I wish upon you
Tonight, I saw you hanging brightly. I wondered if you were lonely. All the other stars were hiding.
Can stars be lonely?
Do you have any planets to keep you company? To make you feel important.
Are they rocky? Are they gasy?
What if you have none? Just the occasional comet passing by. Reminding you of places you’ve never been. Maybe you aren’t a star at all.
Are you a planet?
or a star?
I never know which the big bright ones are. Are you moving or standing still? I won’t be here long enough to watch you wobble.
Do you know what you are?
You may not know it now, but I saw you. Do you see me?
It may be dark and cold and lonely, but tonight you were bright, and you were beautiful. I am thankful for you.
Tonight I wish upon a star. I wish upon you. I wish for you.
Will you wish for me?
Living with Chronic Idiopathic Urticaria
If you have Chronic Idiopathic Urticaria, I doubt I have to explain what it is, or you wouldn’t be searching the internet for relief. There are links galore on symptoms and possible causes, but idiopathic means the cause is unknown and so is the cure. I don’t know my “triggers.” I don’t think there are any. 99% of all urticaria is auto-immune related and unrelated to an allergy, but I do know that Aspirin, Ibuprofen, or Naproxen is like throwing gasoline on a fire for me. Steroids are NOT a long term solution. If you’re on them, talk to your doctor and get off them ASAP. They can do more damage than they can help. I have read several articles that cite studies saying that the anxiety experienced by chronic idiopathic urticaria is similar to patients recovering from triple heart bypass surgery. I believe it. I don’t like writing about this. It’s embarrassing and extremely frustrating. Even more frustrating is trying to find relief. Read the rest of this entry »
More than Three Septembers
The reality I moved into… for the the first time was so deeply a part of my being that I couldn’t believe I had lived my whole life having forgotten it. It wasn’t something I was learning about, it was something I was remembering. ~ Ram Dass
Have you ever been there? Literally, have you ever had the feeling that you’ve been here before? The names may be different, the faces, the seasons, but you know in your soul this is not the first time you’ve come this way. You’ve seen this face. Maybe not this face but the spirit of the one behind the face. You’ve had it all figured out. Life was manageable, compartmentalized, understood, explained away. Then you meet someone, you go some place, you see something, and you know that there is more. More than three verses and a chorus. More than three points and a poem. More than three kids and a dog. More than three strikes and you’re out. There is more.
As new and different a turn this part of your journey may seem, it has the warm embrace of the familiar. You know you’ve never been this way before. It’s new. It’s exciting. It scares you to death, but you feel compelled to go this way. You don’t know why. It gives you peace for some inexplicable reason. It doesn’t fit the mold. No one will understand. You don’t understand, but you go. You go because maybe for the first time this time you realize that there is more. We are more. You resolve never to live again as less.
This is the way of the soul. My way is not your way. Their way is not our way, but there is a way. Whether you found it by accident, by frustration, by exhaustion… do not turn back from it. Maybe the last time you were here you opted for the 401k. Maybe you hurt those you love. Maybe you just got by. You have a chance, another chance. You can be more. You are more. There is more.
Listen to your soul. Strain your ear. Strain your heart. Tune out everything else. Hear for yourself. The song of the cicadas. The hymn of the oceans. The refrain of silence. The note is timeless and divine. Hear and see and know. Remember.
Having done all to stand…
A young guy from my home town fell over a gun while drinking and killed himself on Friday.
A friend’s uncle in the prime of his life was diagnosed with terminal cancer a few weeks ago and died suddenly Saturday at 7 a.m. fully alert only moments before.
I spoke to a friend of the family Sunday who is having open heart surgery this week after already having 15 stints. He’s wondering if it was his last family reunion.
An 80-year-old millionaire in my home town had surgery yesterday. He is hoping for a kidney transplant and may pay any price to a donor if necessary to buy more time.
My childhood neighbor and brother’s best friend turned 29 today and is waiting for open heart surgery once multiple complications are resolved.
Life is hard. Unpredictable. Exceptional. Beautiful. Short.
No sermons required. Live it.
September, take your time
These bright little trumpet-shaped flowers appeared on my fence last year in early October. This afternoon while walking around the yard, I found them on the same fence again. More buds than flowers but no less beautiful. I had forgotten all about them, and it amazes me that they bloom defiantly at this odd time of the year. They hid throughout spring and survived the withering heat of a Louisiana summer. It just so happens that today is the first cool day we’ve had at the end of the summer, a sign of things to come later but not here to stay just yet.
Summer in Louisiana is Ordinary Time in every sense. “Winter never feels truly at home in New Orleans. An unwelcomed visitor that shows up long enough to remind us of what we’re missing, then leaves us just in time for us to forget again.” (A Love Song for Bobby Long) I guess that’s part of the reason that the changing of seasons has always been sacred to me. It affects me deeply. As much as I love springtime, the new colors, and digging in the dirt with my hands, I think I’ve always loved fall the most.
By the time summer finally wanes everything and everyone is parched and wilting. For some reason my soul usually feels that way by now. Every chance I get I have the windows in my house and car wide open during spring and fall. For a few days this week I’ll get to soak it in as we go from summer to fall to summer to fall again finally. I suppose the main reason the changing seasons affect me so much is that they mark time for me in a way the calendar never can. I feel and know for myself that time is passing. It gives me sacred time to reflect, to take in, to breath out, to mourn, to look forward, to wonder…
The school year is getting underway. The Fair will be coming round before long ushering in the holiday season earlier and earlier every year. While the long awaited ball games kick off and the post-season plays out, the parched leaves will give up their color in a brilliant show and fall slowly to the ground, over and over making room for memories. This is a time for remembering, and I don’t want to rush it. September, take your sweet time.
