Everything

A little over a month ago, between mine and Will's family, we lost a cousin, an uncle, a horse and a dog. All of them were loved by us.

The cousin and uncle I hadn't seen in a long, long time. Their images from years ago are frozen in my mind, completely still, in time. I can remember their youthfulness and while my mind remembers their images, my heart can still feel their good nature. Their quick wit and easy, infectious laughter...And there they shall stay, in my heart.

The horse and the dog, Will and I saw and loved daily, regularly, over at Will's folks' place. I remember the deep, dark glow of Shiloh's glossy eyes (the horse, not Brad and Angelina's kid) staring back at me, trusting me...

And I can still feel the immense, unconditional love of Judah's eyes...The rescue dog that Will's mom had...I couldn't get enough of mashing my forehead to his and telling him how much I loved him, how much we all loved him. He was ALWAYS a big, wagging, lovely, ottoman of a lab. Yes, you read right, he was like an ottoman. A big, furry, wagging ottoman. The kind you put your feet up on to rest, not the kind that invaded the Balkan peninsula.

I shed tears over all of these souls. And at night, after I knew that Will had fallen into slumber, I would cry myself to sleep, aching that I wouldn't see those truly awesome muscles in Shiloh's neck again, and feel his trust. Or feel that soft fur of Judah's head upon my own, and feel his love. Both felt undeserved.

I've been reluctant to write this post, because I didn't want to cry anymore...like I'm doing right now...

But something prompted me to...Furious has lost his father. I'm devastated for him and his family.

And even though I know that death is as natural as birth, sometimes I'm paralyzed at the thought of how temporary it all is.

I don't subscribe to any one religion. I think that to imagine that god, or the universe, or creation, whatever you want to call it, could fit into one, into anything that the limited human mind can conjure up is ludicrous.

However, I do study philosophy from many different religions and disciplines. And I contemplate at great length on my own ideas.

They change and evolve, sometimes dissolve and transform again with the seasons. I ponder and wonder and meditate of what it's all about and most of the time, I'm okay with what I don't know.

But one thing that I do know, is that the word "nothing" is hypocrisy. There is no such thing as nothing. There is always something.

And by the very nature of science, energy and matter is always changing...always transforming...But the fact remains, that it's always there.

Whether it's water, which we're mostly made up of, that evaporates and gathers into the sky as vapor and clouds only to rain, or snow, or hail down upon the earth again. Or whether it's electricity that is fleeting in the form of lightening, or static. Or whether it's literally mulch, a ground up tree, feeding the earth and the plants and other trees, becoming part of them...

It all goes on. It always does. And the story is always, continued.

I wrote the below poem quite a while back, when I was suffering from the Wilson's disease and wasn't aware of it yet. It was as though something in me knew that I was dying... And Will has illustrated a collection of my work and hopefully one day, we'll publish it together. So, his illustration follows the poem. I hope that you enjoy both.

THE FAMILIAR BREEZE AND THE KNOWING TREES...

The rain that falls upon my face
One drop after another,
It is cold and it is wet,
My body emits a shudder.

The sidewalk that is slate I think,
Concrete, or maybe stone,
It really doesn’t matter
For I walk here all alone.

All streets become familiar
And to my soul they feel
As though I’ve walked upon them,
Stood still or did so kneel.

In any difference of this place
Or that one that I was,
A solitary figure,
Alone…that’s what it does.

Place to place and
Time and time some more,
It’s me who moves alone again
Along this fine ole’ floor.

If I walk, or if I run,
Or if I fly through air,
I do it by myself so much,
Do I feel despair?

This bird is see, the grass I feel,
The flowers that I smell,
The breeze that does blow by my lips,
This is who I tell,

Of secrets that I have
And dreams that I do hold.
No one to hear, but winds blow by
And this is whom I’ve told.

As years go by and my heart grows weak,
And ears, they come and go,
My one true love will still be there,
The wind will always blow.

Place to place and time moves on,
My shell begins to wither.
I’m near the end, my love does come
To hear my last good whisper.

By my lips the wind does move,
And picks up my last song.
The last I fear that you will hear from me
Now that I’m gone.

And so I die, or so it seems
And now I’m truly dust.
My love does come and carry me
Through trees and sky, it must.

And now I am apart of them,
Alone I shall not be,
The wind that does blow by your face,
Please smile, ‘cause it’s me.