Geese Flying. Drawing by Mikhail Bazankov, 1937-2015 Those Eternally Linked Lives 22 July 30, 2017 The tree we made between us seeded itself and new flowers open like white dogwood in North Carolina, tight knobs while Spring hesitates; then open-handed once She makes up Her mind, their petals reminding us of where, once, the hands of a good man were nailed to a tree. Goodness is always going to suffer in our world, but if goodness seeded itself, and new trees grow, and new flowers open, and new springs give new cause to laugh and delight in one another, to speak the heart’s truth knowing the other listens and cares, it is enough. . . You said that one must travel a long road to reach the heart. How far have we come now? I can’t remember very well the beginning. We opened our souls’ doors to each other freely then. We laughed and we were sad. You said, when I left, “It’s only a light sadness, Judy.” Soon I leave again. For me the sadness I feel has never been light, though I carried it easily. What choice did I have? No one knows how much we say to one another when we don’t speak a word. From Sun 20, December 1995 Did we reach the heart? I think so. We both had many claims on our lives, but from the first hours we wanted to give everything we had to give. Later we learned our limits and the long road appeared. We said nothing would hinder us–neither the thousands of mile, our lifestyle differences, nor the language barrier. Yet all those had their power to impede the flow of a love we could neither deny nor let govern our lives. It’s one way for souls to fuse: when there’s no other alternative. Our love became a powerful force in fostering understanding between two distinct and very different cultures. Despite our suffering we did not only reach each other’s hearts, we stayed there. The little wooden bird you gave me still flies. When the light is right, its shadow dances on the filing cabinet. I still see you in my mind’s eye, feel your tight hug as you whisper: “You’re a hero.” Hear your laughter: “We were fools!” Then you added: “And miracle workers.” I can ask no better gift than to have traveled that long road to rest safely in your heart.
My figs back in August 1911. Not quite so plentiful now, but they're coming along after hard freeze set-backs a few years ago. Those Eternally Linked Lives 21 July 23, 2017 I want to root myself here, create an island of sanity and love around me, draw my children, grandchildren, and friends here to see me, and contribute as I can to my community. From my goals stated in 1996-2012 It will be nineteen years in December that I have lived in this small house in Moncure, with a garden, an orchard, and a small flock of hens. I’d already then been given many gifts: by a banker, who outwitted the mortgage rules; by friends who helped paint and weed-eat and move a big pile of bricks, which became my flower garden. Even before I moved in, I joined the fight to stop a low-level nuclear dump. We did stop it. Then we stopped three attempts to site a landfill and ended ten years of bad air pollution. I worked to elect more careful county commissioners, then to keep out fracking, and since 2014, coal ash. This time they pushed in before we could stop them. It took a judge to halt that, but they’re holding off our justice again. I hold steady, but more problems have surfaced: my water heater quit; my heart began racing; now it’s high heat warnings keeping me inside while the weeds flourish. Yet people turn up to help me: Mike, to challenge the water heater’s diagnosis; Harold to mow; Merle, bringing tomatoes when my bushes stopped producing shortly after they began. Then two men from my electric coop, got the water heater back on track. Many helpers when I needed them. Everyone has annoying problems, but I’m older; so is my water heater and my farm. Despite unruly weeds and heat, the figs, grapes, and apples are plentiful. Some rain would help, and cooler weather. All this help puzzles me, though I’m very grateful. Then it hits me. I wanted to create an island of sanity and love. Looks like I did, despite the weeds, my aging body and what belongs to me. The big world does grow more difficult, but in my world there definitely is sanity and love.
Full summer, flowers and brownies, 2010. Those Eternally Linked Lives 20 July 16, 2017 Even if the brakes are being put on slowly, we know the end of our lives will come. We can’t be blithe as once; yet we can live as normally and joyfully as possible. The doctors are not worried. Their tests reassure them that my heart jumping around and out of its steady rhythm for an hour can be lived with. For me it is an unmistakable sign to pay attention: walk, yes; work, write, dig. See to the hens, mow and weed-eat; lead my village in the fight to stop a coal ash dump, but rest and eat well, stay alert, respect the signs as you accumulate years. You can’t have enough courage or of the vision that shows you your way, a step at a time. You’re still here, aren’t you? Still thriving, loving those who let you, filling each day with work completed? Your conscience is clear; you see all too well into the hearts of others
Zinnias on my kitchen table in August 2011, after Hurricane Irene. Those Eternally Linked Lives 19 July 9, 2017 Evil men are doing harm, but we will stop them, one at a time. When you have justice on your side, sooner or later you win, and if need be, you win again and again. –Those Eternally Linked Lives 11 I knew, when I wished to live a long time, that, as I approached a hundred years, living would become more difficult. Even as my body ages well, it is more vulnerable, needs more care, its regular exercise, healthy diet, and for its sleep budget to be balanced. I have my commitments I can’t say no to, for myself and my writings, for my children and friends, and for my community here in Moncure. It has always been a balancing act–never moreso than now. I hold my own, but it takes more ingenuity to outwit my gradual aging and the deadly poisons let loose in our twenty-first century world, out to kill us and destroy our hope. The answer is simple and obvious: in our deep souls we know we can’t be seriously harmed if we refuse despair. Insights will arrive. Courage will appear against the odds. The grain of the universe doesn’t go away. Furthermore other people gather around us, one at a time. If we ask, we receive, and not infrequently, we receive the help we need before we ask.
This photo of my figs from August 2011, after Hurricane Irene *** Those Eternally Linked Lives 18July 2, 2017 "Every single day, we need to choose hope over fear, and diversity over division. Fear has never fed a family nor created a single job. And those who exploit it will never solve the problems that have created such anxiety." - Prime Minister Justin Trudeau in address to UN --From Louise Penny’s July 1, 2017 NL From childhood you were sheltered and nourished by a grace mysterious and never named, but it opened doors most people never see or if they do, fear to open. –Those Eternally Linked Lives 6 In all this growth of green–vines, grasses, fig leaves and tiny figs, the tall swaying tulip tree, the grass I need to cut, the iris and daylilies holding their own against bamboo grass–where is the grace that will hold me steady on my own course, the one I chose, not going against the universe’s grain, but having to tolerate fear in others for me and hatred when I succeed; even awe when I defy the doctors’ wisdom. How can I be still young, my flesh still firm; my heart holding its own. Banishing fear has become a habit. Every time I outwit other people’s worries, I stand taller in my own view. All it takes is courage, helping those who let me, and taking in gratefully those loving hands that give me a reason to stay alive.
