Rabble

                                                                 Rabble

A woman who did something truly terrible (that I heard about in the local news) called me for an appointment today. She was bereft, miserable and lost, crying to me in the way people cry when hope is almost gone.

I knew immediately that I would not be counseling her myself. 

I knew it deep in me. Besides the fact that I can't work with this population, and I knew I could not take a case like this in my current predicament, I knew it was not my purpose to be her therapist. 

My purpose was triage.

A friend of mine had recently told me that she knew this 50 year old woman really well; she told me what had happened........the whole notorious, sorted, aweful story that had lead my friend to sever all ties and turn her back on the mess. 

What she did was a terrible thing. Unforgiveable. Yet as we spoke and she cried, I felt only desperately sad for her. Really sad. Instead of the emotional distance that would have been a normal response to her admission, I felt only a deep desire to help her, to let her know that I care about her pain and want her to feel better.

I related to her feelings of isolation and abandonment. Everyone in her life had turned their backs: her friends, family, even her own child....all she has is her grief and her attorney.

I have not lost anyone, there is no comparison at all, and yet I seemed to identify with her loss; her sense of of the whole world turning upside down in only moments because of a terrible, ridiculously foolish impulse. I know I am not like her, I could and would never do what she did. It was the product of avarice, but as I talked to her and started trying to find ways to get her help, all I felt was empathy and sorrow for her. 

I felt strangely close to her.

Here was one stupid human crying out to another stupid human in a world full of stupid people....blundering through this life like proverbial bulls in a china shop.

Fucking up, hurting themselves....hurting others. Burning down the house.

Yet, I just felt a strong pull to care for her and try to ease her burden.

So I prayed for her and I found her a therapist.

Unlike everyone else in her world right now, oddly I didn't feel the impulse to judge her. Which is totally NOT like me.

I am terribly judgemental

Everyday

Sometimes in direct, snarky ways and sometimes in soft, covert ways.

Subterranian and underground judgements.\

Judgy and on my high horse is my usual stance with people like this.

I make fun of people in my head who do stupid things.

I feel superior, or at least smug.....

But not right now.

It is as if this nasty habit had been pruned off of me, and the new growth underneath; 

The new green leaves

Are more tender, more bright, more soft.

Less stubbly.

As I write this, I am thinking about what Source has in mind with is pruning of me? I have absolutely had the feeling that something has been happening here in my time of solitude and reflection. In my time of longing for God. 

I am thinking about new growth that is coming (I believe it is) and how it might change the trajectory of my life. How when I help people like this who feel sorrow raining down on them (sorrow of their own making, albeit), I can be the one who does not turn away.

The lepers, the untouchables, the foulest ones among us.

The troublemakers.

Those who hurt the innocents.

I feel sure that Source will reveal what this means for me as time goes on, but for now I want to speak to this page this new feeling in me.

I want to say that we are all equally awful and equally whole and good.

What trouble one of us knits....is the thread of us all.

And when one of us feels the soothing touch of Source,

We all feel it.

Here we all sit, in prisons of our own making

And yet we all have the keys to our own dark cells.

And we can share these keys sometimes....

Or at least pass a cup of water back and forth between the bars.

Our Divinity never abandons us

Our compassion is our connector

The thing that awakens us to this fact is making the choice

Every day

And when it is not easy to do it...

To make the choice to Love.

Even when those we encounter are the unloveable

The refuse

The lost causes

That woman today was just like me in the respect that, regardless of how dirty her hands were by her own actions, she still wants to be loved and healed, and she still feels the anguish of the twisted turn of life's knife.

And Source said....."Love her" and I obeyed..... and this makes me grateful.

I am awake enough, thanks to my own pain,

Indeed thanks to my own pruning.....

Awake enough in my own Soul to be brave 

and just Love.

All this life is

All living is about is 

the machinations of us humans mucking around and sometimes stubbing our toes.

Poking each other in the eyes

But Source decrees that all this matters not.

Somewhere,

In all of us,

Forever clean and untarnished

Is our Source-selves.

Our forever pure part, 

Our Holy Spirit-generated, light-filled selves.

Our thimble full of Divinity

Never spoiled by our stupidity, toe stubbing, innane mischief and outright meanness.

Clean and sweet as the first sip from a cool spring.

It can never be ruined by anything we do down here in Earth School.

Nothing touches or ruins the Source in us. Ever.

I believe I spoke with that part of her today, I could feel that she was still clean and whole in that pool of shit where she is swimming in misery.

I tried to put my hand down into her dark place and send a little love,  from that same clean place in me. 

And I think we both came someway today.

HEART-SHATTERED LIVES, 

READY FOR LOVE,

DON'T FOR A MOMENT,

ESCAPE GOD'S NOTICE.

Psalm 51:17

To One Who Is My Tribe

To One Who is My Tribe

 I am sitting in the back seat of a slime green Corvair, with Sonny in the front passenger seat and you driving. There is a hole in the floor board as big as a grapefruit, and occasionally out of curiosity I lift the mat and  watch the asphalt scrolling by.

 It's morning 

We are going to school and we are singing...

"We all live in a little green turtle, a little green turtle, a little green turtle" to the tune of Yellow Submarine.

There is no heat in the turtle, Sonny has scraped ice off the windshield with a piece of plastic. You have to keep the window down because the fog keeps reforming as you wipe a hole in it so you can see, still singing.

We don't care. Somehow it always just feels like a fun adventure.....we crack jokes and laugh at ourselves and that silly car.

Breakfast was an Instant Breakfast milkshake we made fixed in a dirty kitchen.

I don't care about that either. That is just how it is at home, and if you don't care then I don't care.....

Our driving is the best time of my day...

Your brown hair is thick; falling in soft curls over the headrest. Earlier  in the morning, I sat and watched you at home, methodically taking orange juice can rollers out of your hair and putting on makeup. As each would unroll, a golden brown curl would fall down and you would fluff it, rat it and pin it into a beautiful mane. 

I don't remember what happens next, but most likely you dropped me at Starkey before taking the two of you on to school.  I just remember laughter and singing and jokes and love. 

The three of us start our day, and I carry  a little bit of your confidence and surliness with me into class. I know I belong there with you and Sonny.

I know you are my tribe.

I came on the scene later in our family. I missed your early years but the stories were always being told and I knew from very young that you were the glue, the rock, the one who could both hold things together and also keep the light of hope on for your brother and sisters. 

And so this is who you were to me. Almost 60 years later with grey hair and a few wrinkles added to the mix, essentially the principles remain unchanged. 

And here is what you teach me.....

Poke fun at the bad shit in life

Celebrate the wonder

Take care of each other

Turn the weirdness of life into a badge of honor

Relentlessly learn

Give more than you have to give

Lead with humor

And to the winds of pain......pitch back you head and laugh

Happy Birthday Nita 

Each and All of Us

Each and All of Us 

This is my supposition.........

All things are woven together by a Seamstress somewhere

All the songs 

Here and everywhere

Are composed by a Composer

Who has me in mind. 

Someone is keeping a journal of my times.

I am not alone here.

Furthermore, no one is alone here.

Not me, living with a heart full of holes:

 

Not Henry, who is laying in a pile of covers growing older and older;

Not Coy, pushing his truck and trailer for hours through my living room, lost 

     in the joy of his young mind's story.

Not the pretty snail that Phoebe stepped on and crushed;

Not the crab spider waiting for the wasp who is exploring a thistle;

Not the perfectly formed white mushroom we found beneath a sky of tall grass;

Not the equally perfect white crawfish shell when life has gone; 

Not Chris working to make he and Sarah a perfect home; 

Not Bridget loving her stubborn husband and painting another new room 

    at another new job he took them to;

Not the solitary sun perch who lives alone in my fish tank with three fat, dirigible

    gold fish;

Not Phyllis spending 80+ years in a body that barely works, and a voice that

    strains to speak;

Not Kenzie, with her three blonde pups wrestling in a mountain of blankets 

    and not in one moment does she deny them her love;

And not the silver back gorilla who died by a strike of lightening while sleeping

     in the canopy of the rainforest......

We all live, as best we can; we feel the joy of an unexpected good day and the the sting of suffering that comes just as quickly. And yet, we are not alone. Something, or someone, or SOMEONES, are around each of us.

Aware of us, hovering above......I think even loving us. 

If we share nothing else, us humans, snails, mushrooms and apes.....

We share a common thread or a few common notes in a bigger song.

An Ancient Choir

Or a Son, 

A Brother, Mother, Father, a Friend...around us through each step. 

This idea sustains me.

 

Chicken bath

Chicken Bath

Dear Ian,

This morning I was reading about the Zen of chickens taking a dust bath; how they growl with pleasure quite uncharacteristic of them in daily life. They find some soft, dry dirt and root around until there is a nice hole, where they commence to rolling like fools. For a while, they dig down and rub their entire selves in the dust...head, beak, neck and body....they flop and wiggle to get complete coverage and seem to enjoy themselves mightily. My day starts out nice as I read by the fire I lit this morning. I built it last night knowing how good it would feel to just get up and set it to blaze.

Mariana, Hudson and Kam brought up a load of firewood Saturday for me, and I bask in that memory for  a moment; little feet and boy-arms helping me, and my surrogate daughter sharing a few hours of mayhem and rowdiness all over the house. Acting crazy, then helping me, then acting like raging Indians again....and Mariana on watch to keep them from breaking anything. 

Grace is always sufficient, some say. I think this sentiment is better expressed by my sage son Chris, who noted recently, "She is just figuring it out, like all of us."  He was talking about his sweet sister, Kenzie, but it could be said of Mariana, or Hud, or Kam, or me. I think it does apply to us all. 

I am most definitely still just figuring it out, like everyone else...Sorting through the daily experiences and feelings of being a human being, now in older skin, watching the years tick by and learning to thrive despite the marks left on me. I have buried my parents, several friends and compatriots,  Bailey and Ollie, my marriage......

And I buried you.

I have to pause for a second when I write those two words. 

Breath....... keep writing, Faith.

In spite of these misfortunes, Ian,  despite the ravages of losing you to me here on Earth...I am happy to report to you that I have started to recover. It is as awkward as a chicken rolling in dirt....and by no means finished, but I have even resurrected a desire to have fun. 

I want life again.

I have stirred up some dust and in the process have found gratitude and grace again.

Gratitude, for example, that you stuck so close to me during the early years after transitioning. Nothing ever prepared me-not my studies, not my faith, not my weird curiosity and openness to strange ideas-nothing prepared me for how steadfast and purely miraculous it was to be that you showed yourself, over and over. You found people to use as portals; you found ways to transcend physical law and take care of me. 

No other person in my life has ever loved me in this way. Source had a hand in it, but your fierce love and loyalty was written all over those years, Biggun. I feel oddly smug and proud that I was able to rise up, straighten my back enough to receive the signals..... even through my curtain of pain.

And I am learning to really enjoy my adult Chris and Kenzie. It is a revelation! Yesterday I watched Kenzie as we ate lunch in Menard. 

She had no makeup on and was so beautiful. 

Clearly tired from another all-nighter with Trapper, she never complains. In fact she is the least whiny young Mom I have ever met, and she still seems to really enjoy herself and the boys. I think it is marvelous how she is so determined and yet loving. From her I am learning new ways to be strong.

She connects, allows herself to be emersed, and basks in those boys, even when she is exhausted.

I wish I could gather her up in my arms and make life easier; but that is not my business. My business, I am finally discovering, is to accept her fiercely, love and lift her in prayer privately, and step in when I can, as her sometimes back stage helper. That is all she needs. I see the radiant girl in her more than ever, doing what she has always excelled at......loving her tribe. 

And Chris, oh my Chris. So deep-like a sweet well that no one has reached to the bottom of, and never will. Like a secret garden that I just see in glimpses over a tall fence. Occasionally i get to visit him there, but he does not like Momma-probing; in fact it sends him running away quicker than anything, even when it is just innocent love on my part. When there is a little moment when he lets me in, all the pain of this life dissolves and I see the workings of his good heart and miraculous mind. There is only goodness in him, and I bask in how he is "figuring it all out" himself and I see through his artistic mind and whimsical humor, how he keeps the boy inside him thriving. 

They are different, they are wildly individualistic, adventurous, and unique. Watching them seize life and bask in it is the best gift I have ever been given. I am fed by it.

I am also fed and affirmed in little moments, like when Hudson came back for a fourth goodbye hug and Coy scooted closer to me in his chair,  and with Trapper's slobbery kisses. I feel the truth of it pierce my pain like a happy arrow.

Naturally all along this new way  I feel you, my blue-eyed love ambassador. I felt you this weekend birding and talking to Hudson, and I felt you making a homemade bow and arrow set with him. You were there.

And I want you to know especially, that I feel the gift of perseverance you have taught me these last six years;  aware constantly of the mystery of how you share your energy with me, (from where ever the hell your current incarnation has taken you), and you keep showing up. (I hope someday I get to know how you can do that!)

Until then Ian, 

Carpe Diem. 

Another morning comes 

And I am that chicken taking my own dust bath.

 Someone watching might think it all a weird pursuit from which I take irrational joy. A messy, rowdy, imperfect rolling in the particles of living and learning on this Earth. 

It is not. 

I say to the other chickens, 

                                                                         It is a baptism.

I love you Ian. 

                                                                                                              Mom

Alchemy

Alchemy

Christmas Eve.

It's very early.

Old Henry woke me up at 4:30 to pee, and I'm glad he did.

It's raining and mild, and the open back door is a speaker, inviting in a lovely sound. 

Also, the smell jolts me. It is cleansing and viseral. 

I have built a fire for company, and meanwhile inside the fireplace on some piece of metal,  rain thumps like a tiny drum. Louder toming is coming from the eaves outside.

Ian's chimes join in. To all the world, it is as if  music is playing as I sit with old Henry and read.

Finished the book The Alchemist, one of many that Bridget and Jamie left me when they moved back to England. It's a preachy little book, but I like the message. It is about our connection, through heart and intuition, with the Soul of the Universe. It is about our life contracts. It is about remembering to listen to the beating of the one grand heart that  is within; the one we all share.

Alchemy is finding out what we all forget.....that we are not alone.

Alchemy is transmuting the basic corporeal nature of something by summoning the truth of the greater nature of EVERYTHING.  Changing the basic elements of anything by tuning into the inner Soul of Universe. If literal alchemy is a myth; a holy grail sought for ions, then spiritual alchemy is transforming the deadness and  pain of current circumstance into blissful peace, by discovering the truth of who we are. Turning lead to gold is not nearly as miraculous as turning anguish into joy by the shear mining of this precious metal.

Following the thread of that is the thing..... 

As best as I can figure, we make lovely plans on the other side, sometimes with the help other souls, and then land here on Earth with a SPLAT, (which must be confusing);  fragmenting and jumbling things up on purpose, so as to have a new go at life......

The trick is to put the puzzle back together in new ways. Maybe to find again, our "True, original course" (thanks you WH Auden). 

We beat our heads against the obstacles of humanness....sometimes we don't get through this exercise.....but then sometimes we do.

Here is the fun part.

All this is about  an invitation to expand Love (with a big L, not a little one), because Love is it....the Alpha and the Omega. Life, the Universe and Everything. The jet fuel and the airplane, and all the passengers.....

Love is the whole enchilada. By giving into it; by finding it.....we keep creating it. 

It is Alchemy, because we must cook it up over and over again, with the ingredients  that life offers.....sweet,  savory.......or bitter as gall. If God is a great big gorilla, we souls are the beating heart of her.

I might have engaged in some alchemy myself this Christmas. Since nothing has been as I would wish these last six years, and since my efforts to turn my life around through my own muscle have largely been an abysmal failure, I seem to have resorted to holding my breath, jumping overboard and abandoning ship. 

 I follow the most basic instinct I have. Love.

Let's just say this...only love can come in and wipe clean the chalkboard of my worried mind.

Remind me to forget expectation.

Be humble.

Let it  all go.

Surrender, for I am out of bullets.

Love the rain, and the fire, and old Henry instead.

Love my  three precious children as they are.....out there living their best lives.

Bask in that thought. Release them from the prison of my expectations and see the beauty of their independence and choice. Just love them. 

Get quiet, peaceful and still, open up and find the thread again. As I do this, I notice that the strain of it all eases up for a bit, desperation sighs, yawns and goes to sleep. From within, some other kind of love just comes back. It is a bigger, broader feeling....a different animal, one so expansive it must come from somewhere else entirely. 

I have come to think of it as a spring or a well, where the water is sweeter, more pure. Infinite. In my solitude I plumb the depths of it. Perhaps turn things upside down for a fresh look.

Maybe  untethering myself from the prison of desire,  the wild bird of abundance can take flight? 

She is a beauty, she is..... Perhaps my love is her liberation?

Maybe then at her whimsy, she will alight on my worthy heart and build a nest there.

And even lay a few tiny eggs. 

Meanwhile the rain agrees.....

And  takes it's leave.....

As comes the alchemy of dawn 

The Soup

The Soup

Dear Ian,

    

I am writing to say things change.  

Things change. 

Its December, as you well know...... the witching month; the one I dread the most. I approach it with a mix of longing and loathing.  I have felt the weight of it laying on my heart again. The holidays are like food that I crave that has been laced with poison, and I damned well know it. And I kind of want to eat it anyway because used to be my favorite thing......my favorite time, you see? My house full of the people I loved the most..... Excitement at full throttle with the three of you and all of us infected with the spirit of Advent. 

Full throttle Christmases.......over the top.......caprice and excess all draped in too many lights....it was my heart's delight.

Anyway, things change. 

I am doing a little better every year since you transitioned. I finally tore the old puzzle apart, scrambled the pieces, cut off some edges and glued it back together in a strange new way. I trimmed off the parts that didn't fit and pushed them back together with equal measures of desperation and hope. 

I have come to accept now that even if I am on the periphery of my own kids' lives, we still love each other and we are figuring out where we all fit. I have new people who have come along and seem to really understand me. The surprise of that has been huge.

I have even felt the glimmers of Christmas Spirit; with my neighbors, with Kent at the movie ELF wearing our green hats; with Nita at the Christmas fair....seeing dogs in costumes and such. It doesn't hurt so much when I see happy children because I have puzzle-pieced Hudson and Coy and TW over the holes that you left. Your brother and sister are amazing, grown humans and I love how they have turned out. 

Things change.

New customs have fallen into my life like soft, quiet snow over the landscape. Mariana and Kam mess up my house the way you kids once did; I find leggos under my couch and it is lovely. Neighbors eat my cookies and I am making new stockings because Kenzie is coming home for a day! Chris and I hang Christmas lights. It is a bit solumn but always so magical....and that custom is absolutely for you, Ian. He does that in rememberance and of this I am grateful.

I had a bad night Saturday because I found out about a girl named Madison who used to date or sleep with you. She even came to your funeral and gave Michaela a hard time, because I think she still loved you. It twisted me up pretty bad all night and sent me into a spin of "what ifs" and memories of our terrible last days. 

I was drawn down again into the place I cannot go.

Churning and awake most of that night and then wilted the next day.

But in the morning I did something different. I stayed home and mended; just let my wound be; I asked my tribe of souls, including you,  to just help me. (I think I begged at one point).....

And then I took a nap.

Naps help when things are changing.

After all of that, last night Bridget and Jacie came over for a last glass of wine before she leaves for England. I usually host them; they eat a little food and drink whatever wine is in the fridge. My open wound was still there, I was aware of it, but somehow if felt different. I could feel it like the mouth of a cave, with cold are coming out.

There was an almost imperceptable shift in me. Instead of stacking the pain of Bridget leaving on top of my December horror-show-gloom.....I suddenly could not feel bad. In fact, this sense of warnth began to come and the chill of my pain could not find purchase. I could not feel it.

All I could feel was LOVE.

It was everywhere, all through my house. It seemed to even change the color of the room. It was as if it had been poured in through the chimney or the heater vents....It effused everything. 

Perfect, palpable, sweet-as-water-from-a-spring. 

Suddenly I could see the gift of these girls. It was as miraculous as how the three of us had met to begin with 5 years ago. Bridget gathering me up and getting me walking,,,,,

literally (and without her knowledge) binding my wounds and setting my broken bones as we walked endless miles through the ranch. Sarcasm and dogs and exercise.

Jacie loving and loving and loving me as we watched endless hours of Game of Thrones and snarked at life like two angry crows. 

Fists to the sky and chests heaving at the unfairness of our precious ones being taken too soon. Letting me love her in her darkest days after her Mom left. 

Somehow in the churn of all of this, they became my daughters.

Last night when we were saying goodbye,  it no longer mattered that Bridget is leaving or that Jacie is still stuck in a shitty place or that I am old. It did not matter that we come from different continents and vastly different times.  Everything else is just the stories we live. 

Things change. 

Stories change. 

Mine has and so shall theirs. 

I went to bed content and at peace. My tribe of souls were a witness to the love of these great women. They were around us all night and they stayed with me as I slept. swimming and rejoicing with me in the soup of life. Happy for me, I think, and excited that I found a different door out of the morass of grief again, even if just for a moment, and happy that I could let things change.

And things do change

Except love, it is the constant.

                                                                            Love, 

                                                                                        Mom

The Buffet

The Buffet

When Trapper got sick this week it sprung a coil in me. I reached out to everyone I knew for prayers 

And they all prayed - even Marcus.

Its a  strange thing, prayer.....I don't know precisely how it works. 

So much of what I believe have changed; I think I am done with church for this life.....

My days of sitting in a pew are over.

And yet I pray.

Every time I walk, I look to the heavens, or to the clouds, or the canopy of trees with light shining through. I look to the heavens and the blooming of the dawn and a calmness overcomes me.

 I feel a thunderbolt of "Otherness" arrive. I feel a great, expansive Source. I let it fill me and reset me, and point me in the right direction for another day. I breath it in and I am renewed, grateful, filled.

Surely this too is prayer

And the reliance on this power may be a sort of organic faith.

Yet, sometimes my old ways awaken in me again.

When Trapper got sick,  I pulled out all the stops and brought in the big guns....I went back to deliberate, old fashioned Biblical prayer. I asked Source directly to intervene on his tiny behalf. Instead of relying just on the buffet of delicious nature to help me, I began to order directly from the menu:

" God....Source...Ian, Momma, Glen....all of you who keep an eye on me and mine, please help Trapper." I talked directly to the cells in his little body, to his immune system, to the very neurons and white blood cells fighting for his health. I prayed for the hands of the doctors and the people helping him, especially his Momma...."Don't let them miss anything!"

I called forth all the mighty forces and it felt good.

It is like being bilingual;

Like people I have heard of who speak mainly English, but dream in their native tongue.

Except for me it is the reverse. 

Mostly now my native language, the natural world, prevails. I feel a member of a vast community of souls, 

And we are all Source belying the notion of a Father God, above and away from us.

Pieces of us are here on Earth walking around in meat suits while other pieces vibrate at a different frequency around, yet are still so near....around, between and beyond. We are many and we are One, woven of the same fabric and there for one another.

A family, a whole bucket of energy all together, moving in a dynamic sway and expanding through the fuel of love.

It may sound  like a wacky way to describe this circus of a thing we call life, but it works for me and it gives me great peace.

Yet still......

Yet anyway...... in this urgent moment I reverted back to my old religion; my old way of asking for help and turned it into a direct plea, once again like a child to her father, rather than to my Source of souls. 

And by goodness, that is ok, too.

Here's a funny thing.

In my loving and worrying about Trapper, I wanted my old memorized prayers that I relied on for most of my life. Not just the Lord's prayer or the 23rd Psalm, but two specific long prayers that I used to repeat over and over when I was desperate with worry for Ian. I needed those words again, but I could not remember the words.

It was frightening. I felt frozen and lost, like losing an important phone number.

I asked for them back.

Suddenly, the two prayers popped into my mind like an old song. I knew them instantly and entirely, without a word missing. The entire verses found my tongue and poured forth again and it was lovely and delicious.

Then is when I knew.

Then is when it became clear.

All these ways of knowing, of thinking and of grasping at the unknowable God, elusive and quiet and often so still....they are all true and ok.

Source is God.

Source is the Jewish God.

Source is Allah and the Great Spirit, and Abba and Jahweh.

Source is undefinable and will never be completely known or perfectly defined by any religion or sect.

Source is a particle and a wave, as a physicist might muse.

That is the point.

To be elusive is to be sought;

And Source desires that we seek.

As long as a small creature, such as myself, is willing to wonder and read and ask and search for Source, she will find Them.

It's ok, no matter how or where I go to get my fill, to dreink the magic in-for me it is lately the dawn sky-but it might be a pew or a Bible.

As long as I do it with love, I will be heard. 

Sometimes I will raise my arms to the sky and pull from the buffet, and dance in a community of souls. Sometimes, I will plug my cord  directly into the socket and I will be charged and solace will be found that way. It's all good.

Seek and ye shall find,

Ask and it will be given.

As the God of my parents would say.

And this little love note I raise up to Source......

Thank you for helping Trapper and his Momma......

Whoever, and whatever, and where ever the heck You are.........

I do love You.