You Swooped Me Right Along

This poem is a tribute to Haley Reinhart, American Idol 2011, singing Elton John’s “Bennie and the Jets”. Click the link to watch:

Haley Reinhart singing “Bennie and the Jets”

I’ve never been one,
Who listens to a song,
But, Whoa, just now,
You swooped me right along.

The melody was fun,
Every ounce was wrung,
Oh Wow, Oh Wow,
Oh how it was sung.

The shivers zipped through,
My legs and my chest,
The goosebumps grew,
At the song’s request.

I’ve never been one,
Who listens to a song,
But, Whoa, just now,
You swooped me right along!

Read Full Post »

Dying

“For what is it to die but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?”
Kahlil Gibran, from "The Prophet"

Over the past year, it seems that news of another friend’s death comes about once a month. It’s hard not to think about dying when death comes with such frequency. I’ve mentioned this to a number of acquaintances, and they suggest it comes with getting older. I suppose they’re right, but enough already! Isn’t there some way to slow it down? Personally, I’ve watched too many people die. I realize, of course, that not everyone is exposed to death as frequently as I’ve been, but even so, I’m never prepared for it.

One good thing about witnessing death is learning what actually happens during the process of dying. I’ve seen traumatic deaths and peaceful deaths, and pretty much everything in between. It occurs to me that our common desire is to die peacefully, but it rarely happens. Maybe it’s a matter of will. The most agonizing death I’ve witnessed was in Vietnam. The soldier’s body was nearly blown to bits, but he remained alive for nearly an hour. The most serene death I’ve witnessed was in Providence Hospital. Her name was Meryl. We nicknamed her “Meryl the Pearl,” because of her beauty and luster. Even when she took her final breath, she smiled.

Recently, I had my first experience of knowing someone who chose to die with dignity rather than waste away attached to life-support. It was an awakening for me. Since that time I’ve affirmed it over and over. I’m very pleased we voted to allow the decision, and I respect the stringent process that safeguards those who make the choice.

While serving in Vietnam, I nearly died on three different occasions. I’ve written about this before, so there’s no need to be repetitive. However, I must say being near death increased my desire to live. On two of those occasions, the events happened so quickly, there wasn’t much time to be philosophical, but on one occasion, I had plenty of time to think about it, and as it was happening, all I wanted was to continue living. I was not ready to die, and I’ve wondered if I ever will be. Now, as I grow older, my perspective is beginning to change, but I still cannot conceive of dying while I have productive things to do.

A few nights ago, my wife and I watched, (for a second time), the film, All That Jazz, staring Roy Schneider and Jessica Lange. Director/choreographer Bob Fosse reveals his own life story as he details the sordid life of Broadway producer, Joe Gideon, a hedonistic workaholic, who chain-smokes and takes his daily dose of amphetamines while juggling his new Broadway production. It’s intense. His condition deteriorates steadily. Joey cannot avoid the intimations of mortality coming from his white-clad vision “Angelique,” who routinely encourages him to look back at his life before it ends. I’d forgotten the nude scenes and decadent behavior, but the theme of death and dying remains as poignant as ever.  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/All_That_Jazz

I mention this movie solely for the purpose of recalling a particular scene that comes near the end while Gideon roams the corridors of a hospital, being defiant, and acting as a curious child. While slowly finding his way back to his room, he hears a mournful, agonizing sound coming from a patient’s room. He looks inside and sees an elderly woman obviously in pain. Standing at her bedside, he bends down and says, “I love you,” and then he kisses her. She responds peacefully, opening her eyes one last time before taking her final breath. I was deeply touched by this scene. It made me wonder if being loved is the Holy Grail for those preparing to cross over. I’m certainly aware that it’s my need.

As I write this, I’m in no way eager to die. However, when that time comes I will need only one thing. I will need to hear someone say, “I love you.”

In the final scene, there’s a rousing song and dance extravaganza called “Bye, Bye, Life,” as Joe Gideon makes his final appearance before succumbing to the charms of his visionary “Angelique.” There’s a big crowd watching, so his final performance becomes a surreal portrayal of love, and then it ends.

As I’ve watched people die, I’ve sensed no such choreography, but I think I’ve seen Angelique many times.

Jessica Lange as Angelique

Read Full Post »

Of This World

Evolution teaches us that every molecule of our bodies came from over 3 billion years of slow change and assembly of more and more complex organisms, with humans as one result of this long process. In every conceivable way, we are “of” this world.

But for one from a Christian background, which teaches us that we are not of this world, this is a hard concept to “feel”. I remember all too clearly, such estranging teachings as, “Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. (1 John 2:15), and, “Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Whoever therefore wants to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God.” (James 4:4)

I fell away from being a Christian as a very young man, in my late teens. It has been a long journey (my entire lifetime since), to come to terms with what it means to be “non” Christian. James Cameron’s movie, “Avatar”, was striking in showing a species adapted to and “of” its world in profound ways. We are like that, too, we are adapted to and “of” our world. That is an idea much easier to think intellectually than to “feel”.

I was reading some studies of sleep recently, and began reflecting that our world spends 8-12 hours in darkness every revolution, and that most animals, ourselves included, go into a nightly state of hibernation that is precisely tuned to the Earth on which we evolved. Just as the inhabitants of the world in “Avatar” are connected to the core of their being to their world, I realized that lying down and falling asleep is an act that shows how completely we are “of” our world, the Earth. Our nightly hibernation patterns are exactly tuned to the rotation of our own unique Earth world because our flesh is of its flesh.

Recently, each night, as I fall asleep, I reflect on this, and more than any place in my life, I feel “connected” to my world, my rotating Earth. I feel the millions and billions of years that tie me to the world I am falling asleep on. It is a transformative feeling, and is one more step in shedding the bonds of my old religion, and coming to terms of being a human being on a remote planet 2/3ds of the way out on one of the spiral arms of the Milky Way galaxy — MY HOME, and I am a part of our specific world, our Earth, my very molecules and every shred of my being are OF this world, my world. I am an avatar on my own world. Another step towards coming home.

Read Full Post »

Daily Visits With My “Radiators”

I have just finished my 5th week of radiation, 3 weeks and two days to go. I drive 13 miles five days a week, I leave the house at 8 am and arrive at Valley Medical Center Radiation Oncology about 8:35, my appointment is at 8:45. Christina or “Spike” as I call her (she has spiked hair) greets me by name and usually says something about how cold this spring has been. Spike is an amazing person she greets patients who comes in the door by name and makes them feel like they are a long lost friend.

At about 8:45 usually Tammy, Eileen or Arlene comes out and ushers me back into the room that contains the Beast (radiation machine.) Outside the Beast room I have to give my name and birthdate. Then go in and take of my shoes, usually Tammy or Arlene holds a “modesty cloth” in front of me as I slide my pants and shorts to my knees. The modesty cloth is the size of a small towel. One morning there was no modesty cloth so I asked Tammy about it and she held up a little bitty wash cloth; I accused her of looking at my x-rays, we both had a good laugh. The next day I made a modesty kit for Tammy, it consisted of two round green dot stickers and a piece of triangle paper that I decorated and put a little smiley face sticker on the front of it. I placed them all in a nice little box and wrote on it Tammy’s Modesty Kit and gave it to her. I don’t think anyone ever gave her a present like that —-she was so pleased! I find, for myself, if I can have a little fun along the way it transforms what could be a painful or negative experience into something positive. I also think it is healthy for the healing process as well.

After the modesty cloth is in place I climb on the table and try to adjust myself so that my dots line up with laser beams, one from head to toe the other from the side and meet at the dot just above my pubic area. Usually I am a little off so they have to adjust me into the right position. They give me a little plastic ring which I hold on my chest so that my arms don’t dangle. The Beast takes two x-rays to make sure I am all lined up. Then the radiators go into another room because obviously it is not safe to be around so much radiation, how do you think that makes me feel? I accuse them of going into the other room and watching Judge Judy. The Beast goes around my entire body beginning at my backside and zaps me anywhere from 10 to 16 times at each location for a total of about 93 zaps. Back—–zap, zap; side— zap, zap; 45degrees—- zap, zap; 90 degrees —zap, zap: then the same thing on the other side.

What I did not know was they watch me the whole time on a closed circuit video to make sure I don’t move or catch on fire. That is not a smart thing to tell a ham like me. I waved once and Lisa came running into the room and asked if I was alright, I was just trying to be friendly but actually ended up being a smart ass.

Once I made a sign on a piece of paper which read “Does the camera make me look fat?” I hid the sign under my shirt and when the Beast was directly overhead, hiding the camera, I pulled it out. Tammy came running into the room, “What are you doing, you are not supposed move” she said in her best angry voice. “I just moved my arms”, I said in defense of my actions. “Everything moves when you move your arms —–so don’t do that again, what is that piece of paper doing on you chest, gimme that.” She grabbed the sign, read it and laughed and said “no it doesn’t, behave your self! When I left that morning passing the reception desk Spike said, “Nice sign!”

On Mondays Arlene (my wife) and I meet with a nurse, then Dr. Travaglini my Radiation Oncologist. He is a very caring and compassionate person , he goes over my chart and asks how I am doing and suggests some things which might make things easier for me. I have just the usual side affects, loss of energy and I feel like I am peeing liquid fire. That’s about it. Both are supposed to subside about three weeks after my treatments are finished.

On one particular Monday I asked Arlene if she wanted to see the Beast, referring to the radiation machine. She came into the room and I told Lisa that my wife came to see the Beast , “Oh,” she said “Tammy is not here today” we then laughed and high fived it.

Arlene, Rudy (an intern), Lisa, Eileen, Tammy, Kathy, and Megan (another intern) are all very personable and have a great collective sense of humor. They all seem to get along well and are all very professional and proficient in what they do. They personalize what could be a cold and very impersonal procedure and they come across as caring for the people they treat. I am sure the Beast, not Tammy but the radiation machine, could care less about who I am.

I started radiation the Tuesday before our son Steve died, I told Dr. Travaglini I would miss Friday because of Steve’s situation, he said I could make the day up at the end of the rest of the treatments and expressed his concern. When I went in for my Thursday treatment the day before Steve died all my radiators were aware of my situation. They expressed their concern for me and our family, I kind of broke down and there were a few tears all around, I gave them all a hug, it almost felt like family.

I can’t say enough good things about my experience at Valley Medical Center and the Radiation Oncology Dept. It begins at the front desk and permeates through the process until I walk again out the front door. Even Hermit the crab in the aquarium seems happy to see me and puts on a little show before I go see the Beast, the radiation machine, not Tammy.

Read Full Post »

Climbin’ the Sky, Eating Sand – by Jumper 8

COMPETITORS: TANNED, LEAN,
— HEALTHY, MUSCULAR, YOUNG MEN
SAND: YOUR GROUND . . . TO BE
— GROUND INTO EVERY INCH
—— OF YOUR BODY.
NET: YOUR FRIEND,
— YOUR NEMESIS,
—— A SYMBOL OF LUCK,
—— A CONSTANT REMINDER OF
——— IMPERFECTION.
BALL: THE ONE TRUE GOD,
— RULING COMPETITION …
——A UNIVERSAL SPHERE OF NEUTRALITY …
——— LAY THERE,
———— INNOCENTLY WAITING
—————TO PLEASE,
—————— TO TEASE,
———————- TO PROVE,
————————– TO TORTURE,
—————————— TO EXALT,
———————————- TO DEFLATE.
GAME: MIX MAN, SAND,
— NET, AND BALL . . . SHAKE, BAKE,
—— TWIST, TURN, ————- ADD LIQUID,
————————————– SALT,
—————————————— AND SERVE.
BENEATH A CANOPY OF PALE BLUE,
— A CASUAL, CAREFREE,
—— STIRRING OF ATHLETES
——— HAS BEGUN.
— DRESSED CARELESSLY
—— IN SAGGING SHORTS,
——— THAT TEMPT GRAVITY,
———— AND GIVE HOPE TO
——— HORNY FEMALE SPECTATORS,
—— PLAYERS TAKE POSITION
——— EASE BECOMES TENSION,
AND SUDDENLY,
—— AS WITH THE WAVE
— OF SOME MAGICAL WAND, THE BEACH IS TRANSFORMED INTO
—— A SHOWCASE OF COMPETITION
——— DEMANDING EQUAL PARTS
——— STRENGTH, SPEED, SMARTS,
———— WILL-POWER,
————— AND ENDURANCE,
AND SOON,
— THERE ARE CHISELED BODIES
—— FLUSHED WITH HEAT,
——— DRENCHED WITH SWEAT,
———– AND DUSTED LIGHTLY
————— WITH A TEXTURE OF GRIT,
— LUNGING, SPRAWLING,
—— GRUNTING, AND SCREAMING,
AND AS
— WITH THE APPEARANCE
—— OF INVISIBLE LADDERS,
——— AND UNSEEN TRAMPOLINES,
———— THESE AERIAL ARTISTS,
ARE ELEVATED TO
———— IMPOSSIBLE HEIGHTS,
— ONLY TO BE DROPPED,
—— CLUTCHING AIR,
——— AND LEFT WITH
—— MOUTHFULS
——— OF SANDY HUMILITY.
THE BALL,
— A HOT-POTATO,
—— FULL OF EXPLOSIVE POTENTIAL,
— IS SENT SCREAMING,
—— AGAIN AND AGAIN,
— TOWARDS A FEW SECONDS
—— OF UNSPARING INTENSITY,
— AND THE AIR IS A RHYTHMIC CHAOS
—— OF LEAPING,
——— STRETCHING,
———— DIVING,
————— DIGGING,
——- BLENDED HARMONIOUSLY WITH
———- FINESSE AND SUBTLETY.
——- BODIES HURL IN RECKLESS PURSUIT
———- OF THIS ELUSIVE STITCHED ORB,
————- IN UNSELFISH EFFORTS TO ASSURE OPPONENTS
———- AN UP-CLOSE, IN-YOUR-FACE
————- VIEW OF THIS WHITE BLUR.
FINGERTIPS, A MILLIMETER OF DIFFERENCE,
— DETERMINE PIVOTAL POINTS
—— IN A GAME OF INCHES.
SUPER HUMAN REACTIONS
— CREATE RALLIES
—— OF IMPROBABLY DURATION … AND
GYRATIONS OF ENOUGH BEAUTY
— TO MAKE A CIRCUS PERFORMER
—— WEEP WITH ENVY.
SLOW MOTION SKY BALLET
— TRANSPORTS SPECTATORS
—— TO ATHLETIC NIRVANA,
——— AND LEAVES US
——— WITH DELIRIOUS,
——— VICARIOUS, EXHAUSTION.
A CALIFORNIA DAY,
— AT VENICE BEACH …
—— A FEAST OF BODY, SOUL, AND SPIRIT.
THE REVERBERATIONS LESSEN,
— AND THE POUNDING
—— OF BALL AND BODY
——— ARE REPLACED SLOWLY
——— BY BEACH MUSIC OF CRASHING SURF,
——— AND THE SWEET SOUNDS
—— OF HANDS CLASPING, AND CLAPPING, AND SLAPPING,
——— CREATING A HARMONY,
———— A UNITY,
————– A CONNECTION,
—————– WITH THE ETERNAL.
———— FOR THE MEN, WHO PLAY …
————— AND THEIR LOVED ONES …
—————— THE LARGER FAMILY OF GILBERTO

RICK WESTFALL
VENICE BEACH

Read Full Post »

MAGIC IN THE SAND by Jumper 8

Note: Ethan and three of his best friends are in a Volleyball Tournament, pairs as teams, and I arrive mid-afternoon as the finals are starting.  It has come down to Ethan and his partner against his two best friends for the championship.

I was tired. My leg throbbing from a pull, a twist, or God knows what? Without the energy, my interest, and, I believe, my love, pushed me from the comfort of relaxation and restoration—to the sand on Venice Beach.

As expected, a major parking hassle, and part of me mentally turned again toward the easy way. The better impulse, however, forced me from my truck, and to a time of pleasure beyond pain. Dragging my leg like a reluctant cripple, I found my way to the “Occasion”. Familiar voices led the way to this surprising event.

The Final, awaiting my arrival (it seemed), was about to begin. Ethan, Vinnie, Chris, and Job were still standing tall after a day of exhausting effort.

The game for the championship—who choreographed this day? I was happy to be there, but their early play matched my listlessness—uninspired, below their capacity, and rarely an effort worth the use of my camera.

What happened then I don’t understand, but I have experienced it a few times in my life. Energy emerges from a source not evident to those involved. Players and spectators feel a shift, subtle at first, and then a level is reached that is captivating and inspiring. There is a focus that eliminates the cursory, the bland, the secondary, the peripheral. Each moment becomes magnified beyond the ordinary.

I had, thankfully, run out of film. This had become much more than a game contributing photos to a scrapbook. I found myself squirming with each play, each side out, each point. And I knew all who were privileged to be part of this contest were being elevated with the artistry, and sheer skill being displayed by these friendly combatants.

The four of you gave me a gift—a great gift. To an aging jock, you stirred the memories of the few precious events where I had been “taken beyond”. I wonder if this day will linger in the catacombs of your consciousness, to be drawn upon as a story you tell your children, or years from now, to be recalled happily over a beer together. I hope so. I am not tired. My leg no longer hurts. I am juiced. Take pleasure in your youthful energy and skill.

As I have this day.

 

———————— GILBERTO BEACH BALL

MONTHS OF PREPARATION,
— PRACTICE WITH PARTNERS,
—— LEAD TO THIS
——— MORNING OF PROMISE
————- IN THE “PALACE OF THE PROS”.
HOURS OF PASSION CREATE
—— PEAKS OF POWER,
——— AND PINNACLES OF POISE …
PHYSICAL SPECIMENS PARTICIPATING IN A
—— PROFOUND PROCESS PRODUCING
———- POINT-BLANK PRECISION …
A DAY OF PURE PLEASURE,
—- WITH MOMENTS OF PERFECTION …
PAUSES WITH PARTISANS
—- —- FULL OF PRAISES FOR PERFORMERS,
————– WHO PLAY WITH SUCH POETRY.

————————- PHASE II GILBERTO

FOR ME, THIS DAY,
— IN A RARE DISPLAY,
——- WITH STRONG, YOUNG MEN
———— IN COMMAND,
—————– FLASHING SKILL IN THE SAND,
IN SOME FINAL WAY,
——- I CAME TO UNDERSTAND …
————— A WORD NEWLY DEFINED,
————— AND NICELY REFINED …
— NOT WINS OR LOSSES,
—— OR FATES CAPRICIOUS TOSSES,
IT’S SPORTSMANSHIP SPELLED OUT,
— IN A BLAZING BLUE SKY,
——- … WHAT BETTER GIFT,
————–HONORING A REAL SPECIAL GUY?
GILBERTO WOULD TELL YOU,
— TREASURE THIS DAY,
—— GREATNESS IS YOURS,
——— IF YOU PLAY LIFE THIS WAY.
MOST WINS WILL BE FORGOTTEN,
— OF THAT YOU CAN BE SURE,
——- YOUR FRIENDS, THE CAMARADERIE,
———— THAT WILL ENDURE.
YOU PLAY, MOSTLY,
— FOR LOVE OF THE GAME,
—— THAT’S THE REWARD,
———NOT SOME TENTATIVE FAME.
YOU’VE SHARPENED YOUR SKILLS,
— HONED THE GIFTS YOU WERE GIVEN,
—— MORE LASTING THAN KILLS,
——— IS THE LIFE YOU ARE LIVIN’.
THERE WILL ALWAYS BE DAYS,
— FULL OF BIG ZEROS.
—— BUT TODAY, FOR US WATCHING,
——— THE SAND SIZZLED WITH HEROES.
PARDON ME,
— IF I SEEM A BIT TRITE,
—— THANKS FOR INCLUDING ME,
——— THE DAY WAS JUST RIGHT.
I’M NOT VERY COOL,
— AT THIS GAME OF RHYMING,
—— BUT ONE THING I KNOW,
————————– GILBERTO IS SMILING.

RICK WESTFALL
VENICE BEACH
GILBERTO MEMORIAL VOLLEYBALL TOURNAMENT

Read Full Post »

Listening to Rain by Jumper 8

Is there a sound more pleasing? More soul refreshing? Rivaled only by the movement of water in it’s other dynamic forms – streams, rivers, waves, waterfalls, all of them flowing to the center of my being, cleansing, awakening, and certain to bring me to a place of reflection.

Tonight it’s a persistent, muffled, pounding, demanding attention to thoughts needing expression and clarity. Rain is dependable in this way. It will not allow me to avoid or deny. It washes away fatigue or temporary insanity. I know that I can trust it’s messages. There is no falsehood in natures showers, nothing I wish to run from. It’s dampness is welcome, a much valued partner in this solitary life I’m living, and the uncertainties that are regular visitors.

Coupla Drops, Coupla thoughts:

Drips erratically, incessantly,
— staccato pings on metal
—— outside my window. I refuse to move.
It’s a walkin’ rain.
— Good thing it’s not a talkin’ rain,
—— I got nobody to talk to.

Outside, noiseless rain, a friendly companion,
— cool splatterings, tiny rivulets trickling
—— from a frosty forest,
Soaking my well earned creases,
—- droplets moistening overgrown brows,
—— idling onto upturned lashes,
——— leaking down to the corners of my mouth,
———— joining a big smile no one can see.

Read Full Post »

Heart Shaped Pieces of White Coral

On that final morning when we gathered around the bedside of our son Steve, our daughter Becky who just returned a few weeks before from a time on the Big Island of Hawaii, gave a gift to each family member. Each gift was a heart shaped piece of white coral. I asked her to write out the significance of her gift, she wrote:

“It was in Hawaii that I heard the end was near for my brother and a date had been chosen by Steve in which he would die, a mere 3 weeks away. It was so much sooner than I ever anticipated. I walked the many beaches that we enjoyed as a family, trying to process this news. I began to look for heart shaped pieces of white coral that had washed up upon the sand. I knew intrinsically what I wanted to do with them.

I placed the coral hearts in the hands of those who tenderly surrounded Steve that last morning. Each heart was different; symbolizing that each of us had our own unique relationship with Steve, unlike another. They are tangible representations that his life has shaped and changed each of our hearts. I looked into the eyes of my brother as I spoke my last words to him. We hold these coral hearts in our own hands as we let you go, but we will hold you in our own hearts forever.

Reflecting on the coral, I realized that it once was a living organism teeming with life. Even though that life has now left, something tangible has been left behind to speak of its influence and existence…………and here we are.”

Our family spent some wonderful times together on the Big Island. On some of those same beaches where Bec collected her heart shaped coral, I taught our grandkids how to dive under a wave and not get tumbled, saw their eyes widen with unbelievable excitement when they surfaced from their first snorkel encounter: experiencing for the first time in crystal clear water the brilliance of the tropical fish and the beauty and serenity of the underwater world.

On one of those beaches we body surfed and boogie boarded together and then raced back out to see who could catch the next big wave. On one of those same beaches I heard one of our daughters greet an 8 footer that was about to crest and curl down over the top of her with a loud and defiant “OH SHIT!” When we all surfaced after the waved had passed, we were laughing so hard I thought we were going to drown. On those same beaches where Bec collected the coral gifts we laughed and played together as though it would always be like that.

So each of our heart shaped piece of white coral linked together the times when we played and laughed and swam together to our time together standing around the bed of a dying husband, father, brother, son, nephew and brother in law. We were linked together in all of life’s events. I think we will always be there for each other and after this event there is no doubt in my mind about that! So as I look at my heart shaped piece of coral at the base of my monitor, I remember standing beside that bed but I also remember those beaches from which it came and the family good times we shared together——— and I am grateful.

I am also painfully aware of people who did not have the chance to experience what we were gifted to experience. As a pastor I have been with the family of those for whom death came suddenly, violently and without any warning. I still say to Arlene, “I can’t believe this is happening,” even with all the preparation time I still feel that way. But to have someone go off to work and never come home, or go for a drive and never come back, or an unexpected suicide, or a sudden horrific heart attack, I just can’t imagine what that must be like. I have looked into the blank expressionless faces of those who had no time to prepare and my heart goes out to them, to grasp in an instant how life has been changed must be almost too much to take into one life in one moment of time.

I am aware that the death of a loved one is never an easy thing with which to deal. Our family has grieved over a long period of time as we saw our son’s life, day by day, inch by inch be taken away from him and there is agony in that; but at the same time we had time to prepare and the grieving process is prolonged. We had a chance to say everything that needed to be said, there was little if any unfinished business, no garbage left behind and we were all there with him at the end. A sudden unexpected death does not give the family time to prepare, there still might be things left unsaid, maybe some unfinished business that can never be totally finished. No real time to say goodbye until after the event. Both the sudden death and prolonged terminal illness are devastating, each in its own way.

So now the preacher comes out in me: let’s love each other—— always. Let’s say what needs to be said—— often. Let’s take care of our unfinished business so that it does not pile up to be a bunch of garbage left behind. Let’s be there for each other no matter how difficult that may be, let’s live with more vulnerability. Let’s give each other grace and acceptance and put judgment away. Regardless of what life throws at us let’s live with gratitude, seeing the good in the world, in life and in others. In doing all of these things we are doing our preparing.

May everyone find their own heart shaped piece of white coral.

Read Full Post »

My Muse

The muse is a mythological goddess who inspires creativity in writing and the arts. Since this happens to be the phase of life I’m in right now, I’m truly interested.

For a rather long time I confused the muse and the jester. In my naiveté, I imagined the jester dancing in his tasseled hat and bright colors, always a-muse-ing, but alas, I was misinformed. My confusion lasted until 2005 when I visited a store in Edmonds called The Muse. Inside the store I found unique women’s clothing and noticed pictures and other memorabilia portraying the playful, feminine muse. After returning home I could hardly wait to “Google” the word and find what I now know to be the playful, feminine source of knowledge, poetry, lyrics and myths. The store, by the way, moved to another unknown location when the Edmonds city planners re-worked the “Old Milltown” shopping area. It’s progress, I guess.

Therefore, I want to take this opportunity to compliment the women in our lives who bring grace, inspiration and creativity into our ordinary days. In the poem that follows this short article, I’ve portrayed my muse as a playful little girl. The picture is from a free gallery on the internet. However, I’ve seen this playful muse many times, unfortunately when I didn’t have my camera. If you watch closely, I’m sure you’ll see her as well.

In ancient Greek literature, the muse is sometimes referenced as a water nymph. Oh, my, that would be wonderful, I imagine. I can see her now, delicately resting on a lily pad, bare-breasted with golden hair cascading softly over her shoulders. Forgive me. I digress. The image, however, portrays feminine beauty, delicately alluring and outrageously pure. It’s too bad we remain trapped inside our physical reality. “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she calls.

Possibly her most important gift is knowledge. My muse knows what goes before and after. She understands more than she reveals, and yet she remains playful even when noticing the dark corners of my life. Indeed, how wise is this muse? She helps me know myself. She helps me see what I would otherwise overlook. She accepts me exactly as I am.

These gifts are, of course, the very essence of grace. This is the nature of unconditional love. This is what ultimately saves me from despair.

So, here’s my poem. My muse is a brilliant, joyful, child-like, feminine presence that brings acceptance and grace into my life.

Enjoy!

Read Full Post »

A Letter to God from Jumper 8

Father,

It’s howling outside-wind whipping dust and clouds into a darkening, ominous mix. Drops of rain begin pelting crazily from a clear blue sky above me, blown from miles to the west. A cold, bitter, unappealing day to be outside in Your world, happy it’s not a day for me to be on some rooftop attempting the impossible.

You know that the wind has been a metaphor for me these past weeks, reminding me of my limitations, driving me to seek new focus, but revealing Itself constantly as I spend time in Your Word. When I view the Spirit as Wind, my mind is whisked away to directions beyond my discomfort, and I am willing to be sent where (and to whom) You wish me to be. To that Wind I can smile, raising my arms, inviting the unknown, surrendering control, even praying for a “mighty rushing wind” that consumes, and fills, and moves, and creates. To that Wind I can set aside preconceptions, petty grievances, useless obsessions, eager to empty myself of anything that inhibits the ease of lifting off. In that Wind there is abandonment, freedom, joy, and separation from earthly concerns-a wildness I want to embrace.

I must trust Your Wind, and I do. Use it to clear away the debris cluttering the way into Your presence. Let it’s power transport me to awareness I’ve never known.

Let the fierce dark clouds come, split them apart, drenching me in the cleansing power of Your Reign. Strip from me my shallow understandings, and allow me to shiver in the closeness of Your Being.

You are the Eye of the tornado that is sometimes my soul. Tear away my resistance, the futile grasping of old securities, and hopes that are not within Your plan. Destroy the secret dwelling places made of shifting sands, and plant my feet firmly on the ground of Your promises.

Twirl me, twist me, tilt me upside down, if You must, only point me in the right direction, and allow me to soar with the wings of eagles, and the vision of hawks, always welcoming the Wind I cannot see.

Oh, God, do whatever it takes!

Rick

Read Full Post »