Tuesday, October 28, 2014
What will you do in the time that remains?
I'll wear blue. I'll wear the moon, I'll dress up in starlight. I'll dress up for dinner, even if it's only me at the table. I'll wear pajamas to dinner, alone in my apartment, the red lampshade a miniature fire.
I'll wander the wild, the space between sea and sand, with my heart beating to the sound of waves hitting rock. I'll walk to the park holding my grandson's hand, cherishing every moment before he lets go. We'll pretend we're racing off in a fire truck. I'll shiver in the shade before I coax him into the sun.
I'll wear berets, pink and grey and salmon, and pretend I never left the childhood estate of traveling through foreign lands without a dime in my pocket. I'll remember to say thanks every time I turn on hot water, I'll remember those cold buckets of water poured over the head.
I'll sit with a book in hand and rejoice in words. I'll dance to world beat and wish I could stay up all night. I'll surrender the last crumbs of self pity to the lake, to the fishes and the ducks. I'll love as fiercely as ever, as untidy and profligate as wildflowers. I'll remember the birds flying in formation to land on the sunset waters of the Bosque, the breathtaking beauty, so many wings.
I'll dream of that trip to Paris, I'll keep my passport up to date just in case. I'll drink Scotch and eat tid bits of news gleaned from fb. I'll listen deeply to my heart, to your heart, to the guidance from the Holy Ones, to the call of the trees and the voice of the rocks, to the conversation we have begun of blazing depth and incandescent laughter.
I'll sit by the fire and spark into poetry, into song. I'll pray on bended knees with hands upraised and open, hoping for an answer, hoping for a sign. I'll pray in silence and aloud, remind us that we carry light within.
I'll leave behind a box of photos and stories. I'll let you decide which ones to keep and which to toss away.