Sunday, May 27, 2018

Stopping Time

Bob Schneider
 (Change Your Mind)
"What's so funny is nobody's laughing at this change of heart you're having.
What's so funny is I'm filled up with thunder, but I can't seem to get out from under, all these stones you tied to my chest.
and what's so funny is the birds are singing, sun shining, and bells are ringing and I'm thinking, 'what happened here?'
What's so funny is the way things go down.
 Like when a star dies it doesn't make a single sound.
 It's just gone, you can't find it when you look into the sky.

and I can't change your mind.
And I can't change your mind.
And I can't change your mind.
And I can't change your mind.


Darlin son,

I want to freeze time.
Or turn it back entirely
With my finger
I move the
Hands of the clock
Slowly backwards.

Each moment 
Each memory 
A single frame 
In the movie of
Your life.

And I watch it
Over and Over, Baby.

Seems these days I keep grabbing at the ribbon of time, gripping so hard to hold things still; stationary. The chord that knits and holds all this mess together, this life of ours that was.

A picture,
A story, a note,
A baseball hat,
A voice in my head,
The face of a girl you loved that still looks so sad when we talk together and remember your days. All these are the ropes I use to stay time for a minute.  So I can still breath. 

Tomorrow I will be a day older, Hudson will be sitting up soon, Chris will turn 30;  Kenzie will have another baby. They will grow older and lines will dance around their eyes but your eyes will stay young in our minds. Girls you once loved will marry other boys. My dogs will eventually leave me and fly on to you. More people I love will come and go from my life and I cannot stop it.

You will always be 23. Your hands will be young and smooth, unmarked by time and wear. Age will not cause your youth to fade. 

How do I accept the burden of time passing? Most days I feel all this will never come around to a good end; like the ancients were right and the world is flat...... and most days I want to simply sail to the edge and tip over into nothing. 

Only the loves I still have on this sweet Earth make me want to turn back and come home to the truth of life, tough as it is.

And so it goes,
I guess I try to hang on and ride the current a little longer.
Time will not stay her course
Even for you and me, baby.

"If your life is a leaf that the seasons tear off and condemn,

I will bind you with love 
That is precious and green as a stem." L Cohen

Monday, May 14, 2018

Kings and Dirt


 I love dirt
        And dirt don't hurt,
        Only if there's stickers in it.

Ian Ray
5 years

I read this week that ancient people had a word for the living, breathing, sentient Earth, and her name is "Gaia". She feels, she evolves, she regenerates, she suffers and she speaks.  I have always known this about her. It soothes and grounds me to walk barefoot on her, to put my skin against hers; to remove the barriers that disconnect. 

You knew this too, Ian....didn't you?  You reveled in dirt and were happiest when you were elbow-deep in the stuff, because you KNEW that is where the magic things are. It was your kingdom and you the KING. Lift a rock, dig a few inches, and life found you.  

Found you it always did, in all its wriggling, scurrying, colorful, mysterious forms.....centipede, scorpion, grub.....fossil, rock, leaf....the living cells of our living Mother. You knew you couldn't expect them to find you, you had to look for them. You liked the smell of dirt, the patterns and shapes and colors of it. You would even taste it as a little boy.
When you were 7, and we had to dig a deep hole in our yard to bury sweet Bailey dog. When he was covered and prayers were said, you laid across the warm soil, arms stretched  in a little boy's embrace and cried into the arms of Gaia....cried and held her as she held you. Grief and longing spilled from you into her.  Each time you found a dead creature, or we lost a pet, your small man hands dug a hole tenderly gave her back to you.  My deep boy, I think you might know a little more her workings and her realm than many do. Her rhythms and ways came naturally and you recognized the patterns and the ways of her. Like your Grandma Kaufhold,  you found God in her. 

My young King of the dirt. Prince of lizards, grubs, and earth worms.   

But it is not always neat and tidy being a King. You're not measured by goodness, kindness, or overall stellar behavior, it seems.  You were just a little more powerful, like 220 volts instead of 110? Kind of like Thor or Hera or the Hulk; pounding and "hulking" your way through this place.....I saw that in you....not a peaceable fact a thunderbolt of a person.

Knocking over chairs
Capturing hearts
Demanding attention.....
Rescuing maidens
Loving Dogs
Oh....loving those dogs

But never quite fitting in; never quite getting this deal of living with people who insist on wearing shoes. Grabbing up experiences, bossing people around (after all,  you ARE the King for Christ sake, people are supposed to obey...) Acting and living beyond the world's rules. No interest in fitting in (except a deep desire to be loved for who you are)

Middle finger to the the absurdity of law

Born to rule, an advanced soul, a King.....from the royalty of dirt......Tossed or placed, or choosing to come down here and be a bull in a china closet every minute you were here. Born to stand apart, how incredibly frustrating and remarkably made you are, Biggun.

"El Rey" indeed. Named Ian which is Scots-Irish for "John", like the two eccentrics in the Bible, one standing apart, eating locus and honey and heralding the coming of Christ until his head gets lopped off...and the other a mystic, a lover of light and gentle companion.... "My beloved one" of Christ.

I don't know why you were sent here....was it an experiment? You lived among people and did find your Earth family.

They "got" you and knew you to be unique. They describe you to me as different and irreplaceable.....they miss you Biggun.... yet they all say how frustrating, infuriating, and impossible you could be. The few people who got you are so dear to me. We remember your reign and your kingly ways, and your feet of clay. We remember your royal ego and temper, too. You could not suffer fools.

Maybe it wasn't ego after all, but the 220-volted spirit that Kings seem to have. We saw that, our little tribe of Gaia.  When I sink my hands into to deep, rich, life-giving body of the Mother, I feel you there.