Art of Coming Back

I began this blog several years ago to help me cope with, and transition through, that tough time that arrives for each of us - the time of accepting death for someone we love. I was dealing with a two-sided foe, in that my father and his wife were each suffering from heart failure. Two people that had been vibrant and traveling the world, taking on each corner they could find, were now stopped...ahead of their time. We were confronted with a new timeline - one that held shorter minutes, but thankfully, deeper moments. It was in these moments that a thousand unfinished threads were sorted out, or acknowledged, and the final garment sewn. It was here that I learned that goodbye had many faces...and facets. And, it was here that I was drawn closer to Grace - receiving the lesson that all is truly meaningful, if you will open your heart and allow it be made clear.

It has been several years since I wrote on this blog, but tonight seems like a good time to open the page once more and let the words have their breath. It will not be about death, this time. At least, not that I am aware of, but it will be about living. It will be about accepting the twists and turns, the joys and the sorrows, and the light with the dark...it will be about the art of weathering. For in weathering much beauty is made and meaning formed.

This would be a good day to begin.

art of love

Many times we say that "in the end" all that will matter is love. It's not an incorrect line of reasoning, but it does disguise the most basic element within the statement and that is the underlying principle that "in the beginning" all that mattered was love. It's a common element in our mode of operating today that we frequently fail to go to the underlying foundation of things when formulating theory and logic. We tend to start from the mid-point, or most current place, and form our world from their forward. It stems from our ego-centric concerns and fears. We want to believe that what is right now is the most important thing that ever has been.

Our needs, as humans, though are more satisfactorily met through acknowledging that which was given us originally - love is paramount - and implementing it into our lives. It requires nothing more than that which we do daily, it just necessitates that we pay more attention to how we do things daily. Do we do them in a manner that will make someone else's life, or load, better? If so, then we've acted with the understanding that love is all that matters.

art of nurturing

It is a simple act to nurture others, yet the act of nurturing seems an anomaly in our current culture. What is it that prevents us from more agressively pursuing the well being of others? An obvious answer seems to be our conditioning to look out for our own well-being and needs precludes any foray into concern for another person, or being. The irony runs deep in that we seek our own growth through accumulating more and more for ourselves only to wind up on the banks of despair, questioning, "what does it mean? what am I worth?" Only through giving can we find an answer. We live in a state of buying, buying, buying...and the counterpart to that is work related to selling, selling, selling. We are in a cycle of procuring and disposing, always seeking that which will lead to personal growth and fulfillment. The answer is more simple; turn towards another and offer them a personal form of compassion, interest, or help. Nurturing is an outwardly experience that strengthens and replenishes the inward growth we seek.

art of compromise

My father and his wife (step-mother) are sick. Each suffers their own grave medical condition; one has cancer, the other congestive heart failure. I live miles from them, as do the other children they have. I am the closest by mileage. The others live across a large portion of the country from where our parents reside. It is difficult to get together. The illnesses have brought several together for the first time recently. It is an awkward arrangement at moments. My father's wife has been moved to a hospital almost two hours away from where they live and he is limited by health on how often he can make the trip to see her. Today was a day that left him unable to make the drive. Her son took this opportunity to lash out at my father across the phone telling him that he, the son, would now be in control of all decisions for his mother and my father related to their health. He related that any health problems my father might have from now on would not be shared with his wife (the son's mother) but only with the son. I assume it was to protect his mother by removing any stress from her life; it hurt and angered my father tremendously. My father can be a temperamental person. This caused him to become frustrated to the point of near-rage. His heart is weak and this hurts him. Her son then rambled out a rather obtuse allegory. It was a vengeful action. My father, in his hurt and anger, wanted to drive the distance to the hospital to be physical with the son. You see the son also told him that he didn't think my father would live long if he wasn't careful. The son was provoking with full cognizance of the impact his prodding would have on my father. I asked my father to let it go. To be there for his wife and not participate in anything that could not help her deal with her illness. I suspect he will do so, as I am his son and he will listen to me at this point in his life. I suspect it will cost him his own sense of dignity to a certain degree as well. No one will be better for any of it.

art and death

The smell of the hospital is not strong. It not what I would imagine. It is not a far stretch to say that this hospital is not much different in aroma and decor than the waiting area in Nieman Marcus. The most striking difference is the aura. This is not a place hopeful exhiliaration, rather it is a retreat away from the safety of the rear to the front lines of the battle between life and death. Ironically (or is it?) there is wonderful art hanging throughout; it is a gallery within a most somber of places. Perhaps it is more needed here than anywhere. There is a world class museum mere blocks away - but in this place the works speak out to those most able to listen. It is not the academic approach of interpretation but the soft buttress of poetics in visual form. It moves; it pauses; it is stirring in its motionlessness. I am relieved of my self. And for the person here in sickness it makes me a better caregiver.

the art of innocence

It cannot be said untrue that the art of innocence weighs on the mind of the adult. What was meaningless action in youth is later treasured with deepest esteem. That we might grow more sensibly aware of what value our innocence could play later in life, where pre-notion and conspired action rule our drive, we would be unburdened and life less cumbersome.