For some there comes a time when a second chance is given.That time then becomes a celebration of the unrecognized gifts of the past and humble gratitude for the wonder of present.
This then is a collection of reflections and comments on life,work,love and faith to be sung ,and danced to, in thanksgiving for a second chance.
If you don’t know where you’re going Any Road will get you there. - Any Road, G. Harrison
I listen to the wind come how l, telling me to hurry I listen to the robin’s song saying not to worry. - On the
Way to Find out, Cat Stevens
While on the long ride home The state of the art satellited technology system Filled the blank space with a landscape Seemingly from some yet undiscovered planet. Unfamiliar mountains and landmarks line the passageway. A river with no-name flows to the unknown sea . Even incidents and allegations along the way Were not reflected nor anticipated in that wise
navigation tool.
The silent conversation began: “ We’re not in Kansas anymore” the first one communicated
the second. The second one’s eyes ask if they are headed in the
right direction. “It all depends if it will take us to where we want to
go,” the firstreplied without words. “Does it matter?” the second’s hand asked.
For the first time in the time and space they shared
together It was agreed that maps and directions were not needed, as they decided to slow down to just go with the flow and enjoy the ride.
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Day Three and then departure..
The sun is ever present in safe
harbor Cape May ... She burns brightly through the haze Spirits warmed, rested and consoled Waves of that great ocean of mercy Rolling in serene and soft Kiss the beach , sanctifying grateful pilgrims As they prepare for the next phase Of their passage.
New hobby - "Ocean Gazing"
Tide comes in
Tide goes out
Fog comes in Fog lifts Tide comes in again Sun squeezing herself slightly Through the clouds Tide goes out again Footprints in the sand Washed away Anointed by the sacred salt air The sun retreats slowly It's 112 pm on our anniversary She's sleeping Music fills the space between... Tide comes in...
The
prodigal pilgrim sailor packs away the scrolled maps he bought long ago that
promised a course to a supposed hidden treasure somewhere on some uncharted
island .He blows the dust from his passage trusted weathered weary compass
securing her in a box for storage wondering if the stars lied. Forty-eight
months have passed at sea since his vessel about to be lost unrecorded wreckage
was graced with another chance by great-unseen hand.
What
seems to be an obscure lost dream in the blink of an eye the cracking open of
his chest as if he were some about to be consumed lobster was what a member of
the band would label a “game changer.”
The light at the end of the tunnel continues to slowly increase in size
as his vessel proceeds in becalmed and stormy seas alike. The passage continues
as he grows in acceptance of the impermanence.
The
priests say it is their prayers and his attempt at faith that healed and saved
him. The sisters of the Holy Trinity believe it was their love that kept him on
course. The member of the band protests the proposition of any role in feeding
the pilgrim’s fire.
The
pilgrim sailor’s journal scribblings attempt to articulate the confusion of new
labyrinth meanderings and concern about the possible lack of progress. Recent
readings provide some elucidation while meditating at dawn the comings and
goings and songs of the birds of the first light and how the great mother sun gradually
illuminates everything without judgment. He does not command - his heart to beat,
his blood to flow, and his lungs to breathe. Somehow they know their purpose.
“Something
bigger than everything is at work here.”
It
is the wonder-filling peace and mustard seed rooted gratitude that begin to
flourish around, within and through him as he tries just to be. The
fog that encompassed the affirmation that he was not here for himself was
burning away.
[On July 31, 2008 the family enjoyed an
evening of celebration of hope in the “land of giants” by the Boss. The
program’s tee shirt with the three swords and a heart was an appropriate garb,
as the father would have a CABG (coronary artery bypass surgery) at dawn on
August 4, 2008. That celebration was part of what promoters called “Magic Tour”….
and he believed.]
Epitaph on the
gravestone of St. Ignatius of Loyola
“Non coerceri a maximo, contineri tamen a minimo,
divinum est.”
(Loose translation…. Not to be daunted or held
back by the greatest challenge and yet to be concerned with the nitty-gritty,
that is the path to holiness.)
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Autumn
Poem
In the last jovial, clear-sky days of autumn
the mockingbird
in his monk-gray coat
and his arrowy wings
flies
from the hedge to the top of the pine
and begins to sing — but it's neither loose, nor lilting, nor lovely —
it's more like whistles and truck brakes and dry hinges.
All birds are birds of heaven
but this one, especially, adores the earth so well
he would imitate, for half the day and on into the
evening,
its ticks and wheezings,
and so I have to wait a long time
for the soft, true voice
of his own glossy life
to come through,
and of course I do.
I don't know what it is that makes him, finally, look
inward
to the sweet spring of himself, that mirror of heaven,
but when it happens —
when he lifts his head
and the feathers of his throat tremble,
and he begins, like Saint Francis,
little flutterings and leapings from the pine's forelock,
resettling his strong feet each time among the branches,
I am recalled,
from so many wrong paths I can't count them,
simply to stand, and listen.
All my life I have lived in a kind of haste and darkness
of desire, ambition, accomplishment.
Now the bird is singing, but not anymore of this world.
And something inside myself is fluttering and leaping, is
trying
to type it down, in lumped-up language,
in outcry, in patience, in music, in a snow-white book.
- Mary
Oliver
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Philip
Henslowe: Mr. Fennyman, allow me to
explain about the theatre business. The natural condition is
one of insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster.
