Larger than life

We honor and love scarcity
for it is then truly percieved and enjoyed,
it's value seen,
beauty admired
soon to be gone,
perhaps until another season.

The seed

I was nine almost ten,
sitting on my mother's bed,
talking,
and I listened also to what she had to say.

Her hair black,
skin white,
she looked tired and worn
though she was only 37.

"He only lived three day's",
they had to force his birth,
knowing that death would be the outcome,
the little one would die.

They tried to save his life,
three months premature back then was often fatal,
he struggled,
tired and simply stopped.

In one so young,
not seeing my brother,
the affect at first was not apparent,
it was just something that happened.

The years rolled by,
then slowly
the fruit of what my mother told me blossomed,
for the seed took deep root in my then young soul.

His name was Michael,
I miss him,
at times there is an ache I don't understand,
a wondering of,"what if"'.

In my soul there is something missing,
like a room barely lived in,
vacated,
the presence lingers growing stronger as the years pass by.

Bitter sweet in it sting,
it rises and falls as if it has its own life,
gently seeking my attention;
is such a thing possible?

A small suffering,
really nothing at all,
yet it persists,
how strong will it grow and mature?

Does mourning grow,
or was it always there?
Hiding until I was ready,
for what..... communication?

Oh Michael,
will I ever see you?

Pains of Love "
Jagoda Lane

Healing balm

Our greatness and joy,
also that which brings us our pain
is the heart's desire sought after,
down many roads,
byways,
false starts that leave gashing wounds,
seeking love where there is pain
until the lesson learned
of what is love's teaching.

It is not pain that troubles
for love and pain go together,
like twins,
entwined in an embrace pure,
love is a crucible of fire
bringing to reflection what keeps us from it,
allowing us to let go,
to become aware of false seeking.

Some never learn,
yet they do seek,
even if their life is filled with pain,
emptiness,
yet the pearl is sought
and eventually the love that seeks us
will embrace them
filling the void,
healing the wounds,
that seem to afflict all.

Our small loving actions
even to strangers
can be a healing balm;
so let us love one another
be kind
treat others as we would like to be treated.
Love makes us all healers.

Never get it right

I have a few people who just call me to talk, who are trapped in cycles that they can't seem to break; very unhappy, depressed, filled with anxiety and fear. All I can do is listen, though I do give some points, but I don't expect them to either agree with or perhaps do with what I recommend. Like the old saying goes, advice is cheap. Amen to that, hell I don't often follow my own advice.

Sometimes I won't answer the phone. When I feel overly stretched I ignore the call, but not for too long, only for a day or two, then reconnect with them. They after all are not the way they are on purpose, and if I had their problems I thing I would be doing a lot worse, yet they can still get too me.

They call and talk,
the wheel turns fast,
faster,
or at times even slows down a bit,
things get better for a short time
then it starts,
again,
unending it seems,
yet they continue on trying,
seeking,

that needs to be respected and honored,
I do honor them,
they have courage even if they can be a bit draining.
Still working on my boundaries,
perhaps I will never really get it right.

The thirst

It was in 1976; I was twenty eight and needed time to think. About things, my life, if the path I was on, the right one. I sort of knew it was, but I was so young when I made my choice, that I wanted to step back and just look at it. I took off for six months; it was interesting to say the least. I hitched across country, met some really nice people, gave some money away, got some given to me, in fact I had more money with me than before I left, go figure. The more I gave away, the more was given back to me.

I stayed with my brother and his wife in Texas for a few months. Got job as a common laborer at a construction site, did not go out much, just spent time with the family. They live very close to the ocean, so on certain days I would go out by myself for long walks. It would be on cloudy overcast days, the ones I like best, no the ones I love the most, with low lying clouds, dark and thick, so beautiful and restful to look at.

The beach would be almost empty where I parked the car, then I would set off over the hard brown sand, relishing the fact that I was by myself, with lots of expanse to walk on. I am not always sure what happened on those walks, but I would get very quiet inside, just listen to the waves, play tag, following them back and then running from, when the tide came back in. Watched sea gulls, observed the crabs, just walked and looked I guess.

When I am near the ocean, hearing the waves, smelling the salty air I breath in, I become aware of a deep thirst in my soul, then it was very intense, I would try to fill my soul with the refreshing salt air, like a man starving for something unknown, also knowing that at the same time I was being wooed in some way, interior touches, so light and gentle , I was young after all and I think if the experiences was too powerful I would have run away. Instead I would bask in the gentle presence, feeling my thirst, which the sea would allow me for some reason to feel.

The hours would fly by like moments, the miles unnoticed; it was like I was in another world, which perhaps I was. Aware of my own inner mediocrity, and yes my many failures, I was amazed that I would be pursued in such a manner, being young I did not understand the depth of the love seeking me. Perhaps I understand just a little better now, being pursued for so many years, decades; I have come to trust in the love desiring me, than I do in myself, my moods, feelings, emotions and thoughts. Even though I am still deeply aware of my many failings; who can comprehend infinite love?

I don't know why I don't live near the ocean; well I do, my life's choice keeps me from it, but one day I am going to go there and spend days just walking, being, breathing, experiencing my thirst that goes to the bottom of my soul. I will go in the winter, and perhaps soon, before I get too old.

Reaching out

Reaching out tenderly
hopefully,
love was returned.

a chance taken,
open heart,
love grows in the light.

Courage called upon
fear overcome
past wounds dispelled

Letting go,
allowing things to be,
control let go

Love sought
also a gift given
to the one pursued

Observer

It seems that I change from moment to moment,
first this for awhile,
then that comes up,
or things simply happen in the many events of the day.

Emotions, feelings, thoughts,
like a Ferris wheel spinning constantly
pulling me from the center,
becoming scattered in what is only passing.

Amidst the chaos,
the inner voices,
the ebb and flow of events
both inner and outer,
who is it that observes,
takes notice,
seeks to find true peace and meaning?

Under the illusion

I sometimes think that most of my "outer" life is an attempt to not look too closely to what is going on inside of me. I do spend time in prayer and meditation, also I read and study, yet even these activities can be used to avoid going deeper. I am often under the illusion that I know myself, but in the end I only see the surface. To go deeper; well it has taken me 58 years to get where I am at, wherever that is, so I suppose I will die still only experiencing and knowing the upper levels of my soul, spirit, inner life, or whatever name or designation that one wants to call it.

My dreams lately have become very clear, as if something I need to know, but my stupid self has not yet got the message; so there are times (like now) in my life when my dreams, which I already have every night, become even clearer. They are not nightmares, nor are they pleasant, just dreams. Over the years I have come to trust the process, for I have learned that there are reasons why I have to go through some experiences. Sooner or later I will get the message. The soul is always trying to move toward balance, health and self knowledge.

I used to write my dreams down, but I have so many of them that it would take me hours a day to process them that way. What I do, is wait for the ‘big' dream to come. These tend for some reason to take me to another level. At times the new level is my relationship with God, at others insight into the "why" I do certain things, so waiting is part of it I guess, at others I simply need to laugh at myself. It seems that my own growth comes about not by what I do, but by my simple willingness to be open to change and insight that comes as a pure gift, a grace is probably the best word for me to use, being a Christian and all.

One thing I have learned from experience, which has saved me from some suffering, because I don't always do it all that well.......that is to simply accept the fact that I am not all together, not in control, and finally the hardest of all I don't have very many answers, and the last is, while the world does revolve around me, all those pesky people in my life don't know that truth. So a sense of humor is also good.

The spiritual life is not always what people think it is. A simple reading of John of the Cross would clear that up for many.

Clichés

It was one of those days where the weather seems to be just about perfect.
Early Fall is often like that, such a relief after a long hot summer and drought;
which we are still in with no real end in sight, have no idea how many trees will die. The worst drought in a century we are told.

I pulled up to the dialysis clinic; it was time to pick up Clarence, who received
dialysis three times a week. A long grueling procedure that he has been enduring for about three years now; no complaints of course when you consider what would happen if he did not continue the treatments......death most likely within a week.

It is a community of sorts, they all know one another, most older but some are young, something I can't get used too, young people needing dialysis, it really saddens me when when I see them. One young woman who was going is now dead, leaving a husband and three small children behind. Most of the young seem to have kidney failure from undiagnosed high blood pressure. Over all six dialysis patients have died since Clarence has started going there, some I knew, others I did not have the pleasure in meeting. It saddens Clarence when they die; at times he will talk about them.

That day, as Clarence and I were getting ready to pull out of the driveway, a young man came up to me and asked for a ride, if it was not too much trouble; his appointment time was changed and his usual driver did not get the message, so he was stranded. I could tell he was on dialysis since they have a worn tired look about them; in the young it seems more pronounced, perhaps because they are expected to be vital, alive, full of energy, so when a young person is met who does not have that, they stand out. He was 28, quiet, and has been on dialysis since he was 18.

He talked very little, but did answer some questions if asked. Yes he had high blood pressure, the doctors think he was born with it, undiagnosed, the result being that his kidneys never grew, so he was a man with the kidneys of an infant, so for all practical purposes they did not work. He was waiting for a transplant, but the wait was a long one, so there is possibility that he could die before his time came.

He lived in a very poor part of town, and when I dropped him off it was in a very run down apartment building, one story, very old. He lived there with his girlfriend. I wanted to offer him some money, but did not, he seemed proud and did not want to offend him and he after all had his dignity.

Some times when there, I will be asked for money, or if I would make a run and get some food; some of them seem to be always hungry. Often they will ask me to buy them something that they should not be eating, but I get it for them anyway; eating is one of the few pleasures that seem to stay with us all of our lives. I don't always eat right, so I certainly would not turn down a chance to give someone a little pleasure, an innocent one. From time to time I will take Clarence to a Chinese restaurant, we all need a break, and it does not hurt him, as long as it is not done very often. There was one old man there who used to ask me to get him some chicken. He was skinny as a rail but ate like a foot ball player. He had a slow southern way about him and he always brought a smile to my face. He is gone now, but his memory is still very vivid in my mind. Another woman named Ann, she was only in her forties, but she to liked ame to get her a nice fish sandwich with fries (potatoes are a no- no) but I got them for her. One of the nurses told me that it did no real harm, since many did not follow their diet very well. She also is gone.

Peter had a hard life, more difficult than I could ever imagine. For most of my life I have been healthy and strong, with the usual nickel and dime stuff. As I get older I have some things a little more serious, but still pretty healthy. It is often overlooked how courageous these people are, fighting for their lives, trying to live as normal a life as possible, not giving up. True it is common, people trying to extend their lives, but it is a choice to keep on struggling even if the outcome is certain, a life shortened. Many people much better off will kill themselves, when perhaps they have a much better chance of having a full life; it is all a mystery to me, one I can't even begin to figure out.

Had a talk with a friend the other night, suffering came up, and he asked the same old questions about suffering, the why's etc., and I gave some old over used answers. When dealing with the problem and mystery of suffering everything after a while, because both sides are presented so often, in so many books, discussions etc., that it becomes just the parroting of one clichés after another; so I try to steer away from it. I am learning that it is not necessary to have all the answers, life is a mystery, a very deep one, perhaps all we can do is try to be kind, love each other, and try to lessen the burdens of others as much as we can. Even in that I often fail, but I guess all we can do is try.

My Faith helps me a lot, but in the end, the answerers if talked about become just more clichés.

If met

In the throngs that pass us everyday
in the cities as we walk,
on the roads that we drive,
there are many that if met would change our lives
for they have what we are looking for
each in his or her own way.

Yet we often ignore those closest
fear keeps us from speaking out
closing off the riches that are within
the true gold
or perhaps one pearl of great price
that could be ours
if courage won out.

Entertainment

Violence is loved by all
though few will admit it,
the need to feed the anger is great
the thirst for havoc strong,
football, soccer,
people have died for that game.
Love of killing of movies also a great sport
feeding the moguls who make it for us popcorn eaters
drinking our coke,
cheering the killing,
yet never admitting the pleasure we get from watching.
It is only a movie after all,
yes fantasy,
yet real all the same.

We love to see flesh pounding flesh,
bodies blown up,
bullets flying,
yet,
without the coppery smell of blood,
or the mess of gore as bodies fall,
it is kept clean,
on the screen,
unreal,
yet it feeds us all the same.

Of course there is gore,
snuff but again just pretend;
fewer seem them
yet it feeds the same appetite
perhaps more jaded
or if you must pretend,
mature,
so much torture,
so little time,
only so much can be shown in 90 minutes.

One day perhaps we will grow up,
until then
carnage on the screen
in movies and on the news,
is our fare.

Here is to entertainment.

Most of my poetry is about me I guess, but this was written just for the fun of it.

Inside me

There is something growing inside of me
I can feel it move from time to time,
it feels cold and moist,
as it slowly feeds on my inward parts.

No one believes me as I go through the day,
seeking help,
begging,
screaming at times,
yet all that happens is they turn away.

It grows now more quickly
soon it will be let loose,
those who did not believe me
will soon learn what it is like,
to give birth to that which lives within.

The pain of being seeded by such a monster,
is nothing to what happens as time moves on,
as the body shrinks from being devoured from within.

Hush, can you hear it?
I can no longer feel pain,
only pressure as it claws it's way out,
my rib cage will soon burst outward,
O happy moment
when blessed death will claim me.

Woe to those who did not believe
it is now too late for them,
soon that is all we will become
hatcheries for that which lies within.

The primitive within

Long ago, I have come to accept that it will always be with me, making itself known whenever;
if there is a trigger I have not found it, unless it is simply feeling at peace, or prayer, or just being. Perhaps it likes to surprise me, catching me unawares, though how one can prepare I have no idea, for this tidal wave of primitive raw, hot, emotion.

I feel it's faint stomping, then a kind of clanging in my depths, the force of its march growing stronger, until it bursts forth in images of red hot rage, or at times cold, inhuman, without feeling, but great power and yes energy to spare. It rips me from the inside this reptilian experience, without rationality, only the desire to seek out something to play with, hurt, anything to get the energy released. 

Over the years I have developed a certain peace with it, it comes, I groan for a bit, say "O Jesus", a prayer for sure, and then I observe it, as it rants and raves with color pictures, deeper than can be found in any movie production.  It is young, not quite mindless, but totally non-rational, so I just watch, for you can't communicate with the irrational, only experience it, ride it out, and not fear it.  Though the unpleasantness never leaves, I simply can't learn to be comfortable with the feeling. 

I would say it is two or three years old, tops, a raging flood of lava needing to express something......well I know the cause of this lava flow, though knowledge does not always do away with it, but it does give me a handle of sorts, sort of like having a bridle in hand when riding a bull in the rodeo.  I certainly don't want to be thrown off.  So over the years, I have learned to embrace it, trying to comfort that two or three year old, angry over something done with no intent to harm.  Perhaps that is what saves me, knowing no ill will was present, just me, so young that I had no way of understanding. 

So I am like all others, with deep secrets, some buried, hidden in a dark cave, quiet but not asleep, with the power to manifest at times.  I am blessed that there is at least one thing that lurks below that I can name, yes very blessed.  We are so complex, deep, mysterious, within each soul is an entire universe, seeking the way, each having their own cross or burden to carry, each with the invisible stigmata, each loved and cherished and pursued, though often hidden, unseen, yet present.

In the darkest night; when most alone, that which loves us draws near, well really one with us, no, we are never alone.  Faith is not weak, it just accepts that there is a lot of grey in life, and infinite love is something that cannot be understood and the whys seldom are answered.

Philip

I call him the bishop, for he does have a dignity about him,
so many years of suffering from this dreaded horrible disease,
yet he has always retained an air about him of kindliness and even blessing.
He has his days, when his moods are darker and can be difficult but he soon comes around to that gentle smile.

Some nights he looks at me and starts to talk in his confused way,
reaching out trying to communicate what he is experiencing but cannot.
His eyes fill up with tears of frustration at his predicament, his prison,
that from time to time he knows he is in. Yet the smile returns soon,
blessed forgetfulness brings momentary healing and his joy returns.

Sometimes it is like he is having a party in his room; it is so full of memories
and ghost from his past; parents, siblings, and perhaps many others that he sees.
One night he introduced me to the whole room, and I went around shaking hands,
which he thought something great, thinking that I could see them as well as him.

Like a child he will grab things, study them, and then tear them up, laughing,
wondering why we have to sometimes take his plaything away from him. He loves ice cream,
classical music, at least he used to, not sure anymore, so much gone that was there before,
only another ghost of sorts. His personality different from when he first became ill; he was very anxious and worried about everything, never quite at rest, now at least he has some freedom from that cross.

Only one brother left from a very large family, their family portrait on a stand near his bed.
All so young, now gone, one by one called home. His brother calls from time to time
to inquire how his is doing, laughing at the things I tell him, at peace that he could go
at any time. The old, or least many of them seem to be free of fear of their impending death,
or that of their loved ones.

He can still feel, have fun, smile, and laugh, have a temper tantrum, be stubborn just like
the rest of us, the only difference is his confusion, which has now come to be his every day life. So day by day we follow our paths, his crisscrossing mine in so many ways, so many years, with its suffering and joy, the meat and potatoes of our lives.

In the end, we will see that it is all good, the chaos, the struggle, all worth it. Some will say I am whistling in the dark, well, sorry I don't think so.

Image and likeness

The new sword lay alone on a cloth,
a thing of  beauty to behold,
it's blade shinning,
the fire that formed it
reflected back from the blade in shimmering beauty,
fire and blade seemed one as it rested waiting.

It longed for what it was made for
to be plunged deeply into the enemies flesh,
to drink the warm blood flowing
to grow older and stronger with each new fight.

It mattered not who wielded it
it served the one who simply took it up,
usually after the death of it's previous master,
struck down,
the screams of pain bothered it not
for it was only a sword after all,
made in the image and likeness of the one who created it.

Battle

Plastic is what it feels like,
protective, covering, smothering
entrapping my heart from true life,
I seek to tear it away
but my conflict is strong,
so as is my wont the battle prolonged.

Freedom of movement

It seems to be instinctive for people to dance,
allowing the music to dictate movement,
in the young, wild movements in perfect flow
young beautiful bodies in perfect symmetry,
allowing one to think of perfection divine.
Sweating bodies gleaming,
the mind set free, as oneness with the music is sought
allowing self consciousness to recede into simple tempo evolution.

Primitive, ballet, rock and roll, heavy rap,
it maters not for those in flight,
for a time free of life's worries and constraint,
in the total freedom of the moment
the paradox of discipline in plain view.

More gentle rhythms for those further along life's paths,
what is lacking in pounding movement made up by simple grace,
as older bodies heavier, move still as one, with the transcendental beat.
Faces serene, they to put their worries aside,
gliding upward their pleasure perhaps greater,
for passion is more hidden,
the fire burns deeper,
because of life's lessons learned.

In simple listening it can be enough
for music to set the soul free,
the clumsy to, or the infirm, can also be set into flight,
to ride the waves of music's charms,
one of God's great gifts to man.

Music like poetry comes from the soul
so allow the melody to take root,
do not fear what others think
for they also are with you on the road.

Artists all we are made
dancers of the body or the soul,
the common ground on which we exists,
each unique with ones own name
written in stone by God's own hand,
that one day will draw us ever deeper
into the eternal embrace.

The soul is made to dance, its many forms setting us free.

Or so it seems

It is in the deep darkness of the night,
when all is silent and calm,
is when thoughts come of true reality.

Not the props that we call real when fully awake,
our jobs,
cars,
the people we know,
those beneath our concern of course
for our worth comes from comparisons.

Amid the sheets,
we see the abyss that swallows all,
everything we hold dear,
our power,
wealth and youth,
our families,
friends
and yes our enemies
one by one fall into emptiness
or it seems so.

Our planet,
the Sun we dance around,
the galaxy that is our home,
et al,
will one day to be as if it never were.

Length of time matters not
for once gone,
time ceases only silent nothingness remains,
from where there is no escape
or so it seems.

I believe otherwise despite what I often feel,
the terror that screams at me that all is naught,
for an inner certainty stays alive,
I am captured by it's dark presence
though it is truly the light,
the finite blinded by the infinite.

Rage

Alive and cold,
gleeful in it's artic feel,
godlike,
rage feeds on the sufferings of others,
incapable of compassion,
empathy,
for rage is always right,
true,
at least in its own eyes
until fed out
leaving only pain.

Rage

Alive and cold,
gleeful in it's artic feel,
godlike,
rage feeds on the sufferings of others,
incapable of compassion,
empathy,
for rage is always right,
true,
at least in its own eyes
until fed out
leaving only pain.

A garden

It seems that I want so many things,
and in the pile of desires, God is in there somewhere.
Sad to say my heart is scattered lying in the sand
it‘s pieces like dark shards of glass lying motionless,
in the barren landscape.

Often distracted from the one thing necessary,
yet aware of the love pursuing me
I often seek suffering over joy,
stubborn in my oft childish rebellion.

I know of those who fly straight to the target,
some are my friends,
yet I zig and zag up and down the mountain
lost in the maze of my own failures.

I over-think and under-do,
yet called, I fight against it,
such a fool I can be;
yet healing love seeks me.

I often don't understand the person I am becoming,
yet grace is a work in spite of my zigging and zagging.
Love poured out without end
wooing my soul, warming my frozen heart,
causing a garden to grow in the desert.

Destined for

Burdens can build up as life progresses,
the past events adding weight to ones soul,
scar tissue cutting out the light that once broke through.

Loves lost, sometimes betrayed, rebuffed, or scorned,
leave a mark deep, enduring, that festers as the years move on.
Fear masked as prudence takes fore, leading to a peace of sorts,
though it could also be called a prelude to death.

Repression works, it protects, shields from life's rough waves,
The price high, demanding life's joys be set aside,
for joy, sorrow, pleasure and pain, are fraternal twins,
one without the other and all that can be done is to limp.

No simple easy answers to accompany our journey's pilgrimage,
stubborn endurance is needed, rejecting the easy way of despair,
fighting with tooth and claw to keep grace's healing flow moving,
to overcome our fear of pain and failure, an important part of life.

The road can be dark, but light shining presence always there,
though faith needed to understand at least in part it's working,
slow and merciless it creates in the depths of the soul,
leading us to be the work of art we are destined for

Destined for

Burdens can build up as life progresses,
the past events adding weight to ones soul,
scar tissue cutting out the light that once broke through.

Loves lost, sometimes betrayed, rebuffed, or scorned,
leave a mark deep, enduring, that festers as the years move on.
Fear masked as prudence takes fore, leading to a peace of sorts,
though it could also be called a prelude to death.

Repression works, it protects, shields from life's rough waves,
The price high, demanding life's joys be set aside,
for joy, sorrow, pleasure and pain, are fraternal twins,
one without the other and all that can be done is to limp.

No simple easy answers to accompany our journey's pilgrimage,
stubborn endurance is needed, rejecting the easy way of despair,
fighting with tooth and claw to keep grace's healing flow moving,
to overcome our fear of pain and failure, an important part of life.

The road can be dark, but light shining presence always there,
though faith needed to understand at least in part it's working,
slow and merciless it creates in the depths of the soul,
leading us to be the work of art we are destined for

He is lucky that he comes from a well to do family, who also care for him, protect him.To say he has a heavy burden would be an understatement, but perhaps lighter than some.He calls me from time to time, well actually quite often, so much so that I don't always answerwhen his name comes up on my phone; no I don't always answer, but he leaves a message.

I try to limit myself to four calls a week, for he never knows how to close, he goes on and on. It shows his pain, need, loneliness, which sometimes makes me impatient, it is so much. Often I say I have to go, and he continues without stopping, so I say it again, and it continues, so finally, I just simply say, "I really have to go", and hang up, I never feel good about that.

He had a very bad episode three years back, which put him in a psychiatric hospital for a long time. He is still struggling with that; for he lives in a small town, well known, so his shame is great. We go round and round, me saying that everyone has forgotten but him, get over it. So little by little he is getting better at least with this, but his paranoia stays, like a guest, that was never welcomed, but hangs on forever, intimate, close, smothering, overwhelming.

He called this week, a dramatic call, I signed when I heard his voice, but he is a friend after all."It is beating me Mark; I am losing the battle with my mental illness". I was silent for awhile, really what can I say, I am no psychiatrist. So, I said the only thing I could, I simply encouraged him, told him that he needs to see how lucky he is, loving family, also family money, so he can get the best care. He has been through much worse I reminded him, his moods change, just wait it will morph into something else. Simple things, but it seemed to help; perhaps he only wanted to be listened too.

I am ashamed to say that sometimes I get impatient with him, well perhaps I just lack energy at times, which leads me to lack patience, but I accept the fact of my limitations, makes me understand my need for grace. I am only a channel after all; my heart is shallow without God's grace empowering me. This is not an understatement by any means.

Today as we talked, he let me know that he is better, and thanked me for listening. I praised him for working with his doctor, also for taking his medicines. He does not stop taking them, a real plus, many don't do that. Let him know that he is blessed with a great intellect and he uses it, and to continue. Again I had to cut the call short, perhaps soon I will tell him about the need to perhaps be more sensitive to those whom he calls. He complains that his friends after a while stop answering him, I know why; perhaps the time is coming for me to tell him my thoughts on the matter. I think he will listen, but it is hard.

Boundaries, when are they needed, when to step back, when to be truthful when to just listen? Also emotions, how to deal with fatigue that simply comes from being human, we all have it. I need to address it, rest, pull back, but how much? I have never figured that one out, so it is a balance act with me, one I think I often lose. Perhaps better to loose than to withdrawal. I honestly don't know the answer to that.

Perhaps

One moment he smiles, or laughs and seems to be his old self. Loud, lovable, jovial,
then he becomes quiet, morose, and verbal, in expressing his displeasure..... with me,
with life, well with everything; confused, lost, trying to fight his way to clarity.

Often he can't be reached, nothing helps, just have to ride it out with him, not taking anything
he says personal, it is just his disease. He needs compassion, empathy, distraction when it
is possible, which is not always easy with him. His old loves have faded in to the back ground.
Chocolate not asked for much anymore, or hamburgers, but he still loves ice cream, any flavor:
"I will take anything, as long as it is ice cream" he always tells me. It is good that this is still so, for little pleasures are a very big thing, when ones world shrinks to the geriatric chair, or bed.

We can put him into his bed now. For a long time he would not allow us to do that, though safety measures need to be taken. At times he forgets where he is at, or thinks he is much younger living at home, wanting to find his mother, or his brothers, now all long gone... yes he is alone, but nor really, he has us. He is loved very much; he is so colorful, full of salt and vinegar, humor, anger, joy and suffering, a potent human mix that draws out many different responses, all deepening the connection that is formed between caregiver and the one getting the care.

He is treading now, short plateaus, sudden worsening, a rally, but never getting back to the level he was before. So his world shrinks, he gets weaker, and one day he will stop treading, he will be too tired to bounce back, being all used up. We will stay with him to the end, for he is a joy, a special person, a very lovable person. Even if he was not all that, we would still be with him, for the simple fact that he is our brother, a companion on the way, he is just a little further along, but we will soon catch up.

People don't understand that in this world, a place of pilgrimage, we are made to serve one another, it is the calling of all, each call different, each equally important. For those who need care, it is their gift to allow it, and if not, the struggle is also a gift, for suffering and struggle seem important in this crazy world, yes, pain filled, but also much love and joy, which brings healing, and lightens all of our burdens. Do I understand (?), well sometimes, at others no, I have no idea really, yet it all seems important, to stay true, and if not, to get up and try again, to not lose hope, fight despair, struggle for faith, and allow the little light I have to help lighten the burdens of others. We all have that light, it is called grace.

Perhaps we are called to be channels of God's light and love.