Never More Than A Heartbeat Away . . .
The wind had blown over the huge tomato plant and he was out of patience with his mother with her directions as to how to support it. Her instructions were explicit and he shouted it’s only a plant! And she almost in tears shouted back, it’s alive! And ended up doing it herself. And the reason was sufficient. It’s alive. With due respect and gentleness, it’s alive.
And that is the difference, as small and as large, as it is with perspective. Where to draw the line in outlook because it takes time, energy and may take your life eventually. It is no easy task to discern what is important enough to warrant attention to make a difference. As small as a plant or as large as a human life. There are only so many hours in the day and everything seems to demand the immediate now. Many told me I took the fun out of life because everything to me was important. And important in itself that it did not need exaggeration. But each has to discern whether the action should be pulled through one’s heart. I would caution with this that when the least has no importance, it is sooner than one thinks that all things assume little importance.
I asked a friend who was a nurse, why do you go to church Kath, and she said because I hope what Jesus said is true. I say that life is a continuum, that it is everlasting and all is god. And for me it is not a hope but it is knowledge and I know that what meaning there is in life I bring to my corner of it. The thundering, noble force that rumbles through all is put within the each and here as I create my wonky wall quilt of evergreens and am accountable in my declining years as my conscience demands and body enables me, I have also created the world I worked for all the days of my life with the talents given me. And I will give a hand to pull you over if you have doubt. Because if there were not worlds as my mentor said, I would care enough to create one and I would pull you over.
We Can Go Home. . .
When the cardinal sings
I will acknowledge his song
to show that a life can be lived with
a mind open, to hear muses sing
their songs of joy or pray their
mourning songs. . .
. . . to show that a heart
can be stripped of itself
like layers of onion skin
and still keep a steady beat.
I’ve taken the long way home and
nearing the gate, please catch me I say
and pull me on through.
I will answer c’est moi, it is I,
to prove we can go home again and again.