The Rules of Engaging Grief

The other day, following minor surgery, I found myself stranded in a wheel chair waiting for my buddy to return.  The poem is a reflection of that special time as I observed the Christmas shoppers.
“He Wondered Why”

He wondered why
Nobody passing
Glanced into his eyes,
Except three year-olds

Holding fast to parents
As they rushed by –
Shoppers in the mall
At Christmas time.

Only little children
Expressed compassion
In their serious demeanor
For this soul in sandals,

Ragged shorts and soiled shirt,
Wheel chair bound alone,
Waiting patiently for
His partner to return.

Was it seated their eyes met,
Or did his presence prompt
The taller to avoid a glance
At one less fortunate?

Before we dismiss November as a distant memory, let me share a poem I wrote after a morning walk. As I have said previously, following grief and loss I find a path through stillness to deeper place.  This poem seeks to reflect that stillness and deeper place. 

 “Just Another Day”

It was just another day,
Only later – as I dressed
For a mid-November frost,
Trudged to the beach alone.

Just another day as I crested the dune,
Spied a conflagration far out to sea;
Walked across crisp sand to join others
Gathered seventy yards off shore –

A dolphin pod moving in and out
With the rhythm of my breathing,
Marking the site with a leap,
For fear I’d miss this new beginning.

Yes, it’s just another day
To remind myself – remain aware,
Be released from all that pulls
From magnificence that surrounds –

In the sunrise of a smile,
A surprise encounter with those
Who travel conscious deep,
A scalloped seashell placed before me.

I return home refreshed
To brew a pot of coffee;
All this without a word spoken.
Yes, just another day – Praise God!

I have devoted much time lately to the preparation for publication of Rules for Engaging Grief: A Path to Healing.  The copy edit is complete and now I am waiting to review the cover design for the book.  I hope for publication before Christmas.

I am not surprised that in reviewing the manscript certain memories of my life with Donna surfaced.  The inspiration for the following poem came while I was folding towels!

Recall, if you can, actions you take almost without thinking that you might have learned from someone long gone — as I did the other day.

“Folded Towels”

It seems a thousand
Years ago – but not
She taught me the art
Of folding towels.

A thought then – I admit,
“How odd – why towels?”
Now two score later,
Alone my towels precise,

But more – imbued most deep
I recall with laughter
Her determined instruction
Seeking to channel

Unfolding energy
Into an enduring
Relationship of love;
She won – we were one.

Now with each folded towel
My automatic motions
Allow soul-pause to grasp
A wider truth in silence.

I recently reconnected to an old friend that was/is eccentric.  And yes, it is from him that I learned that in eccentricity we discover authenticity.  I woke up long before dawn one morning with this poem on my fingertips.

 “Eccentriciy”

In the art, gesture, action
Of eccentricity
We reveal authentic self,
Touchstone of Divine within –
Not clouded with expectations
Belonging to others,
Delusions of what we’re not.

How bold to grasp, but more
To display openly
This existential truth in acts
Of wonder for all to see,
Throttle tired conventions of thought,
Lead seekers through terrain
Of heart and mind rarely visited.

One evening I was reminded there is much to observe in ordinary time.

“Ordinary Time”

A gray fox stealthed before me
As I rapt silent – motionless
Before lowering color sun,
Lilting pale crescent moon.

Soft steps web within cosmic stir –
Sliver glow uplifts steady to stars,
Furnace orb fades low to darkness
On a chill autumn draft.

Who says that nothing ever
Happens in ordinary time,
When all about stirs in dance
Like these ripple rays of light?

We are invited to be conscious,
To witness – even participate in –
Each ordinary moment as it
Unfolds in extraordinary time.