Made To Shine

In the heavens among clouds, stars are being born,

Nearby in a neighboring land, children are being lost. 

Deep in the darkest corners of space, suns become bound together.

And in sad cities, childhood itself becomes lost.

 by Yosl Kurland from Prayer For Bosnia copyright 1995

They were arguing, the two young men blocking my path to the escalators.  It was not apparent at first, that they were even friends.

"Excuse me...."

"OH, sorry lady, sorry..."

They immediately moved aside as I began my upward climb with a very heavy green case, a half empty water bottle fixing to fall out of a way too cumbersome bag filled with camera, books and a lighter than I started with, wallet.   The escalator rose with me, the young men and several other nondescript travelers.  It was late.  I should have gotten into the Boston station from Chicago by 9:30 PM, instead- eleven.  Great.  I missed my connection and no more buses or trains would be leaving out towards Portland Maine until the early AM.  This is where the young men and their argument came into play.  They had a ticket they needed to sell, as Portland was not where they intended to go together.  One guy was heading in the opposite direction of his buddy and due to circumstances- they decided it best for the broken hearted one- not to be left alone.  

The ticket seller would not adjust the ticket, refund the money or listen whatsoever to the two young men.  I had nothing more to go on, so I opted not to buy their ticket- matter of fact, it was time I estimated- to just sit and gather my self and the information at hand before I decided to buy any ticket anywhere.

The broken hearted guy was tearful.  But he was very tough so it was exceptionally hard on him to cry or not cry- no emotional in bursts or outbursts no sirree- be tough.  Be a man.  Learn from your friend that you just met at the station- "Your sister won't be here to collect you, man....  I don't know how to tell you this...I'm so sorry.  Your baby died."

That was the argument early on, in front of the escalators, remember?  The heart breaker was giving a message that the heart broken could not, would not bear.   Apparently he had just come out of rehab after several months.  Seems he had a choice back then- jail or get your self dried up.  He chose the latter, but before he left- he hugged his new infant son, made promises to him that his own father never kept in all of his life and went away to get better.   He came home to Boston.  To a new life.  To a cold new beginning.  

I learned that his mother was homeless, raised him mainly homeless, she was a heroine addict or whatever she could get and yet, he loved her and respected her.  

She had no choice.  The father early on made a waste out of her and the son just hung on as the Dad eventually took his own life after inflicting much pain and homelessness on his little follower family.

Yeah...this is a sad story.  Trouble is, it's true.  The heart broken guy, only 17.  The heart breaker friend, a bit older and loyal as anyone I suppose, the heart broken guy had ever known.  

"I don't care about the ticket, you need to go back to Portland."

"No man...I'm not leaving you now.  My sister said she'll come tomorrow to help us.  I'm staying..."

"Why?  What's the point?  I don't want to live.  Why would I want to live now?  I'd jump in that harbor but it's so fucking cold, and I've been cold all my fucking life and I just don't want to end cold..."  And he sobbed then.  He broke.  And I was there.  And all I could do was not break too.

"I'm so sorry, take my hand..."

"What the fuck lady, get away from me...leave me alone, God dammit!"

"Please, accept my hand, I don't know what to do for you...hold it.  Take it, tell me..."

His friend intervened and that is how we sat with him, in between us- just like that.

So- that's the story of how I spent the last night of my journey home.  In a Boston bus station.  Holding a young guys hand.  For several hours.  That's all I could do and it was all the warmth I guess, he could take.  But he let me.  His friend sat on the other side of him, in silence- sometimes he'd look at me and I'd look at him and we knew between the two of us was heaven and hell battling it out in a young- too too young soul.

Did I mention this heart broken guy was beautiful as I had ever seen?  Raw, yes.  Broken, oh my God...  Capable of moving past the instant sorrow on top of the life ladened with it?  I tell you, I just don't know.  I may never know. He held my hand and I held his and that's just about all any of us can do I suppose, in a bus station, in Boston where the marble floors are made to shine but people, homeless, hopeless people- shine just as much with a whole lot less care and attention.

I should have given that young man my number.  I should have said- "Call me, let me know how your life is going...I want to know."

But instead, I left him with this-

"I don't know what to say, I'm sorry.  You don't deserve it.  Listen to your friend, he cares for you.  Don't be alone..."

"What should I do?  What do I do, tell me...."

"The next right thing,"  I said, " And then the next right thing after that."

As vague as that statement was, I could not say to him in all honesty- I don't know.  He may have been hopeless for much and most and maybe all of his life...but, I am not.  And someone I remembered, once said that to me...it didn't seem at the time a loving thing to hear, or even navigational for that matter- but in times of great despair, the truth is all that one can hear- even in simple terms as "the next right thing."  Basic instinct tells us, for survival sake- what the next right thing is that keeps us alive and moving out of harm's way.  That young man was not open to any blatant fairy tale or triumphant message from me or anyone- but he did hear that low down honest one.  He did. 

The next right thing then for me, was to write this story and tell his side.  So maybe, just maybe some day- someone might read it and remember that being indifferent, blind to suffering while we rail against traffic lights and Charlie Sheen's behavior- is not the next right thing.  It's not even close.

  From where I sit, under my stable roof and blue sky above with a fire burning not eight feet away warming me almost too much to the point of being uncomfortable...well, I truly don't know what that is, uncomfortable.  I know hope and beauty and see no reason beyond this moment to ever cry about anything, but instead be oh so grateful that I did not end up in that middle seat.

His name is Steven- he could use our prayers.

Thank you.  Take care-

*I met  Yosl/Joe Kurland on the train from Boston to Chicago...he sang for me in the great shiny hall of Union Station and taught me a bit of Yiddish and stories that perhaps made me more open to that young man in the Boston station.

He reminded me of a saying I had come upon years back-

“It is not your obligation to complete the work [of perfecting the world], but neither are you free to desist [from doing all you can do]…”.

Yosl Kurland

Chicken Coop Manifesto

 So what teaching is it that you would need to explore in order to transform your distress into wisdom? Rob Brezsny

 I would like nothing more than to bypass that question, head on out to the little Hoop-Dee-Doo House and hang out with the chickens.  But, me being a true wonder and all...that is a great question worth pondering.

It is good to be as smart as a chicken and that may not sound like the ultimate goal for any sky-high thinker but! the Big Fish and I have contended that maybe a good part of the population isn't...  so- we kind of look to the poultry for common sense...

Similarities I have observed between the two subjects-

 People vs. Chickens

Pecking Order

Pretty much the same, but people pretend to be mannerly when deep inside they're seething-"Hey bud!  I was here first..." - we should peck back sometimes.

Laying eggs

 *kind of, sort of- you know- like how we really get puffed up and clucky when we hatch a new idea.  

. 

Making sure Basic Needs are met- water, feed, shelter, safety in numbers, etc.

  (of course not all people score well here...just saying.)

Communication

Talk, talk, cluck, cluck- thing is, chickens are actually listening to one another better- I observe.  Doesn't take long for the slowest among them to catch on to the wisest and act accordingly.

Comfy spot/shelter

Hard to say here, more observation needed.  (As soon as I'm done with this all too-time-encompassing post, I'll research some more- from a comfy spot...)

Joyful pursuits (No great scientist will ever tell me that chickens don't know joy-a fly loose in coop to a chicken would be like me singing back up for Emmy Lou Harris, joy, joy, joy!!) 

OK, keep trying to follow me here...sure, none of the above can be provided by a chicken- we as their keepers bring much of it about, but after the four walls and a roof, basic stuff is provided- the chickens do the rest, impeccably I might add...hope I didn't lose you with that one...there's more-

Should a shadow appear over their yard, in they go to safety- but only after one of the smarter pluckier ones squawks out an alarm. 

If the feed/water dish should run dry, they don't stand around worrying- they get right to work on scratching and picking up every little thing they might have missed in the ever bustling scamper for anything yummy.

I have also observed that a chicken never feels sorry for itself, even if it loses it's place in the order.  They simply take a licking and keep on keeping on...eventually, they learn to stand up for themselves and struggle mightily to proceed to the top of the order again.

But every now and then, one of those silly sometimes not as smart as your average chicken chickens- surprises me. 

There is one little old gal out there who takes no crap off of anybody.(Including me!)  She never ceases and desists, never takes her eye off the prize she seeks and yes I suppose it might be said that if worse came to worse she would die for the good eggs she loyally sits upon.  And should a common enemy confront all of them- well, this little plucky soul would perish perhaps by fighting off the intruder, not just for her self or the eggs but the whole cockle doodling group.   I know this because if one of the group's inhabitants gets her feathers ruffled by me throwing the door open too quickly, thereby surprising the flightiest one- the brave, seemingly independent one charges me. 

The message given- Proceed with caution, or else!!!

The message taken-Geez, that chicken is doing something so unchicken-like it's freaking me out, she's so little and yet...so fearless!

Which leads me to wonder AND answer the question left hanging way up above there- 

The teaching, the base line lesson that might transform my distress into wisdom?  

Worry is just another way to not confront fear.  It absolutely changes nothing as my health, my head, my heart and my hope suffer.  It belittles all those aspects of me, it actually sickens my soul.  Believe me, I have only recently figured this out.  I have been ill.  

Really ill...high blood pressure.  Lethargy.  Hopelessness.  I can handle dreams being cancelled, thoughts being outgrown, love leaving and honest hostility but no hope AND bad health?!  Well, I wouldn't be a true wonder anymore, I'd be compost, pushing up daisies and that sort of thing.  Yikes.  It took some physical ills to come around to acknowledging not only are we what we eat, we are what we think.  We are what we feel.  We are weak if we say we are.  We are strong when we act accordingly.  And we are at our lowest when we allow  doubts to drown out all of who we are. 

 Luck has not been good as of late, challenges coming right, then left- over the wall and up through chimney...yet my stress response darn near nearly killed me.  And even though my little black hen didn't say all of that to me...in a way, she showed me how to handle the ups and downs a little better.

Conduct Befitting a Good Egg

The Chicken Coop Manifesto

Be tenacious, even when the going gets ugly.

  At worst, you'll lose a few feathers.

  At best- you'll ruffle a few.*

Be who you are- exactly.

(Not sure who you exactly are?  Turn off TV, radio, news,internet,people who vex your very soul,books,busy roads,etc...you will find out and grow more of who you were meant to be.  Might be a poet, might be a hero, might just be you.  A chicken is a chicken is a charming bird with character.)

Love everyone, even the assholes. *(see # 1)

**though consider the bottom line

Would you risk your life for just about any one?

Then, why not your grace too?!

Don't let the bastards get you down.

(And that may be your self in the telling...we are hardest on ourselves.  My little black hen struts her tiny stuff and the so-called cock of the walk* backs down sometimes.)

Stand your ground.

(You may not be first in line, ever.  But that doesn't mean you have to take any crap off the other chickens either. We are all a little chicken about some little big thing.)

Be Brilliant in your plumage.

(Dress to impress your self.  Fluff your feathers when you damn well feel like it.)

Question everything.

  (Including your self.  What motivates your actions? My chickens  put up a big fuss, like questioning...when the snow covers their hoop-house home, blocking the sun. ) 

Be kind when it is warranted and even, maybe...when it is not.

(A good broody hen will never leave the nest and will peck your eyes out given the opportunity- but a better chicken will step aside and let others lay eggs in her humble and warm nest...so that I might easily collect the eggs.)  These are my rules and this is how I see it.

  Take care of the children.

  (And if the brood watching the children needs instruction, do it.  Children, chicks are the only ones entitled to our little wise hen-ness direction.  That doesn't mean telling someone how to do it, it means taking opportunities that arise to teach for the benefit of the little ones. )

Those that do, succeed.

Those that don't- won't.  Nothing.  Ever.

(Success doesn't always come from an end result, sometimes- it is a minute by minute reaching further, risk-taking-small-time-step ongoing adventure. Like a little chick sticking it's head through the chicken wire and grabbing up the fattest bugs.)

Do not take good health for granted.

(What a gift breath is.  What a joy swallowing is.  What a blessing upon blessings sight,taste,hearing,touch,feeling is. When a chicken is in moult, she seeks shelter more often than not and takes the time to let her health glow again.)

Life is a blast.

(Every time I open the hoop house door, there stands the little black hen- ready to take a gust of wind or a shower of snow.)  

Seek shelter when shadows appear, but when they have gone- come out into the sun and

 Crow about the light. 

* Verne

**Bottom line

(Anyone and I don't give a spit who you are...if you neglect, harm, exploit a child- all bets are off.  There should be no cover, no shelter for you- I do not care what brought you to your demise, do not harm children.  Period.

I will never be so enlightened to see a lesson in the suffering of children.

I have never said this on my blog but I strongly feel that some crimes should be handed over to Mother Nature, and there should be sharks and grizzlies involved.  And that goes for Military funeral protesters too. If you agree somewhat- write a damn letter.  Post it to your social networks.  Think freely and act accordingly.  Oh...and please listen to Mumford and Sons.   They are partially responsible for my lack of diplomacy.  Awake My Soul- say that aloud and often enough and true wonder is what you get.)

the better part of me

  To not speak of death is to not speak of life.  I do not write of these things in sadness, I write all in gladness for what is, what was, and what will be...

Mother's Day is a bittersweet day for me.  The bitterness stems from missing my Beau, who never let an opportunity pass to show me what being his mom meant to him.  Sometimes it was a card, sometimes artwork, sometimes a bunch of dandelions with a wee bit of violets mixed in.  I have an old coffee can filled with his gifts, dried and fragile- yet I can never dispose of them.  I remember our last trip together, taking the Amtrak from Springfield to Chicago for a day of touring before he entered the Marines.  I can still see him there, gazing out the window at the old farmsteads and silos blurring by, I could almost read those thoughts, though he was quiet- his sighs were long and thoughtful.  I wondered if he knew, I wonder still...how much I'd give to protect him from all harm and love him fully, no matter what.  Those moments are inscribed in my memory, and they are good and worth keeping.  Beau, the boy/man- is in my every thought still- and on Mother's Day I think of him with tears first, I know no other way to get past the dark than to let it all flow away so the light, the memories can surface.
  This is my first year away from Emma, Mathew and Lily.  I'll miss them too...I remember my favorite Mother's Day with all of them.  Breakfast in bed, smeared blackened toast with jelly accompanied by coffee and juice.  I remember how proud they were to serve it, though possibly sending in the smallest waitress as they wondered if I'd mind the burnt offerings.  She was all giggly and sly, looking back towards her accomplices hideaway.  The other three, just outside the door- giggling too, perhaps wondering if I'd kill the joy of the messenger.  I remember smiling, oh the sweetness of that moment lingers still,  miss Lils got a big hug and then they all surfaced from behind the door to join in the wrestling, hugging match.  Lunch was charred pork steaks, glossy black.  Oh my, the memories I keep- laughing at this moment in the remembrance.

I have to add that I am shameless...I called each child, still my babies, always my babies- on Monday to remind them that Sunday is Mother's Day.  "We KNOW!!!" they answered.  I hope they know, I hope I always convey- how wonderful, how good how utterly right it is to be their mom.  I feel like sending them cards- no greater joy have I known that makes up the better part of me, than of being a mom to my children.  To my Beau- I send prayers and on Sunday, as always- rain or shine...a kite will go up, as if I can still hold his hand by guiding the string.

May all your hearts be filled with memories worth keeping, burnt toast and the blessings only a mother can know- and should you miss someone, may the smiles return as the memories shift clear of the heartache and enter into a slideshow through your thoughts of the happiest, most joyful of moments forever etched upon your very soul.


Take care-

The Young Pioneers

Speaking of the future in past posts, I thought it a good time to speak of my favorite future pioneers-my children and some of their accomplices. Now make sure you caught that last word- not accomplishments, but accomplices. Never will you hear me speak of my children as in perfection. After all...poor kids- look who their role model is.

First we have Emma, I haven't shed much light on that major source of light in my life. She no longer lives at home and isn't all that impressed by me exposing her personal history. But, I'm just going to take a shot here, knock down her walls a bit by writing about her. My eldest daughter is boisterous, loving, laughing, livid, lovely and crazy. Matter of fact- she herself says she has a "black belt in crazy." She is the kind of person that would bring life into a room , everyone present would be wondering if there had been a power surge- the room would remain lit up, even after her exit. It is hard to write about this dear, she is constantly evolving...hard to describe. Emma is a rush. Never a trickle but a full cascade. Bigger than life, this one. Imagine her journeys...

And now, drum roll please...Mathew. My son, my big, big boy. He wandered in today to show me his two new lip piercings. AAAARRRRGGGGHHH! And yet...whatever. It's your face sunshine...do what you want. My only negative comment was-"Are you sure that is employable?!" But...he also looked pretty trendy in a hip sort of way. He thought so too, and felt pretty cute about the whole thing. He is one smart cookie, too smart sometimes...and this lands him into deep conflicts with himself. He questions everything...I admire this trait and abhor it all at the same time. (Although, he may just be a chip off the old block.) Another comedian here...it's hard to stay mad at Mathew, he'll say something funny and I just have to leave the room...in peels of laughter (some times while pulling my hair out...)Mathew is a big ship in a little stream. He hasn't quite yet learned the tricky navigation to get down stream and out into the ocean...but there is no doubt in my mind, he will.

And then there's Lily- the artist, the activist, the hula hooping mediator. Lily is the last one at home...the youngest of four and finally getting her say. She speaks more so in hushed tones, drawing out statements from long thought out perspectives. She is reserved, but never shy- many make this mistake about her. Sometimes our conversations go like this," Ma- have you ever considered the deep cosmos and how they are ever changing but in a sense, due to the time extensions of the universe- slow and seemingly unchanging compared to the vast waves of change here on earth?" Me-"HUH?!" Talk about contemplating...she often has to explain her big sentences (as in broader views) in smaller words for her dear "Ma" as she calls me. We never have arguments, we have discussions. And she usually goes so far over my head that I then- rebel. "Oh yeah?! Well, um....your room is a mess, Missy. Go clean it." Trump baby, trump. Oh yeah-



My adopted boy, Eric- oh what a fine man. I took this boy to heart several years ago-never was I given a choice. My eldest son, Beau- would come home with little Eric tagging along. "Mom, he will always be here for supper on Sunday and part of this family, understand?" An ultimatum rarely given by my son- so of course I did understand. It meant that Beau had adopted Eric as a brother and we would respect and love him too. We do. Even after the Marine gig, the tours, always the visits home would include Beau first gathering up Eric and walking through the door, often together. And now, our Eric joins us always in light and dark and we love him and expect him to soar, as he "makes his dreams come true...and he decides the rest." (Besides, he's got Katie by his side...what more could a man want?! Kater-tot, a good woman and teacher too. Hint, hint....good woman, hard to come by mister.)



Now Beka is the last of the adoptees, well maybe not the last...but we took her to our heart often enough to be filled by her grace. Now, we overflow and can't keep it all to ourselves- yes sirreee, she taught us well. Oh, and soon- she'll be the teacher you hope your children get- the one that will remain in their hearts, even when their 90. Beka doesn't leave impressions so much as she leaves love every where...she's lovely and loving and kinder than most. But...I've seen her riled, oooohhh, don't get her ire up. When folks such as Beka, true through and through- get a little bent out of shape by the misdeeds of another who is not so true, just mean- well, it's kind of like a lightening storm, the strike is a humbling lesson. Yes, a teacher with integrity and a lofty spirit.



Kylee, always in my heart a daughter- her first child will be my grandchild- regardless. And her groom, a son in law- a friend and loving man. We could not have hoped for a better union of love...Matt was heaven sent.


Oh, and Miss Rhi- there is blood between us and love all around. I've known her since she was born- blond and blue eyed and ornery and sweet all at the same time. I don't get to spend as much time with her now that she's older and working and always busy. But when I do- she's like a little grasshopper, showing me constantly how she's grown, teaching me things I could not learn had it not been for her perspective and liveliness midst a family from the dark ages-Ha! I'm the black sheep of the family, only I don't deny it- the rest of the brood are all gathered like sheep and living in the year 1900. "Women are meant to breed, be quiet, wait on the menfolk...." AAARRRGGHHH- Can you imagine? My family thinks I am preposterous, "Who does that woman think she is?" Rhi always seemed to think there might be more to me....thought my company was beautiful. Although, we know we're loved- it's just like picking that love out of an English Walnut...having to reallllly work hard at it. One must have realllly thick skin and accept that Neanderthals are alive and well in our own family tree.

So- the young pioneers in my life are all so very fascinating, their interests lie in things that matter... love, kindness and a family that wasn't necessarily raised under the same roof, but feels like family all the same. In my teens, I was the tomboy girl who said I'd never have children. By the time I was 30, I had had my four beautiful babies. And I always wanted more...and I got them- love always creates. When I die, let them judge me by my company of friends...and family.

Be well and take care- oh! And remember- Children are the future, can we all agree to make it a brighter one for them? In all my life, always- it was a child who offered me the brightest potential, problems and joy. The memories I keep are the ones a child created with their sense of wonder and fairness.