logical thing and self destruct in the interest of the integrity of the whole body. I even have this silly little ditty which I recite which consists of the repetition of the word, apoptosis which means cell death. Funny the things you find yourself doing when cancer enters your life. Cruel but amusing when you tilt your mind to one side and chose to see it from a different angle.


A cell mutates,
Slips by the sentinels,
No rhyme nor reason,
Determines if this rogue
Lives or dies.

Stealth destroyer,
Camoflage protects,
Error replicates.
Hunger growing
To consume.

Predator cell,
Prime directive
To survive,
Whatever the cost,
Blindly suicidal,
Killing your host.

Another year passes

I wrote this on the first of January. It is quite simply some rambling thoughts on the nature of reality and being alive past my sell by date.

Another year passes,
Arbitrary marking of time.
No full stops.
No endings.
Time and Life,
Artificial constructs,
Nebulous reality,
A complex confection.
How much is choice?

Another year passes,
Health and Love,
Punctuation marks,
Delineating life,
Refusing definition,
The herding of cats.
Each day passes,
Am I still alive?
I think, therefore I am?