From this vantage point atop the cliff overlooking the sea, I feast my eyes after having been incarcerated an eternity behind rain streaked windows.
I drink in the magnificent nurturing beauty before me.
Today the sea is so lovely and sweet and smooth.
No longer thrashing wildly. No longer hurling herself with abandon across the face of the cliff as she has been for... how many days and weeks now?
I can’t keep track.
One stormy moment thundered into the next until it didn’t seem to matter whether a day, an hour, or moment was counted.
The sea is quiet, lulling me.
Soft waves draw back and forth massaging wet sand. I feel as though I could reach out and touch the edge of the shimmer, pull it across me and let the gentle sheets rest on my shoulders.
I would huddle down beneath her and sleep like a mermaid.
My niece chose this song to play the first time I heard it.
Spend all your time waiting
for that second chance
for a break that would make it okay
there's always some reason
to feel not good enough
and it's hard at the end of the day
Her brother, my nephew, died,
and this was at his funeral.
Up to that point I was numb,
had no feelings one way or the other about anything.
Numb.
I guess that's what shock does to ya.
But, there I was listening to the words.
It was like they were the only thing existing for the time I heard it.
As they sunk into my being something tore open and I sobbed uncontrollably.
I need some distraction
oh beautiful release
memories seep from my veins
let me be empty
oh and weightless then maybe
I'll find some peace tonight
Well, I was at a memorial service after all.
But, this was horrible.
Not a mourner’s weeping at all,
but out and out sobbing.
You know?
It was the kind where the snorting comes through.
I grabbed up my coat and put it up against my face to hold it back.
I felt ashamed, didn't want to ruin the sacredness of the moments
After all, there were others here who had more reason to cry than me.
In the arms of the angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you feel
you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you're in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort here
My sister, Raj's mother.
My Niece, Raj's sister.
My ex-brother in law, Raj's father.
Rishi, Raj's little brother.
Raj's little sister with the beautiful name
I can't remember.
Not to mention a myriad of relatives
from both sides of the family,
some arriving from the other side of the world
And so many friends who loved him, too.
So tired of the straight line
and everywhere you turn
there's vultures and thieves at your back
the storm keeps on twisting
you keep on building the lies
that you make up for all that you lack
He died years ago,
but tonight the song is haunting me.
And here I am with that deep,
deep pain in my heart for Raj.
Well, maybe not for Raj.
He's beyond the troubles of his life.
He left them behind.
Maybe, I'm holding that deep,
deep pain he once carried.
I guess we all do
until we are free to move on.
I’m not saying
to escape before our time.
But, we have to carry it until then.
it don't make no difference
escaping one last time
it's easier to believe
in this sweet madness oh
this glorious sadness that brings me to my knees
His father was from India.
Raj chose to follow the same religion.
He was close to the Goddess, Lakshmi.
I have his picture of her still on my wall.
I can't get rid of it,
it's a little piece of Raj here with me.
Symbolic of course.
I don't think he continued in that way.
After he died, my sister cried with joy
we found a letter where he expressed his Christian feelings.
In the arms of the angel
fly away from here
from this dark cold hotel room
and the endlessness that you feel
So maybe he has moved on to his next life.
Or maybe an angel
took him to heaven to be with Jesus.
All I know is that his life was too short.
He had a heart that was sweet as candy.
Yet he had to hide it
behind a tough exterior.
From what I could tell,
it was not who he liked to be.
But, somehow he needed to have it.
you are pulled from the wreckage
of your silent reverie
you're in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort here
You know how when someone dies,
and someone says,
"He will never be forgotten."?
It's true.
Though I do not think of him every moment,
I can't forget him.
you're in the arms of the angel
may you find some comfort here
Once, he told me that when he was very little,
he was afraid at night.
So, while he was lying in bed waiting to go to sleep,
he would imagine a blue light surrounding him,
protecting him from
the things that made him feel afraid.
He imagined the blue light
in the shape of a pyramid. He said he could imagine it so well
that he really felt like he was inside.
Then he felt he was safe, and warm
and could fall to sleep peacefully.
When he told me this
he was about eleven or twelve.
What an amazing gift for a child to have.
He used that technique for years.
I know how he died.
No one should be alone in the cold like that. But, I like to think
he was surrounded by his warm glowing pyramid,
Unafraid, safe and warm and at peace.
Deep within
lies a slimy,
pathetic Monster
writhing with pain.
We all know him
His own worst enemy, is he
only conscious of misery,
he cannot see beyond himself.
pain lingers about him,
like so many tangled wires
jumbled in static
giving off fumes
Pain is his cousin
who never goes away
only to be dealt with
in twisted anger
victimized, ostracized,
unreachable, untouchable
unworthy of redemption
he refuses to break through
his self-imposed barriers
believes he is helpless
against the invisible foe
Pain is unacceptable
not a legitimate entity
pain has planted
thorny swords of barbed wire,
prevented easy access
pain wrapped in self loathing
cannot move or grow
tears of self pity,
cover him like unshakable slime,
his fears convincing him
the pain will not desist.
self-flagellated
wounds ooze thickly
He tells himself
"it's all I am meant to be,
just pain"
A most despicable Beast,
unworthy and shamed,
is but one who needs
tender healing, love nonetheless.
Dear Beastie,
I come to you,
my hand outreached to comfort,
yet, you stab me with your lightning bolts,
unwilling as a cowering porcupine.
You can only unleash your pain yourself, I see.
Did you know I was once like you?
By soothing voice, I sing to you.
By soft-coated whispers,
I encourage you to breathe,
and unwind the chains
you have wrapped about yourself.
Hiding in the poppies
locked you further away,
brought increased harm and alarm
No remembrance of who you are.
And so, I calm my pain focused mind,
my aching heart, my stress-filled body
to accommodate your need for undivided attention,
your need for redemption of your false beliefs
to embrace what I once thought was the enemy
Without your spiky Armor,
you appear quite harmless.
With your oozing wounds placated,
your tears dried away,
you are quite a cuddly creature
and purr readily when petted
I was a youngster, practically. And I used to cry and moan and twist in pain in my hospital bed, saying "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus," and "Oh, My God"
Now mind you, I was pretty much out of my head not only with the pain, but the morphine they were shooting into me every four... or if they forgot, five or six hours, sometimes later. Some compassionate woman from down the hall, got herself out of bed to come find the one who was calling on God. She found me and proceeded to tell me how she would pray with me and for me. Praise the Lord, thank you Jesus...
Oh, my. I shut my mouth and smiled at her. There was no way I was going to get into a religious argument with her, no way I was going to go through a major guilt and conversion session, and soon she was gone. I was very bitter, and at that time was Atheist. Little did she know that I had been cussing, "taking the Lord's name in vain", otherwise I don't think she would have been so interested in praying with me. I guess I should have said "goddammit", as my Mother would have said if she was hurting.
Doctor MeanGuy had been in that day to tell me the tests showed my bladder was shreds and there was nothing they could do with it, except connect the ureters to my bowel. Of course that would mean a lifetime of E-coli infections and who-knows-what-all backing up into my kidneys.
I knew little medical terminology. But I sure as hell knew bad news when I heard it.
Since I had cancer and wasn’t expected to live anyway, I just thought I would take things into my own hands and get it over with. I was so despondent about what that doctor had said. I had had enough surgeries!!! I had had enough pain and suffering. I had enough of hospitals, doctors and nurses. Enough of living in fear.
Needless to say, the little old Italian woman, Mrs. Calabresi who was in the bed across from me, (four to a room was a luxury in those wards) watched all this with bright eyes. I loved that old woman. I don't know why anymore. Every morning the priest would come in to give her last rites, every afternoon her adult kids would traipse in to see if she had died yet, and quietly leave. Every evening she would attempt chat with us but mostly listened. I didn't know much about her diagnosis except that she had something terribly wrong with the arteries in her legs, ( I think) and she couldn't walk and was expected to make her exit quite soon.
So, that night when I decided to cut the intravenous line and the bladder catheter tubes (one came out of my abdomen) she figured it all out, got out of her bed, and walked over to me. I was so shocked to see this, you'd think Jesus walked on water! Anyhow, she lovingly stroked my forehead, I got tears in my eyes. Real tears not the tears of the frightened girl in pain. And she touched her heart, then my heart, speaking in her broken Itali-nglish. I understood quite a bit, anyhow, as I lived in Niagara Falls. Either you were Italian or Polish, I was neither but heard the languages all my life. Anyhow, she said things like, “you be better, God will help you.” That's the woman I could be honest with. “No, God wont help me, I don’t believe in God, I'm mad at God!”
She completely disarmed me by saying: “You no like God? Tha's okay! Madre di Dio si curerà. God's Mother make better!”
My mind went completely blank... a concept I couldn't conceive, God’s mother? Calabresi had me and she knew it.
"Okay Now? A pregare la Madonna You pray!" I just stared at her. "You pray! I pray!"
I couldn't say no. I would have done anything she asked me. She had a "green scapula" with her. (How it suddenly appeared threw me. Did she have it in her hand all along and I didn't notice. Why, of course!) She held it up for me to see the Blessed Virgin. She showed me the words encircling her picture. Then we said the words together.
"Again!"
We said it again. We repeated it quite a few times. Then she put it in my hands and curled my fingers around it telling me to pray all the time... well, three times a day, ten times over, or maybe it was the other way around. By this time I was hypnotized, and I can't even remember how fervently I did this. Though it really did calm me, and I felt prepared to go beyond, whatever that would be. I still was mad at God and still didn't believe in him. (Yes, yes, an oxymoron, I know, but had little logic back then. Hmmm maybe less now)
Soon the nurses were in there putting in a new IV and one catheter. They couldn't do anything about the one leaking into my abdomen. The doctor would have to repair the damage surgically.
So, that was why I was cutting things. I had scissors, but no razor, so this would take time. Damned nurses. If I had turned that light on needed assistance they never would have come in all night long. Just when you don't want them, they come along and bother you.
So, the next day, they had to take me into emergency surgery. After I woke up Dr. Neisen (the nice one, see? I remember his name after all these years) came in beaming. I was still kind of druggy from the anesthesia but so glad to see him. He said, "I don't know what happened, but your bladder is all in one piece. All we had to do was sew up the hole where your abdominal catheter was located."
Smiling nurses came in to see that I was comfy and all tucked in. When they pulled back the curtain, I could hardly wait to tell Mrs. Calabresi. But her bed was all made up tight as a drum. She and all her belongings were gone. Nobody had to tell me where she had gone.
The next day, I asked for the priest. He came in. I told him about the miracle, and that I wanted to become Catholic. After he asked a few questions he told me no. It was impossible. I was a married woman, on my way to a divorce and previously baptized and confirmed in a non-catholic church. I was pretty insulted. After all, it had been a Catholic miracle. He agreed it couldn’t have been anything less. But that wouldn't make any difference where my soul was concerned.
He left, and then I was REALLY pissed at god!
For a long time after that though, I went to the shrine of Our Lady of Fatima in Youngstown NY, and had some peaceful times. But, I never converted, even after the "rules" got loosened.
This is the tip of the iceberg of how I coped with the diagnosis and surgical challenges. Very badly, until Mrs. Calibresi stepped in. Then, very calmly, because, “Tha's Okay.” I could always talk to God's Mother.
saw one at the shelter
A calico,
pretty,
but not the one.
Will I ever find the right one again?
These three are alright.
I love them.
They probably don't love me.
Not like she did
No soul connection
No deep knowing
They don't love me, yet.
Depend on for food, maybe.
Enjoy petting and play.
And the birdseed I scatter over the yard for birds
Hate being kept inside.
Don't have pristine litter boxes
I wish I dared let them outside.
But, after what happened...
These three fill my life with there antics,
their growls and spats
vying for the top shelf of the kitty condo.
purrs and rubs on the legs and sleeping on same
And wild eyed, you will not pick me up looks
crawling under the blanket to lie by my side
sleeping in the closet, the garage, the head of my bed
waking up with one on my chest
How did that happen?
Why didn't I wake?
Fur
Lot's of fur.
Fur all over the house.
On the carpet,
in the corners,
on the curtains where they pass through to look outside
in the dryer vent,
in the closet.
on my clothes,
up my nose
Fur
Would I have it any other way?
No, not in a million years.
Living in California the majority of my life, I've felt plenty of earthquakes. The mild ones under 4.0 on the Richter scale are seldom noticed. They are nothing more than if someone was standing on the back of your car and bouncing a bit. As the intensity of the quake is greater, the higher the number on the Richter scale. Once an earthquake reaches 5.0 it can be felt strongly. Once it reaches 6.0 it is so strong that buildings can shudder, grocery store shelves lose their supplies and people are more likely to run into the street. You can see the trees and telephone wires swinging back and forth. For each degree after that the increase in intensity can be very forceful. In disadvantaged or undeveloped countries an earthquake measuring 6.0 can cause considerable severe damage.
Four days before the 7.0 earthquake hit Haiti, a 6.5 earthquake hit a city called Eureka in California located 653 miles (1050 KM) north of where if live. I felt it. Not hard, like the people who live there. But I felt it as many did, up and down the northern California area all the way over into Nevada. The Epicenter was just off the coast near Eureka. Being California, the area was able to sustain the damage without deaths or serious injuries, though, there are now reports of 22 million dollars in damages. (about 15.5 million Euros).
Over the last 300 years, Californians have learned that brick houses and other such buildings would be destroyed by earthquakes. Many deaths and injuries could be prevented by adequate engineering of structures. By the late 1920's guidelines for building were established and have been improved upon since then. The reason there were no deaths and serious injuries in Eureka, is because those building codes had been instituted. We are very fortunate compared to what has happened in Haiti. It is heartbreaking to see the damages, injuries and deaths due to that earthquake.
My First Experience with Earthquake.
When living near Vandenburg Air Force Base from 1963 to 1965, the earth rumbled more from the rocket and missile launches than it did from the few minor quakes I felt.
About 1 minute or so after the 6.6 to 7.0 quake occurred, my sister and I decided to call and wish Mom a happy birthday. We had no idea what had just happened. It seemed so odd that we couldn't get through. We called the operator to have her put us through. She told us all the lines were busy and to wait and call later. We waited a while and tried again. Still we couldn't get through. We called and asked an operator to try again. She abruptly said, "You can't get through! There's been an earthquake!"
It sent shivers up my spine. Though I hadn't experienced any quakes when I lived there. I knew it was serious if the telephone lines were not working.
There was nothing on the TV about it. We only got three channels in those days.
My sister and I were worried. We called a few more times in the hopes that all lines were no longer busy. But, still there was no connection. The thought occurred to me that if my parents were located where the worst damage happened, then our other relatives might be safe, and there telephones working.
So, we methodically went through the telephone book and called every relative we had in the Southern California region. Some did not connect. Some gave a permanent busy signal, a special kind of busy signal that let you know that it wasn't just a person talking on the line.
Then, I called Uncle Buddy's house. Lo' and behold, his telephone rang. Back in those times, you could ring a person's phone number constantly without interruption and that is exactly what I did. Suzan and I took turns holding the phone listening to the rings. We figured that if the phone was ringing the damage where my uncle lived could not be too bad. Of course, we realized that Uncle Buddy must have felt the quake, but hopefully his house was okay.
At one point we decided that if his phone was ringing to try my brother's phone again. Still no connection. Then trying Uncle Buddy's line got a regular busy signal. There was hope! He must have been using his phone. We waited a few minutes and called again. This time the phone rang twenty times, then Uncle Buddy answered the phone. He didn't understand at first who was calling as my voice was so strained and I was speaking so rapidly, and Suzan was suggesting things for me to say in the background.
I told him we had called to wish Mom happy birthday only to be told of the earthquake, that there was nothing on the TV about it and we were worried. Uncle Buddy had been out in the yard and not wanting to come into his house because of the aftershocks, and didn't want to stay on the phone for long. He had tried to call my brother's house and was unable to get through. The epicenter was reported to be very close to where my brother lived. Uncle Buddy promised he would try to find out what he could and call us back and let us know if everyone was alright.
When the news was reported on TV We learned is was a serious quake called the Sylmar Quake. Sixty five people had died, another two thousand injured. Hospitals had been crushed and freeway overpasses had fallen, many highways were closed, landslides had caused damage to property, two dams had been destroyed. The biggest worry for us was that my brother lived near one of the dams that were being inspected to make sure it wouldn't crack. If so, there would be flooding.
Eventually, Uncle Buddy called us. Mom and Dad were okay, Roger and his wife, Sharon were okay. The baby, Carl, was okay. They had suffered no major damage. Roger's apartment was new enough that it had been built with earthquake safety in mind. Thank you, Engineers and Architects!
When we finally had the opportunity to speak with Mom and Dad, the wishing of Happy Birthday was forgotten. But, they hadn't forgotten, and we were reminded what a beautiful birthday it was. Suzan and I were confused at first, then Mom said it was beautiful because they all survived and did not suffer any damages.
There was a bit of unforgettable story in this situation. Mom and Dad sleep on opposite sides of the bed. They are not spooners, they said. I began to feel uncomfortable. I didn't want to know how my parents slept. But, Mom, or was it Dad, continued to tell us, they had gotten in the habit of sleeping with their backs turned to each other, simply because they had opposite side of there bodies with a little arthritis pain and they were more comfortable this way.
Since they were sleeping at Roger's house, they were not used to the bright sunlight shining through the window. They were both just slightly awake. A moment before the quake occurred Dad turned over and snuggled up to Mom putting his arm around her. Luckily this kept her from falling off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Even more luckily, when the big mirror from the dresser fell directly onto the bed, it landed exactly where Dad had just moved from. Dad was not injured and therefore another reason to be grateful.
Elizabeth Munroz January 16, 2010
If you would like to help the survivors of the earthquake in Haiti, please visit the links below which will direct you to the Canadian or American Red Cross web pages.
Both of them have donation forms which will allow you to send help to where it is most needed.
Branches dance to orchestration
chimes caressed by the wind
water dripping between spaces
so many pebbles pounding the roof
gutters rush to find a way to meet with wet soil
Stretching antenna, snails head for high ground
water dive bombing around them
Trailing ants gone
safely stowed in the attic,
or deeply burrowed beneath soil.
Can they manage the onslaught
of rivulets flooding
their collapsed corridors?
Opened window listening
Sonata plays full volume.
Water splayed upon window sill
Cats shake their paws
watch with piercing eyes
to see where each drop
ends it's journey
No resounding thunder, no lightning strikes
just the windows mumbling to the whispering wind
the conversation during intermission lulls me to sleep.
Imagine my shock today when I went to the doctor. Her assistant welcomes me. I follow him back down the hall and he tells me to hang my purse here, put my sweater there. I'm happy to oblige. Purse on hook. Sweater on chair. Then, he says, "step up on the scale".
This is not the part that I like. In fact, I prefer to not face the weight. Can't I just get on there backwards and not know the numbers? After all, I already know what they are, or at least the ball park figure, and that's what I got, a figure as big as a ball park. Just the same, this cute young man wanted me to get on the scale and so I did, mumbling the last remembered poundage from last visit to save him the trouble.
Imagine my surprise when there is now an unexpected drop in my weight. I have lost 14 pounds since the last visit in October. He congratulated me as if I were a contestant on the Biggest Loser. Suddenly, there were several staff people mulling around, also offering their praise. What? do they stand in the hall waiting for that momentous moment? It's an Oncologist's office, for heaven's sake! What do they do with the chemo patients who have lost 14 pounds in one week? Commiserate? or maybe, quietly sneak away, shaking their heads?
I'm not complaining about their attention. It gave me a clear picture that I mean a lot more to these people then I ever imagined. We know each other from over ten years, now. I will have to bring them all some candy, well, okay, some flowers.
Even Dr. C, heard the fuss in the hall and came out to see what was going on. A big smile on her face, a nod of her head and a wave as she went by. I don't know why I felt embarrassed.
The uptake on all this is that I have this evil judge living inside my head. Oh, you got one too? Yeah, well Judgy, is not to be mistaken for Judge Judy, she's so much nicer.
Judgy nudges me in all my glory and says, "What are you happy about? Knock that off! You don't have a right to be happy. You didn't do anything. You don't deserve these kudos. You can't take credit for losing this weight! It just happened by accident. You didn't count calories, or fat, or protein. you didn't eat a balanced diet. You didn't give a hoot about the quality of your nutritional intake. You certainly didn't EXERCISE!!! Lazy Bitch! This is just an illusion. There's something wrong with their scale."
It's not that Judgy hollers, it's just the fervent insistence that penetrates my usual block out mechanisms. She's right. I didn't do anything, I did work to lose the weight. It just happened. A trick of fate? Sudden water loss? I don't deserve to pat myself on the back for something I didn't earn.
I feel like a phony, a fake. I feel I've mislead all these wonderful supportive people by being a false weight loss person. I'm happy to have lost the weight. I hope it stays this way.
How did that happen, anyway? How did fourteen pounds of meat disappear from my body, just like that?
This is not what you're thinking. This is a beautiful beef tenderloin. Yes, symbolically it might represent the subject for today, but I wanted to turn this into something positive. So I highly recommend if you have a hungry omnivore craving you will find the most delicious recipe at this link.
Photo taken at Capitola, California the day after a big storm when the sun was going down. The hilly area off in the distance is the Monterey Peninsula, which, due to the weather, appears to be much closer than it is. Though I am not the woman in the picture, (since I was the photographer) I look at this picture and see me. I see the longing I once had during a very dark time in my life.
See how she has her arms wrapped to her body. Longing. She's not entirely hopeless quite yet. She's still standing. Some others nearby do not seem to be even aware of her, or the incredible vision just over their shoulders. I look at the surfers as those who have jumped right into the waters of life, and are living it fully.
Just a little while ago it was raining, the daytime sky was dark, like her. The rain stopped and there was but a hope of sunlight, that is when she walked out there onto the rocks. This picture is the moment when the world rejoices in the return of the sun. She just stands there longing and hurting and suddenly, there it is, the clouds parting enough and color seeping into her heart. I like to think it is this moment captured when the inspiration enters in the next breath and the spirit is blessed. Something primeval comes alive in me at times like this, and water always has a lot to do with it.
"Watch the waves, and the more you watch, the more you will able to see the beauty of them. The more you watch, the more the subtle nuances of thought will become clear to you. And it is beautiful - but you remain the witness. You remain on the beach, You sit on the beach, or lie down in the sun, and just let the ocean do it's own work - you don't interfere.
If you don't interfere, by and by, by and by, the ocean doesn't affect you. It goes on roaring all around, but it doesn't penetrate you. It is beautiful in and of itself, but it is separate, a distance exists. That distance is real meditation, a real silence. "
Did you know that heating water accounts for up to 20% of your household energy costs?
If you have a natural gas water heater then you should drain a pail of water from the hot water tank every three months or as recommended by the manufacturer.
This will remove sediment that reduces heat transfer and lowers efficiency.
