In this spiritual week for us so inclined, memory is mine of those who have transited from my  life.  All my beloveds come to mind, but one incident from the children’s younger days stays with me with more clarity because of my path.

I was standing at the door of the room shared by the two older boys.  The eldest was working at the desk which was a veneer door on wrought iron legs to serve both. (memory details stay)  Our David was lying on his bed and his legs walking the wall which I have seen him do many times.

He was lecturing to us of his dreams.  I wish, he said, to be a star in the sky in some future where I can shine down and give energy to whoever needs it to live.  He was about thirteen or so at the time and I stood there absorbing this idea and wondering at this child.  I see the time vividly inked on my mind.

His was a different head on his shoulders.  Coming to mind also is a psychic friend in her seventies when she and I discussed again life after death.  She wanted to be whoever she was then forever because her identity was locked into who she was.  But then I said the caterpillar would never be a butterfly.

If a mushroom and a daffodil come up blooming life after life could she be right?  Or perhaps the mushroom one day becomes the daffodil?  Like the caterpillar becomes the butterfly?  I like to think I graduate after giving what I hope is my very best to these times.

There is time and space for all thought and life is kind to grant dearest wishes.  And fairly balanced for consequences to redo our calculated and unwitting behaviors.  That, too.

Taking the Nazarene as my Mentor through this life, I have pulled everything through my heart.  Which probably explains two cardiac arrests.  It has not been a walk in the park.

But I wonder if faith had been in my carpetbag would life been easier this time and then I think of a beloved whose life with heavy burdens and her faith been more bearable with a head like mine.

The Teacher said only my head would frame the question.

A Truth. . .

I was told
that life is everlasting,
everlasting and everlasting.

And when my mind and my heart
and the fabric of who I am accepted this statement,
I found I was very tired.

I am reminded that still to come
are worlds of promise
whose substance I have only glimpsed.

I, too, remember the eagerness to taste of the apple.