It is not enough for me to believe in love. I want to love fully. I don’t know how to do this, but I am learning. I am learning in small, seemingly insignificant ways.
I’ve been holding onto a secret these past nine years, and feel it is time to come clean.
In the fall of 2009, my husband Thomas and I were staying overnight in Louisville, as we were moving our daughter back to Nashville the next day. She had recently graduated from college and was moving back home. As we settled down to sleep that night, I had been reading A Course in Miracles, and was lying awake, staring out into the dark room, thinking. Suddenly I experienced a vision - I was so confused!
This is a love letter.
A love letter to my husband, to my family, to The Estuary Staff and to our clients.
Every moment I spend thinking of you, talking with you, helping you, laughing with you is a lovely relational act where you become present to me and I am present with you. I gaze at the space between us as I look into the eternal You. Every breath of US is an eternal breath of You and Me.
My husband is sitting at the table with a very serious look on his face. I ask him if all is okay. He looks at me and says “I’m just wondering what it is like to be you.”
Tuesday, Crying Again!
This morning I found my eighty-four-year-old mother sleeping with her legs hanging off one side of the bed. She has gotten much weaker and can't pull her legs up onto the bed anymore. She could last week, why not this week? She cries out in pain as I pull her to sitting position - I have to hold her back so she doesn't fall back on the bed. Everything with her is a chore - hard labor! I flinch when her pain makes her cry out. Her hip muscle has stretched from lying like that all night. I finally get her to her recliner and get some Tylenol down her throat. “Ouch, ouch, ouch, everything hurts” is the song she is constantly singing. I beg her to eat something but can only convince her to drink a little vitamin drink. So I sit down on the couch and my eyes well up with tears. I have a great urge to cry just like I cried yesterday morning. I don't know what to do and nobody else knows either. I am helpless and don't like being helpless - so I cry. I guess I am not the tough-guy I like to think I am.
It feels like as an elder in this community, I am being called upon to hold on even more tightly to the inner unity I have already found, rather than convincing others that I am right politically and socially.
It is disturbing to me to experience the violence and meanness that is so prevalent in the political world. I don’t understand the divisiveness of racism, sexism, xenophobia etc.