Can I go back home?

New England Seaside September 8 2009


As I breathe deeply of the soft and sultry air,
My skin and lungs recall the kiss of salt.
A white gull soars low above the houses
With their always peeling paint –
Houses dating back to early days,
To earthen paths and ox-drawn carts,
To farmers working mightily to
Stack the many granite stones into high walls.
I look out across the estuary to
Admire colored houses lined along the distant shore,
And feel that I’ve come home again.


Reflections:


The flight was calm. I remember Providence airport when it was a 30 foot by 30 foot waiting room with two doors opening directly to a tarmac apron. Planes taxied right up to the door, and passengers came down steps, opened the waiting room door, and came in, to be embraced by waiting loved ones. I would be met by my dad, who, upon picking up my suitcase laden with books, would exclaim, always: “What do you have in here – rocks??!!”

Every time I travel, I think of him and that question. My suitcases have not lightened in the intervening 45+ years! Today, Dad would have to wait in Baggage Claim, and the concourses, as at other airports, are hundreds of feet long, with many gates, pulsing with people rushing in both directions. I do not feel as if I am arriving in the same place. The world has changed! Yet when I emerge into the rose-tinged light, see the sandy soil and struggling trees and shrubs, hear the cry of gulls, and breathe the salt air, I know I have come home again.

Now, as I rejoice in sensing that I am attached to earth in this place as in no other, I am also realizing how time and life have swept me past the wedding I remember here a year ago with such poignant pleasure. I feel sad, knowing that this visit will show me how I have already let go joyful memories, how I have moved on away from that deep happiness of wedding my Bubbele, how my life has carried me on alone.


Sweeping forward September 8 2009


Such a strange sensation –
A long trip with no one waiting at the other end.
No one knows I came, or where I went.
I feel disconnected from this world.
I guess I’m seeking the impossible –
To find again a moment from the past replete with joy.
But that trip was then, and this one’s now.
Now – past joy appears in sepia – a keepsake memory.

Same Sex Marriage -- A Long Journey

A Year Ago… We Got Married… A Same Sex Couple


Co-Creating November 29 2008


Two minds, two hearts, three hands..
One spirit, Creating one life for our time together.
Two houses, two kitchens, two histories , two professions
Unified in us, in our space, our aura.
We were Not one, Not two –
Instead something other, beautiful, hopeful, more --
We lived the love that humans long for in their deepest hearts.
Now you are there, and I am here – Still united.
We sit astride, one foot on earth, the other where?
I wonder how to be in two places.

Reflections


A year ago tomorrow, you and I flew to New England for our “real” wedding – the one recorded in a town hall, with a marriage certificate.

The wedding, whose anniversary we’ll celebrate, on that same Massachusetts beach, on September 11, was the culmination of a series of vows we made, privately and publicly, to have and to hold from now forward… to be spouses.

It’s hard to get married, though, as a same sex couple. We tried repeatedly. Our love demanded it.


Our first ceremony took place October 11, 1999, at Stinson Beach, in California. You always loved the ocean, and gravitated toward beaches. We walked out toward the water, in the stiff wind, together. We each threw a pebble, picked up on the beach, into the great Pacific Ocean; facing each other and holding hands, we pledged our forever love. That was the first page of our long search for identity as a couple -- not just "housemates," not just "friends" or "companions." We were soul mates -- spouses.


Why Gay Marriage? January 17, 2009


We were committed.
From the start, we knew we were The Ones.

1999:
We vowed eternal love, tossing pebbles into restless waves,
Private wedding rite at Stinson Beach –
Only ourselves, the gulls, and beach strollers to witness.
But, though no one understood,
We were in fact a couple --
For better or worse, in sickness or in health.

Though both women, we weren’t just housemates, lovers, “friends”;
The body’s gender doesn’t always match the nature of the soul.
How to get this point across? How to tell others?
Without “married,” we were silenced, mute.

2002:


Trying to shout the truth, we held a ceremony and reception,
Pledged undying love before minister, family, friends, and neighbors.
The people there understood our goal, but we were still Outsiders.
A commitment ceremony was separate, not equal.
We could not be considered “family.”

2004:

We learned that Oregon now welcomed same sex couples.
We went and were married;
We were joyful, finally accepted.
But the next year, our marriage, with thousands more,
Was ruled an error, involuntarily annulled.
We felt violated by the court.

2008:

Years later, at last, not long before she died,
Trundling oxygen and cancer meds,
We were recorded legally -- married, at last, in Massachusetts.
In our hearts, we thanked the people of that state.
Finally, we counted -- no longer on the outside looking in.

Why did we try so hard for marriage?
Why need the same rights as others?
Because then everyone could grasp we were a couple.
We were mystically wedded, forever bonded, “not one not two,”
Married, we could simply say the truth, be who we were, and people knew.

Man in the Moon?

Moon Threads September 5 2009

The moon is full,
Its craggy shadows beaming down at me.
I gaze upward, thinking of you "up there."

Then I wonder why we think
Of God and spirits peering down.
Spirit's everywhere -- within, around --
Universal source, thread of life,
Fabric of creation.
Even if I think you're looking down at me,
Peeking from behind the clouds,
You're also woven into every fiber of my being.
We're entwined, forever, everyplace our souls may roam.

Packing

Travel Puzzle July 4 2009


When I’m leaving home to travel,
I always wonder what I’ll pack.
My suitcase yawns upon the bed,
Waiting to receive its load –
It always gets too quickly full and heavy.
Then I wonder what I’ve packed to make it so,
And why I need to take so many things.
So I take things out, rethink, and pack again –
With the same results.
Those few things absolutely couldn’t weigh so much!
How can some people travel without luggage?
What if it gets too cold, and I feel freezing?
What if it’s decidedly too warm, and I can’t stand it?
What if I get a stomach ache, a cold, a bruise, a rash?
What if, what if, what if??
What if I just wore the same things for a week – would anybody notice?
Would it make a difference?
I don’t know the answers, but I ponder often on the question --
What do I really need?


Reflection

I'm in packing mode again. I ponder New York City -- it's too far ahead for a weather prediction -- warm, cold, raining, daytime, evening, going out, what will I need? I don't know. I pack black -- it's safe. Now I understand -- for the first time -- why you had so many scarves! They liven up black!

I also do not know the answer to the deeper question of what I really need -- undoubtedly much less than I think I do. I tend to ignore the value of inner resources and lean too heavily on "stuff."

Life Keeps Changing

Changes September 3 2009

In childhood, we court the new and different –
Longing for each next step until we’re grown.

Then we tend to lose our forward thrust –
We keep wanting to hold on to what we have, what we’ve achieved --
And can’t keep moving forward, heavy laden.

Despite us, things keep shifting -- baffling, causing pain --
Until we learn to relax and then, at last, let go.

We can no longer clutch at what we’ve been and done,
But --- eager, joyful -- trusting in transcendence –
Must let go all outward show,
And move into our spirit self to rediscover love.


Reflections:

As I think of your last weeks and months, my Love, I can see this process of transcendence. I had seen it previously in the last few months that my friend Rand was alive. He seemed to move out of his body. He was living more and more in the life beyond. You did the same thing. You gradually accepted and moved beyond perceiving your ailing body. You forgave those who had seemed to wrong you. You joyfully embraced a sense of wonder and peace. We experienced awe and beauty in being with you.

You seemed transformed. You were glowing. We thought your health was improving. What we were really seeing, without recognizing the fact, was your soul preparing to be reborn into another kind of life.

As I experience my own aging, I realize that I don’t want to bog down in regret, or stagnate, focusing on what I’m in the process of losing on the physical plane. I want to experience the joy and excitement of moving forward, of becoming more fully my whole self.


Trying Gold September 3 2009

To become more pure,
Gold is heated many times,
Melted, then transformed;
The rarer liquid, each time, gains a Karat.

I don’t want to think of being melted down repeatedly.
I shrink away, try to refuse.
Yet I also want to lose the dross and be authentic --
Let what’s purest gold in me shine forth.

A Matter of Perspective September 1 2009

Today is pleasant, with a refreshing breeze.
As I walk, I think about that breeze—what it can mean.

Looking at myself, a woman, age 70, walking down the block,
I can appreciate the wind’s cool brush against my skin;
I’m happy on a sunny day, grateful that we’ve had some rain,
And now the summer heat’s abating.

But I can also look at me as spirit,
An eternal soul who dwells in earthly space today.
In that form, I perceive the breeze as universal love that’s always present,
And rejoice at being one with the Creator and creation.

I smile and reflect on picking the perspective of the moment –
It’s a lot like choosing
Whether I should use my indoor or my outdoor voice!


Today’s Reflections
One of the most striking changes in my life since Ellen -- my Love -- died is discovering how many dimensions make up “reality.” As a child, like most children, I had an active fantasy life. Also like most children, I learned that only physical reality counts. Only one thing is possible at a time, and that has to fit within the bounds of “reality.” We learn to think that our little box is all of life – so high, so wide, so deep, ticking along in a line, second by second.
But how do I account for love, for dreams, for wishes, for the obvious division between different feeling states? How can I feel one moment that life is black, that nothing will ever be good again – then 10 minutes later find a ray of joy in a friend’s smile or a child’s enthusiastic greeting, as he runs toward me waving the picture he just drew – arms outstretched to hug me?
Obviously, real reality has many, shifting possibilities. What if there were more than I could ever imagine? It’s possible. What if grief were just a facet of joy, of love, of energetic discovery?
Actually, it is!

A FLY’S EYE SEPTEMBER 2 2009

I’m trying to picture seeing like a fly,
With all those prisms -- each a different view
Of the same thing.
How does its brain put them all together?
What does that dimension feel like?
Clearly it’s very different from our
Tripartite way of knowing.
The world we know with senses is a box –
High, and wide, and deep.
But that’s not all the world there is.
At times we know things not encased within those measures.
In fact, in mind and spirit, we can conjure up
An endless plenty – possibilities and feelings.

As I traverse this part of life,
I discover an infinity of understandings.
I can choose my way of being now –
Like the fly, I can see through many lenses;
All show what’s possible, and real.

Sudden Change

Widowhood August 8 2009

The widow walks a long and lonely path.
Like a twin who’s shared a heart and brain,
She’s sundered through
And struggles to keep on as one
Where there were two.
She straggles,
Tries to recover, rediscover,
And redraw herself.
She may move forward,
But she never leaves behind
The love she’s lost.

Life will never again be the same. The differences that evolve, however, will have their own sources of joy.

A friend today sent me a description, by the author, of the book, "Moving to the Center of the Bed." What a fantastic title to describe what one must do when suddenly a close relationship has changed forever: instead of being half a couple, one is suddenly forced to stand alone. ("Moving to the Center of the Bed: The Artful Creation of a Life Alone" by Sheila Weinstein, Moving to the Center of the Bed Publishing, $15.95)

Ms Weinstein writes of her experience as her husband's dementia deepens, "At the age of 62, it was terrifying to suddenly find myself alone. At times I thought that I would surely die of the pain and loneliness. But I didn't. Not because it wouldn't have been easy to give in to depression and despair, to say goodbye to life rather than stand up and fight for it, but because I am a determined woman. I needed to know that I could make it on my own and that my life did not depend on another human being for its meaning or its duration."

When we first commit wholeheartedly to a relationship, we build, painstakingly, a new way of being.

When the relationship ends, that part of ourself also ends.

We grieve our loss of the other. We also mourn losing who we had become. It's like moving house. We used to know where to turn automatically to find a sheet, a glass, a spoon. When we stand at the end of a relationship, we used to know what to say, what to think, how to be in the world. Now, we have no clue. Nothing works as it used to. Who are we? How will we live?


Habits NOVEMBER 21 2008

Habits are comfortable.
We enjoy routines – getting up, stretching,
Brushing teeth, showering,
Smelling that first warm morning cup.

Our movements are precise – two steps here and three there.
Get a glass and dish on the way by.
Turn left, grab a spoon, no need to look --
Choreographed --
A fluid, graceful sequence --
Steps well-learned, entwined.

Now, as if waking from a dream, I’m suddenly alone.
The dance has vanished.
Like a disconnected marionette,
I turn aimlessly--
Right, then left; forward, then back.

I wonder, confused:
“What now?”
“Where’s that spoon?”
“What comes next? “