In The Morning

I wish we were farmers; I wish we knew how

To grow sweet potatoes and milk cows

I wish we were lovers; but it's for the best

Impossible Soul

What if I were smiling... and running into your arms?

Would you see then, what I see now?

jnfjewnjew

Maureen And Her Baby

In March of 2010, I sat beside the bed of my aunt Maureen, holding her limp hand, still warm with life, tears streaming down my eyes. "Go ahead, you can say what you want to her," my Aunt Cathy softly suggested. "She won't respond, but she can definitely hear you." I tried not to cry too much, not to let all my emotion come flooding out. "I love you," I barely squeaked out, choking on my words. "It's okay." My sister and brother stood behind me, both tearful, my sister rubbing my shoulders. Aunt Maureen lay on her side, her face half buried into her pillow. The last time I had seen her, she had looked somewhat normal; now she seemed a shell of her former self, her body thinned and deteriorated, crippled by cancer. Her hair was mangled and twisted. She breathed oxygen into her nose through clear tubes, making a faint sighing noise each time she gently exhaled. How could this happen? So quickly? I quickly realized how fragile our bodies really are; simply vehicles for our inner selves. I had a conversation with my aunt Maureen that day, though I was the only who spoke audibly. I felt her closed eyes, the wrinkles that had developed across her face, the warmth of the blood flowing through her body, speaking to me. She knew those who loved her were with her, and would always be. And she said to me, "I love you too."

Eight months later, I was in my aunt Maureen's house, celebrating thanksgiving with her husband, her sons and daughters, her grandchildren, her nieces and nephews. Her son, Brian, and his wife Ricca had named their newly born baby 'Maureen' in honor of his mother. I sat on the floor the morning after thanksgiving, feeling delirious due to lack of sleep (long story). And in came Brian and Ricca, with their son Brody and baby Maureen. I turned towards Maureen in her tiny little baby carrier, holding my hand out. Her eye instantly caught mine, and her small fingers slowly wrapped around mine, warm with life and smooth with youth. She gurgled and spit, incomprehensible babbles that somehow translated perfectly and were understood by my senses. I smiled, knowing for sure that my aunt Maureen had a hand in guiding this child to life; it was her baby, the next soul that had been designated to flourish in aunt Maureen's wake. A beautiful head of healthy black hair covered Maureen's head, which I ran my fingers through and marveled at the beauty of life. This death, and this birth. It all had meaning, and it was all a part of me and my soul. Thank creation for that.

The Door Gods

Joni and the Dream. Who knows what the future holds?

18th... 26th...30th...

In order to see it, you've got to believe it. I do.

Eight Albums Of Note

Ice Worlds

These two will spend most of their lives wandering alone through the frozen landscape.