rough places return

hard even for me to express today.

i'm uprooted and laying exposed on the ground. not once but twice.

the "keeper" of neal ave has indeed dealt with the downed tree. it's one way. no nuance, no intuition; brute force. some mammoth earthmover who leaves a deep and determined track, has bulldozed the felled trees. nothing tending or caring to be sure. simply in a giant stroke pushed to the side. two trees now, one fully clothed yet and one bare lay parallel to the road. they don't fit easily there; the foot and roots are exposed to all. to deal with them and force them to a new place the avenue itself is again changed. a new widened and hurt place; looks like a combat zone that has nothing to do with openings to the field, only a harsh dealing with obstacles.

my heart is so bulldozed. not only about megan and jeremy although they come today. there is such heartache in our family. fronts known and fronts unknown. young places and aged places.

depths impossible to share.

the smoothed, grassy straight path i wrote of a couple days ago? remember that one? it leads to devestation.

i'm so afraid that i can't help megan. i will see her today.
k

and he reminds me again

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting — over and over announcing your place in the family of things.

lee reminds me

"Even in our sleep, pain which can not forget,
falls drop by drop upon the heart
until in our own despair, against our own will,
comes wisdom through the awful grace of God"

Robert Kennedy – upon the loss of his brother

rough places made plain

completely the wrong picture but i'll change it, just as.......
neal changed this morning.

amazing really what a difference a day makes.
my encroaching sadness that the visual peace of neal avenue was more and more elusive, changed over night. the darkness lurks now only on the edges again and deep in the underbrush. a giant mower smoothed the way today. it's soft now, even cushioned by the long cut grass laying on the way. it's cleared only to the fallen tree for now, but i expect that the "keeper" of neal is aware than more attention is needed. he's not especially gentle with the fallen trees; *that* clearing is a little brusk and uncaring, but in the end more order is what i need to feel.
i hadn't realized quite so much that my open space, my verdent shelter, my most familiar of all paths is tended and managed. by an outsider of all things. and an invisible one at that.
the way to the bench is also smoothed and expanded now. next the corn will grow up to envelope the path. for now the vista is gorgeous and open. as a body of water, shimmering, wavy, vast. peopled of course. i often wonder how many corn stalks are there as my network. the new farmer, a renter and not the owner, has gotten greedy with the land i fear. corn is planted this year, as last. pete always rotated. the stalks are closer together than they used to be; can't tell about the rows until the corn is taller and i can walk there. no way through at the "hole in the wall". the planting is colored outside the lines of the field. pete sees the change. even more, the machinery is all mammoth and feels conquering not nurturing fm planting to harvest. nothing in between really either, no neal avenue tending, no visits to look over it.
but, the corn aside, today was a surprise. that is supposed to be MY part, being surprising. how lovely to be on the other end.
i had quit walking on neal ave you know.
was already needing more shade.
k

usually when i'm home i have a candle lighted.

k

usually when i'm home i have a candle lighted.

k

uprooted

there's a tree down on neal this morning. a big one. his roots show. this is one of the ents but not one of the norwegian bachelors. *and* some others went down with him. because they were entwined and near and sheltered.


neal avenue has become a significant metaphor for me. things happen out there, unseen then discovered. the facade is changeless in 20 years but underneath it's tougher and tangly.

life.

the familiarness is still calming and comfortable. i still feel sheltered but the polite distance from the "road" has disappeared. bushwacking comes to mind. but as always verdant, thriving, sprawling, transforming. Of course, the hole in the wall, the beautiful symetrical arching entrance to the field, was changed a couple years ago when one of the sentries fell. More, the people who "clean up" have no sense of the esthetic. parts and pieces are left everywhere, branches rudely piled sideways and the sky gapes through. i don' look that way anymore. the new farmer doesn't make that a field road cutting east to west as pete did, so there isn't the magical aisle that i once enjoyed.

past the norwegian bachelors, the south end now has more significance. the brush has established itself as trees now. the feel is still open, windy, warm but not exposed. the corner-of-my-heart tree has become a doorway now. guess we have three parts. *and* the huge offensive brush pile which brings us to a premature end is home for i think hundreds of things. i'm almost afraid to be near it.

i never make my way to the smith farm anymore. maybe some day when i don't take the dogs.

i guess, facade is right. fences, "brushing", fallen trees, encroachments everywhere. it's essence still?

shelter.
vigor.
grandeur, rough shod version.
change.
wonder.
company.

k

In community, in communion, in common....

the path we are given. would that one could pick a different one. aren't we inclined to think that we "choose"?

funny, especially first thing in the morning, how many angles go through my head, things i need to write *first*.

actually, *first* today i say to megan, that excepting you, i carry this with me the most i expect. Jeremy may be in league with me but I even still can feel myself pregnant with Megan. Amazingly the feeling I had in my head about being a new mom flood into my thinking without invitation. Not yogic enough to "notice" and let it go. But, how does that help really to think all the time about your current place? It only will help if any of my earned wisdom can express itself and be translatable as it is also *my* current place.

Wisdom seems a little cocky. Traveling it all to age 57 earns you something though. I'm calling it wisdom.

I have two copies of "My Grandfathers' Blessings" here to put in the mail to you and Jeremy. I'm deferring to Rachel Remen for words as one tack. I am re-reading this as a balm myself as well. In essence I am reminded how many other people also carry deep sorrow each day, how many others look constantly for understanding and strength. Her anecdotes in themselves are worth your time, but I have found her conclusions, the sentence or two summing up are sometimes profound to me. She has helped me feel in a silent community. There are many others putting one foot in front of the other, leaning on routine, making small talk, who also are on paths not chosen.

There are always places we all feel alone, likely to trip, walking somewhere unknown.
But each of us does our best to keep walking....
l,
k

I can't put my finger on it, but somehow my conversation with Megan yesterday felt the most relaxed and natural to date. I hope she might have felt that way. Jeremy called me too yesterday; he is calming even to me. Always sounds as if he has gathered and weighed what matters. Much of our talk was about Berkeley to tell the truth. He provided us all a distraction. Normal things *will* go on and being a little more present in the "stuff" we all do might be a good tactic. Concentrate on making routine interactions a little spicier or gratitying or surprising. Many, many people carry heartache around routinely. we aren't alone with that.

Steve Garnaas-Holmes meditation about weather was also helpful this morning. The weather is different for each of us, lessons different, challenges different but in the end we each travel a journey of the soul, regardless the weather. [he said it much better..;) ]

l,
k

I threw a mad letter through the window yesterday. It's the nature of letters I know that you can't take back some things. Words are the same. "Be impeccable with your words" is the Toltec wisdom I find very challenging.

Anger is part of grief even though I haven't read yet through all the steps. Yesterday I was angry at Megan for her reactions to the outpouring of others. Quit reminding me, quit sending notes, I just want this over. Quite sending text messages, quit writing that we should hold each other and kiss. She had each of my words to throw back at me. I had promised myself that she would be able to say anything to me and that I could forgive her given circumstances. When she doesn't want what I have to give though, then I'm mad. All I have to give is words. I can't touch her from here. She doesn't like that either; not from me. Wrap her Jeremy in your big arms for me.

Might I look *in* today. In to the child I birthed 29 years ago. I have always sung to her and talked to her, held her. What mother hasn't. There are other ways though. I've picked the ones fluid for me, seemingly not right. New eyes needed here. What are Megan ways.

Leaving her alone is what ostensibly she wants. I won't believe that is the way to face the next 2 1/2 months though.

nope, won't believe that.

Another idea today, this from a phone conversation with Arn.



"funny how as you embark on being a parent you think that you know what parenting will mean"



Guess none of us does know, we make assumptions.

My windows photos. Many of them were lost in the last crash of the computer which seems unfortunate because I had a good start.

This is Maynard's barn.

Now I need again to look for what might be a window, a way of looking out and in or through. [Ah, Herb's prepositions again. ] Each of us involved, loving Megan and Jeremy and that tiny baby, will need to look. Looking through and past these months is a simple wish, but the days and hours creeping by will force the inside part. Each of us goes to different inside places, digs up different questions and different strengths.

Would that we can complement each other. Hold when holding is needed, offer the right words, kiss. Likely that won't happen just as we'd like but I plan to use this place to try. I hope to think outloud here and in the process provide a window.

It's more me than you, I know.

Look here Megan if and when you'd like. I feel as if there could be some motherly wisdom and comfort here, but I won't know for sure about the conversation. Or about the timing. I'm also not sure that what comes to me as comfort or sense will seem the same from your view. Likely it won't. Perhaps. My fervent hope though, is that some small piece might feel helpful or optimistic or comforting or even distracting to you some day. You, Jeremy too, will be surrounded by the love of people around you. Every person you know will try to be helpful, consoling, encouraging or just near. We all offer you what we can for support and company. May you be strengthened and touched over and over in ways we don't even know.

In the middle of the night though, it's just you and this baby. When you awaken, think of me because I am also awake many times through the night and each time I imagine you with your hand on your belly. She is so very much alive and so completely surrounded now by your love and nourishment. That just might be her safest place and we all might need to try to understand that. Even then the two of you aren't as alone as it may seem..... Take Jeremy's hand.

In fact, let me tell you that I sing to you and Laura and Peter each night as I go to sleep. It's like a prayer and a blessing and a constant song in my heart.

Sleep, my love and peace attend thee, All through the night.
Guardian angels God will send thee, all through the night;
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and vale in slumber sleeping,
Love alone her watch is keeping
All through the night.

I learned it first in Lullabies and Night Songs. Yup, same lullaby book that has Elephants in it. I memorized a bunch of things from that book so that I wouldn't always have to hum to you. Now I have the words I need at night.

These next months are a kind of night too you know. But love is on watch.

.


Looking and seeing; am always about that actually.