I met a new Emmett

There was a story of the 7 yr old boy and the 50 yr old and the 80 yr old man.

I've just met an Emmet at 50, instead of the little boy. 

He is always buzzing, a chef and a Southern entertainer. Great to talk to. Thin as a rail and always moving.

I'm still waiting

You asked me to wait. And I blocked you on email. 

I want the distant you. The manic you. Because isn't it part of you as a person? 

I want you as a person. A friend. Deep into the future. As if I'm Dorothy & I collect wild & wacky people on my life's journey. 

I think of you in Ethopia. Of the Old Man Down the Hall. And the Kid. And you in the middle.

And you in that jail cell. Like Nelson Mandela.

And in the closet. And fighting the dragons. And wandering around the Pond. Every week a story. Because you collect stories every week. And that is the only way you can interpret a life that exists in so many dimensions.

Walking the Shore, the Old Lady and the Young Boy

She opened her wrinkled eyes to the bright sun glinting off the water. His voice bounced off the lake in the same way.  She heard his cries, so deeply familiar to her that they could have come from her own body.

She was 75 and he was 5. A mismatched pair if ever there was one.

He was running around the sand.  And ran over to her, dripping on her a few times to get her to pay attention.  He was ready to circumambulate and she wanted to stay in the moment. He ran off in front of her, but kept returning to make sure she was always right behind.

By the time they got to Red Cross beach, they looked more like a middle-aged mother and her teenaged son. 

Em played drums today

He had some kind of performance. And his Mom & dad & Am & the 2 boys were there to watch. 

His new big family.

I'm the one who abandoned them.

Touching Base with Spirit

Sometimes just touching the water helps.

Just a wish for me and T.O. to go back to being 9 years old, a day at Canobie Lake Park.

No grownup responsibilities, just the ability to explore and play and discover things together.  With smiles on our lips, laughter as the default.  Living in the present.

Stripping away everything except spirit.

Knowing what it would be like to escape the complexities of now, of work, of family, or the world we live in.  Escape to a protected space, where it is only glowing light of summer and looking forward to a whole day of joy.  

Dream with the kid

An unmasking? Unsexing?

There was some afternoon gathering.  With a doctor.

I had cut off my breasts, so that they were complete, self contained, unbloody, cone line & dense pillows.

I did not have a memory of cutting them off. I only knew that the doctor would return that afternoon to put them back when it was more convenient.

And then the doctor brought in sanity, implants, why would I want the old bags anyway, except for the nipple.

Em tossed then around a bit too much and I thought the nipple of one stretched down too far, to the bottom and wasn't very aesthetic.

I had no sense of pain or loss. But these things felt solid, like tightly wrapped sandbags. Something that I had to remove for convenience.

Also,

I drove to Maine last weekend

I listened to too many lectures from the handsome guy at work.

Like getting myself off soda, I have to learn to associate the flatness at the main character of the thing.

And lose interest.

Mothers Die

Fact.

Lovers too.

The woman in hospice, who will miss her hands. Her body. 

"I don't have a choice. Even after the arguments with God. I must give it up."

Fresh Air

Chaplain On Living

Leonard Cohen