The Longer I Live

 Talk about "making the unknown known"*

To put a spotlight on the light one carries.

Especially if that one is yourself.

"Life and shame and sorrow" 

take center stage so often,

it's refreshing to know there's a way

to attend to the goodness

so often lost in the background.

I believe it gets lost because 

its commonplace, like dandelions.

It's everywhere shining so quietly

we take it for granted instead 

of marveling at its magnitude.

kastilwell

*Georgia O'Keefe

My Mother's Hands

As I reflect on mom's physical absence, I am reminded of her hands.

It's prompted me to revisit this piece from a few years back. 

___________________________________________________________________________________

Mom is almost 92. This past weekend she attended her grandson Nick’s wedding. A crisis ensued when she found herself unable to flush the toilet in the hotel room and found herself unable to tend to her normal ablution’s due to the low height of the commode.  It was also brought to my attention that her hands have become so frail that even writing checks is arduous. 

I wrote this in an effort to convey all those hands mean to me.

My mothers hands

My mothers hands on her Saint Basil hymnal caught the attention 

of the college boy who became her husband and my father.

Her hands brought him close and they created me.

Those hands held me, swaddled me, and swatted me, 

(a teaching tool of the era);

Those hands embraced 12 tiny infants as they entered the world 

conceived, carried and born from her flesh.

Those hands sterilized and filled baby bottles and 

canning jars for years.

Those hands wrung out countless soiled diapers in the creepy basement 

of the house where we lived growing up.

Those hands held our forehead when we puked into the toilet.

Her hands chose fabrics, pinned on pattern pieces, 

cut them and sewed them into clothing for her brood.

Her hands knit and embroidered sweaters for each of her daughters 

in secret one Christmas. There were six of us.

Those hands made Barbie doll clothes – – including wedding dresses.

Those hands played songs on the piano for us to sing along.

Those hands kneaded dough for cinnamon rolls 

and homemade noodles.

Those hands helped slaughter chickens to feed her chicks.

Those hands knit baby blankets for grandchildren 

and great grandchildren.

Those hands bid a mournful farewell to a beloved husband, 

two grown sons, a mother and a father, and beloved sisters.

Those hands have made over a thousand Almond Puffs. 

Yes, she’s counted!

They have held my hand, stroked my hair, raised up in hello, 

gathered me close for an embrace, waved goodbye.

Those hands have fingered more rosary beads then can be counted.

My daughter always commented on how soft her hands are.

The diminishment of aging is normal and inevitable. 

We come into this world without a choice--completely vulnerable--

completely at the mercy of the human hands around us. 

In many cases that is how we leave. 

However the tiny babe has no knowledge of what it’s like 

to be strong and useful and capable. 

Those with intact memory carry those memories and the grief 

that goes with the loss of them into the vulnerabilities of age.

Both periods of life call for a trust in our fellow human beings and 

whatever mystery we believe in to care for us, 

ideally with dignity, compassion, and love.

Those hands, my mother’s hands are the symbol 

of what love would look like if it had a form.

Here's another photo  of mom's hands posted by my sister, Reena.

All Earthlings are Kin in the Deepest Sense

"all earthlings are kin in the deepest sense."

This point is being brought home to me

in a deep and surprising way as I contemplate my ancestry

and realize there are innumerable beings who participated

in my presence in this form on this planet. 

What I come away with is the distinct sense

that we are all related.  We are all in this together.

 "protect our spaces and our time for non-instrumental, 

non commercial activity and thought, 

for maintenance, for care, for conviviality."

Something to become more aware of in daily living.  

Where I run into some inner conflict is when

instrumental and commercial elements are necessary,

such as in buying a ticket to board a plane

to fly hundreds of miles

in order to be with loved ones

"in the flesh" "for care and conviviality";

the many sides of this get tumbled together.

Finding the sweet spot amidst

the various elements ---

humanity, more than humans, 

technology and commerciality

and landscape is a balancing act.

Technology brought me

a treasured last encounter

with my mom.

It was "instrumental"

for our human encounter.

Weaving it all together into a cloth

that nourishes our human animality

is what matters, I believe.

kastilwell

Mom

 

A New Kind of Conversation

 In sorrow and joy to the woman who birthed me.

In grief and relief to the woman who raised me.

I rejoice for the privilege of being your child.

I give thanks for your presence 

as I mourn your absence.

You loved me like no other.

Rest in Peace and Rest in Power

I am fortunate to call you my mother.

kastilwell

Beautiful Things

https://www.facebook.com/photo?fbid=767756501809211&set=pb.100057246047673.-2207520000.

I came across this beautiful poem

as I was searching for a way to

respond to this quote from Krista Tippett-

"We are more familiar with the story 

of catastrophe and dysfunction, 

and that is real. 

But it’s not the whole story of us. 

. . .

 there is also an ordinary and 

abundant reality of things 

that are going right at any given time, 

of learning and growth that is happening, 

of evolution, and breakthrough.”

Isn't it wonderful how some poets

have such a splendid gift 

for getting to the heart of a matter?

And providing the words

for the unknown we are seeking?

kastilwell

 

Every Surface of Fracture

    This is why I have faith in the River of Goodness. I opened Krista's email three times

during an active weekend with family but never got beyond the first skim. Settling down back at home, I found an email where a dear friend, called this to the forefront of my attention.

"all of life is being revealed 

in its insistence on wholeness"

Every time something horrific happens,

calls for a remembrance of this.

Believe me, I wish it wasn't so.

I wish dreadful things didn't have

to be part of the package of life.

and then, this last line.  To make it

"vivid and practical and real, 

starting inside ourselves and 

with the lives we’ve been given.”

These powerful lines,

following O'Keefe's words...

"making our unknown known,"

make me feel like I'm being led

gently and firmly into a way

of being where wholeness

and wellbeing are possible

and available to all.

kastilwell