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An angel visited me and spoke to me in two voices

I was the appointed listener and what was being said was not about my life at all.

I was the guide. That was my role.

But I allowed myself afterwards to envision myself alone,

But not alone,

And speaking to myself about the need for forgiveness,

Compassion,

Understanding,

And put some of that stuff back into my damned,

old, cast aside,

tool box.

The band played loudly and I was fascinated.
My son and I sat there and were taken in completely.
Blues with swing.
Two grinning guitarists grinding blends of rhythm and leads,
supported by swirling swaths of organ magic,
and melodious bottom from the bass, with the snap of snare and high hat.

And the old man got up from his seat.
He straightened his back as much as he could to twist his short frame into nearly an upright position,
and he began walking towards me, as I sat not far from the door.

The noise had gotten to him, I thought.
He’d eaten his Chinese food, and was not staying for this bothersome racket, I thought he thought.
He was followed closely behind by a woman, and she was followed by another older man and a woman.
They are all getting the hell out of here, I thought.

As the old man approached my table, he took a quick left turn away from the exit.
He’s disoriented, I thought.
The pace of the two women and the other man quickened and I nearly got up to help this man.
He now hurried to an open space to the right of the stage.
He reached out his one good arm and twirled the lovely woman with him,
and proceeded to dance like there’s no tomorrow.

Gratitude came to visit and sit down with Fear, Doubt, and Uncertainty

And reminded them that much is not truly uncertain at all.

Fear was occupied with financial worries,

While Doubt wallowed in waves of despair of all that could go wrong,

And Uncertainty was under the stress of health concerns that will inevitably change and eventually end the boss’s life.

But Gratitude interjected,

“Every breath you take is a dance with the infinite; even while your life is not infinite, the dance is.”

Gratitude continued,

“You will not starve. You enjoy a handful of pistachios as much as a mouth of buttered lobster.”

I studied my face today

While glancing into the mirror.

I saw new lines forming on either side

From the inner corner of each eye

Trailing down to the nearly the side of the lip on the same side.

It made me wonder if I cry all night.

Every night.

But the tears dry before I rise

Like they’re doing me a big favor.

I wonder what speaks to me

While I try to rest

And what it tries to say in this

Rather bizarre way?

The tracks of the tears

Tell a story

And during the day, they provide solid evidence

That my smile is my daytime face.

There are the broken people I’ve come to know

Who will never heal enough to walk

Straight

At all.

Whose bodies and minds and souls have collapsed under the weight of persistent

Pain.

Then there are those,

The group to which I belong,

Who live in joy

With the foreboding fear

Of the

Pain

Returning.

I will never be ok

There will never be a day where sadness will not feel free to knock on my mind

And send me somewhere I don’t want to go

Or a memory will not flood me and make me feel a drowning sensation

A gasp for air

A clutch at hope in the face of despair.

I will never be ok.

There will never be even a moment when my sense of safety will return

And a step into any unknown will not generate a fear as if I am dangling at the edge of a cliff.

I will never be ok.

There will never be an interaction with another that might not give way to me feeling slighted, insulted or manipulated.

And hurt will be experienced out of the blue.

I will never be ok.

              But I find joy every day anyway.

              I feel sunshine on my face on cold days.

              I find beauty in the stars at night, despite the darkness.

I will never be ok.

I will be better than that.

I know now why my memory haunts me.

It doesn’t do it to betray me.

It doesn’t do it to cause me distress and reliving of hurt.

It is attempting to bring me back further than the hurt.

It is attempting to reunite me with my purity of my childhood.

Before it got complicated and hurtful,

And before I processed it that way.

It attempts to go back before each milestone so that I can touch the part of me that which was pure.

So it stops everywhere along the way.

I tend to re-feel all the hurt and confusion.

I forget all those who tried to love me and those that still do.

I still love all whom I’ve loved. They may too.

I forget

All those who reached out to me and I either found their imperfect selves

Or engaged my own imperfect hurtful self.

But now I am realizing that as I try to meditate myself back to the initial breath,

There are loved ones who saw me there.

Not that I was there, but when they heard me speak,

They heard my hope.

When they heard me laugh,

They heard my joy.

When I hugged them,

They felt my love –

Even when I did not –

Even when I could not.

I was not meant to be hurt.

I was hurt.

I was meant to shine a personal peace that radiated.

I was meant to shine a personal love that burst forth.

Somehow, sometimes I must have done that.

My memories, when taken in the whole –

Are something to celebrate.