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| The Mystery within... |
Postings to my website have been irregular of late and I want to remedy that. I have been occupied with attempting to get my daily life and chores more organized. In sorting through some papers, I found an October 5, 2011 reflection that made me realize the importance of returning to a routine of reflecting and writing something at the end of each day. It is a practice that reveals to me the sacredness to be found in everything and everyone throughout each day. My hope is to share my daily discoveries weekly. So here goes some musings for September 24 to September 28.
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
Perhaps my October 5, 2011 written reflection found me to encourage me to return to writing something of each day. October 5 is my late son Joe’s birthday. He died twenty-two years prior to that 2011 entry when I wrote, “It was a pleasant pain remembering Joe today on his birthday.” I also wrote of the bike ride I took that perfect sunny, warm October afternoon into Cedarburg, as far as Cedar Creek, where I turned back and was then dazzled by a blazing tree as I climbed a hill toward home. It was lit orange against a bright blue cloudless sky. I wrote high school age youth were walking under that tree and that I didn’t think the beauty of the day captivated them as it did me. I wanted them to be captivated.
Eight years later, I am amazed at how vividly I was transported back into that day's loveliness though my written words. I am encouraged to again return to reflecting and writing something of each day.
Wednesday, September 25, 2019
I was deeply saddened to learn today of my neighbor’s 38-year-old son John’s unexpected death. John was also a husband and father of two young children. This news transported me back to the unexpected deaths of my husband and youngest son. I was flooded with an initial sense of numbing in my body, and then recalled the torrent of emotions that followed news of my unexpected losses.
When I saw John’s mother out in her backyard I walked through my back gate and took her an envelope containing a copy of my new memoire with a note that said, “After some time has passed you may find some comfort in my reflection titled, “Recycling Pain.” John’s mother sensed my deep empathy and wanted to console me.
When I walked back into my house, it became clear to me the best thing I could do now was to go for a bike ride on this sunny, warm, but very windy September day.
Thursday, September 26, 2019
I took my newest memoire, Both/and Things—The Power in Reflection, to book club tonight. It was awkward. I sold everyone a copy (5 in total) but it was not chosen for next month’s read. I really wanted it to be discussed. I truly want to know what other people honestly think of it. I am a lousy advocate for my writing. I took comfort in remembering what a fellow Cedarburg writer’s group member shared, “Love What You Do Without Making Money”.
Friday, September 27, 2019
I don’t want my book to be about making money. It’s about connecting with one another spiritually. If it did make money it would be okay because I worked hard to produce it and believe it has merit. Maybe it’s about feeling validated that I have worth. But deep down inside me I know I have worth. So why am I going around in circles with money, worth and validation? Maybe because I’m human.
Next week, I am going to pay to listen to author Matthew Fox talk about his newest book titled Naming the Unnameable. His much earlier book, Original Blessing, (initially banned by the Catholic Church) was a very important read for me when I was struggling to find my voice surrounding both my parents’ and my care needs. In my first memoire, God Never Hurries, I wrote:
…what I most needed to learn from Fox was to befriend both light and darkness--to let pain be pain and mystery be mystery, and trust good would come from it.
I look forward to hearing Fox speak next week and buying a copy of Naming the Unnameable. I will gift him a copy of Both/and Things—The Power in Reflection to thank him for what he and his past writing have taught me thus far.
Saturday, September 28, 2019
My daughter, daughter-in-law and two of my grandchildren went to see the movie “The Art of Racing in the Rain”. It is a story told through the eyes and heart of a loving dog named Enzo and Enzo’s observations of his human family. Some of Enzo’s canine abilities allowed him to sense a serious illness in his mistress, and also observe her spirit leave her body when she eventually died. Enzo longed for the ability to speak and perform tasks like us humans, especially his master who drove racecars. Enzo’s wish was that after his death he return to life as a human to be with and like his master—a successful race car driver who was skilled in being present to track conditions, not be afraid, and trust he could win enough, though not all, races.
I cried when the movie began because I had read the book on which the movie was based and knew what was coming. We all cried when Enzo died and then showed up eight years later in the body of an eight year old boy named Enzo eager to learn the art of racing in the rain from his former master.
I wondered what it would be like to return to life as a loving dog observing us humans. What is dog spelled backwards?
