The Shape Shifter

She limps along the edges.
A stranger to this place,
of hot pavement and rushing cars.
The city lights hide the dome of stars,
that used to guide her way.

She dimly remembers a time,
when her coat was thick and soft
and she trotted under a silver moon
across a wide expanse of frozen lake.

She is hungry now…not just for food,
but for the smell of the marsh,
and the glow of fireflies at dusk,
even the cold silent falling snow
that drifts in clean sparkling waves.

Something compelling has driven her here.
Though years of hiding have taken their toll,
she does not falter as the full moon rises.
Crawling from her secret place she stands,
 and gazing down the road, sniffs the breeze.
The warm summer air smells like freedom,  
and in the moonlight her coat feels full and soft.

As she takes the next step of her journey,
she knows that no one will see her go.
For she is a shape shifter,
and she is me.

The Guitarist and an Altered Universe

It was on September 21^st, the night of the fall equinox, a warm, starry evening with a hint of crispness in the air that I stepped into an alternate universe….never to return.  My life at age 68 was pleasant and predictable, filled with family gatherings and my creative hobbies at a little cottage on a lake I have loved all of my life.  I never went to parties being content to spend much of my time when I wasn’t with family, by myself. 

Even though I find large gatherings draining, I let my daughter talk me into attending a party with her, given by an acquaintance of ours.  I was told a few old friends I hadn’t seen in years might be there and figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by briefly.  I felt a moment of panic as we entered the beautiful home overflowing with music, lots of people and tables of refreshments and briefly longed for the peaceful quiet of my little cottage, but forged ahead behind my daughter as we made our way to say hello to the hostess.

We migrated soon to another room, and as I wandered through the crowd my eyes met those of The Guitarist.  We had dated casually a few times 50 years ago and I had not seen him since, but there, in that moment…….time collapsed.  The rest of the room fell away and we talked for many hours into the night.  We were both reluctant to say goodbye, and I remember feeling as I walked out the door, that my life would never be the same.   I knew that I had somehow slipped into an alternate universe.

The Guitarist

The Guitarist and I have talked about this many times since that evening, and we have come to the conclusion that miracles do happen, but that you must be willing to be authentic to experience them.  Although we have both been bruised and battered by life in different ways, we have made peace with it.  I think that the ultimate wisdom of age is that you must let go of the ego to experience the true and timeless beauty that lies within another.  It is difficult or impossible when you are young and full of yourself.  What we experienced in that moment was a rare soul connection, an alignment of the stars that opened a portal through which we had the courage to step.

It took me another 3 months to find the strength to walk out of my former life and the expectations of others as to my role in theirs.  In the end, I didn’t try to explain because I knew I couldn’t.  I just left.  I left behind my beloved cottage on the lake and the approval of some of my grown children and moved into a small home in the suburbs where The Guitarist lives.  We are looking for a new place to move that we can call our own out in the country where we can look at the stars and contemplate the mysteries of the universe. 

Neither of us have regretted this choice for a moment, even though it isn’t always easy for me to let go of feeling responsible for the happiness of those I love who don’t understand my life.  Our lives are rich with the love of music, laughter, good conversation, long walks, cooking great food together and of course love.  I am hoping that in time, those that are uncomfortable with my choices will come to see that it was the best for me.  Perhaps somewhere down the road they will look back and remember that I showed them how life can become magical even when you least expect it and that adding more love to your life does not subtract it from theirs.

Many years ago, I played the piano as a young girl.  I recently purchased a keyboard, having had to leave my piano behind, and The Guitarist and I have been practicing a lovely Irish Ballad.  It’s called “The Town I Loved So Well” and we have recorded it here for your listening pleasure.  It is our first recording and although not perfect....so very much fun!  We hope you enjoy it and that you always believe in the magic of love.

                                         Click on the link below and then on the arrow to play.

https://clyp.it/search?type=hashtag&query=TheTownILovedSoWell

For Love of Mary

Back in high school I used to hang around with a family that lived in a subdivision that was mostly undeveloped farmland.  They had 8 beautiful acres of land complete with a barn and several horses.  It was a large family of 3 boys and 5 girls.  The oldest, Denny was in his 20's.  I was enamored of this family that was so different from my own and often spent summer days there, sometimes riding one of the horses bareback or helping with odd jobs like nailing shingles on the barn roof or hauling hay.  Their mom had passed away unexpectedly several years before I met them, but it was obvious that their dad made sure their lives were busy and filled with family fun.

We often traveled in packs going from activities at their home, to a local pizza hangout or one of several dance halls that featured live rock bands.  I had a couple of dates with Denny and was good friends with one of his sisters, but we were all at a pivotal point in our lives and soon after went our separate ways.

I married in 1967 at the age of 20 and heard that Denny married in 1969.  I lost touch with them over the years, caught up in my own family of 4 kids and a family business.  I  remember hearing that Denny's wife, Mary had a form of epilepsy that resulted in petite mal seizures and that they had a son and a daughter.   I heard no more for another 10 years.

Mary

Denny and Mary

In 1979, I received the chilling news that Denny's wife, Mary had opted to have a brain surgery that could cure her epilepsy.  It had gone horribly wrong and she was in a coma. At the time, their daughter Megan was 5 years old and their son Michael was 12.  They lived in another state and as most people do when they hear bad news about others, I felt badly for them but probably preferred not to think about it.  As it turned out, Mary was in a coma for over 7 years before she died.

I have no idea how people handle situations like this, especially when there are young children involved.  But I have recently and unexpectedly had the opportunity to ask these questions and the answers have given me a new perspective on what it means to truly love and to show up for life everyday....no matter what.

My daughter convinced me to join her at a party that her friend's mom was having this past September.  At the last minute I decided to go but to try to sit close to the door in order to escape.  Introverts tend to plan this way.  I nervously entered their beautiful home filled with lots of noisy, happy people.  There was lively music and tables laden with delicious food and I started to feel the urge to head back out the door....never being adept at party conversations.  Then across the room a familiar pair of eyes met mine.  I was immediately swept into a wonderful hug by Denny and 45 years fell away in an instant. The rest of the evening was spent catching up as we shared how our lives had turned out over the years.
 
Denny and I have remained good friends and in the past couple of months he has been able to share with me what it was like raising his 5 year old daughter, Megan and 12 year old son, Michael while Mary was in a coma and the years after she passed.  What it's like to have to come home and tell your children that their mom will never wake up.  What it's like being both mom and  dad all of those years, and how devastating it is to say that final goodbye even when you know it's inevitable.  Mary passed away the day before Megan's twelfth birthday.

I have since been fortunate to witness the beautiful relationship between  Denny and his daughter Megan.  Megan is all of the things that Denny says Mary was......spunky, pretty and loving.  Megan often says that her dad is her best friend which anyone can see when they are together.  Denny's sense of humor that has always been his trademark shines through in their conversations  They both share a deep love of music and languages.  I often hear tales of their favorite fishing trips and large extended family gatherings.  Megan and her husband have a son and a daughter and go out of their way to make you feel welcome in their home.  I have not met Michael as he lives far away, but I am willing to bet that he is as wonderful as his sister.

I am in awe of the power of love to overcome and triumph in the face of tragedy and for this reason really wanted to paint a portrait for them to honor Denny for being an awesome dad and Megan for being the kind of daughter that must be making Mary so very proud.  It seems that the love of Mary has touched me as well.

Megan and her dad, Denny on her wedding day.

Secrets

Secrets

You think because I’m old and withered,

I have nothing left to say?

Deep within these crumbling walls

lie secrets of summers gone,

when lilacs bloomed outside my door

sweet laughter danced over my windowsills.

Listen close,

you might hear a lover sigh a murmured promise,

of forever.

How foolish are the young.

A fine façade that fades so fast,

and leaves behind a summers song.

Even though the cold wind blows,

I still can hear you whisper

my name.

While tears fall silent,

in the snow.

The Flame

The Flame

Eyes, they say are windows to the soul.

I gaze into yours and ponder

Why you guard your truth.

Sometimes, I see a glimpse

of remembered warmth

but soon, the shades are drawn

and I am alone again

craving the heat of that flickering flame

still smoldering behind closed doors -

wondering at the reason it burns so low.

What remembered pain is worth dimming

The heat of a fiery heart?

Would one not risk it all to feel again?

The exquisite pleasure of being one with the blaze,

even at the danger
of being consumed?

Tunnel Vision, Chaos and Miracles

I have always been a dreamer and always will be, but my apparent tunnel vision about financial matters has resulted in a very different life these days.  Sadly, I haven't painted in a couple of months or even had more than a few moments to check out the wonderful postings by my friends in the Facebook group know as Creative Group at Bedlam Farm.

But I still think that if I focus on the kind of life I want to lead, it eventually has to manifest.

That's my belief and I'm stickin to it.

Tunnel on the bike trail where I walk Big Baxter and Little Baxter.

According to The Psychological Significance of Chaos and Disorder by Jonathan Marshall..."Chaos and disorder is a fundamental part of Jung's theory, especially after he studied alchemy......We can summarize his position by saying that the experience of chaos leads to transformation and is essential to transformation."

If this is true, I am definitely on my way to some interesting new adventures.  I didn't exactly think the pathway to adventure would be getting a job that involved bookkeeping.  But it became rather important to be able to afford to put gas in my car and food in my refrigerator.  Resurrecting my math skills at this point in my life has been interesting but not impossible.  Perhaps using the other side of my brain for awhile will result in some interesting new neural pathways up there.

I might become a famous rock star or a gourmet chef.  Who knows?  One needs to be open to all of the possibilities.

The office of a local construction company that I work for closely resembles the contents of my brain at this point, which I find slightly amusing.  I love organization but have been told by my employer not to touch anything because he "might not be able to find it then."  The trick is identifying which unlabeled beer box the bills, receipts and mail are stuffed in on any given day.  He's not really an alcoholic, but he does like his beer and also likes to save money by using the beer boxes for storage instead of a more traditional office filing system.

The office that currently resembles my brain.

I also have another nonpaying and unexpected job.  My employer also happens to be a longtime friend that I recently found a rescue dog for.  His own beloved "Buddy" a standard poodle was hit by a car last August.  He wanted a poodle mix and "Big Baxter" was the only one he fell for after months of looking at rescue sites.  Since my little dog's name is Baxter.....we had to add the "Big" to his Baxter.

What I didn't fully face when looking for perspective dogs and sending him the profiles, was the fact that my employer/friend really can't walk all that well. It's not his favorite form of exercise due to a bad ankle.  He used to pedal along on the local bike trail with Buddy running alongside and Big Baxter has learned to do the same rather nicely, when my friend finds time to do this....about once a week.  When you don't exercise a big and energetic, one year old dog every day, they tend to amuse themselves in other ways.....

like eating their master's slippers

and then the stairs.

Unfortunately, winter is coming and there are many days when walking is the only option.  Of course I volunteered to walk him "once in awhile" which has turned into several days a week.   Big Baxter still hasn't quite figured out that sudden bursts of speed are fine when biking, but not so fine when I'm on the other end of the leash.  I was flat on my face and eating dirt with two bloody knees before I knew what happened a few days ago.  Big Baxter and I had a talk about that and so far he seems to be contented with sporadic leaps here and there before remembering that sprinting is a no no.

Big Baxter with Little Baxter up ahead on the bike trail.

All my life I have known I was meant to be an artist.  Why it doesn't seem to be happening right now is a mystery to me, but I think it's about to change any day.  I got this sudden urge to look for a pair of earrings in an old jewelry box this morning.  I have no idea why because I really don't like wearing earrings.  Inside the box I found an old ring with the message Allow Miracles engraved on it and realized that this was what I was supposed to find instead.  I put it on and plan to keep it on.  I think it's all going to work out  and just to give one of those miracles a little jumpstart, I sat down and painted for a few hours tonight and then wrote this little blog.

It all felt so right.

Allow Miracles

The Prophecy

A quaint little shop stands in the field across the road from my cottage, where yesterday there was only corn.  As I draw near and peak through the door, I feel a sense of magical wonder and anticipation.  Stepping inside I can see that the rustic interior is overflowing with beautiful handmade items.  Lovely quilts, paintings, drawings and photographs hang on the walls.  Antique tables are covered with handmade jewelry and books.  Other tables hold piles of fabric and colorful yarn.  The air smells of fresh baked pies.  I feel a deep sense of pleasure as I gaze around the room. 

A beautiful woman with a warm smile greets me and I recognize that it is Eileen Hileman.  I am so happy to finally meet this dear friend who made me one of my most cherished treasures, a beautiful cabin quilt that hangs in my cottage and makes me smile every day. 

Eileen's beautiful cabin quilt 

Even though no words are spoken, it seems that we are communicating with our thoughts.  I look up to see that we have a visitor.  It is another beautiful woman that I know but have never met.  Maria Wulf is a talented fiber artist who lives on a magical farm in upstate New York with Jon Katz.  Jon is the wonderful author of my favorite books who started a Facebook group, Creative Group at Bedlam Farm for creative people to share their work.  It is a safe and loving place of encouragement and joy that has become an important part of my life. Maria has come to visit and I sense that that she is on a mission.  I watch Eileen and Maria as they walk out the open door and into the golden cornfield.  

Detail of one of Maria's beautiful creations that reminds me of my dream tree.

Another detail of one of Maria's beautiful creations that reminds me of my dream tree.

Not far from the magical little shop is an ancient old tree.  It is tall and gnarled and Maria climbs a ladder that is leaning against it while Eileen stands beneath the tree waiting.  There is a large hole in the old tree and Maria reaches deep inside and pulls out a dark sack.  She climbs down the ladder and they both walk toward me as if they have something to show me.  I can see that the dark sack is moving in Maria's hand as if there is something alive inside, and I am overcome with curiosity.  

My Dream Tree that apparently exists for real at Bedlam Farm

Eileen and Maria seem to know what is in the sack, and when Maria lays it down on a shelf in the little shop, it falls open to reveal several handfuls of rough cut coal.  They look dark and dirty, like they have been buried in the ancient tree for many years.  Strangely, they are all vibrating as if they are filled with some kind of energy.  One of them suddenly breaks open and reveals a golden egg shaped orb inside.  It is glowing and pulsing with life and for some reason this fills me with a deep sense of joy.  I sense that each piece of coal in the bag is filled with a similar living golden orb.

I hug Maria and Eileen my Goddess Messengers and without words, thank them for their visit.  I wake up smiling.

Several days later I look into the eyes of a dear old friend that I haven't seen in 45 years and something old and dark cracks open inside my heart.  As the golden orb spreads it's warmth, I begin to smile knowing that my life will never be the same.