27 December, 2008

lies about death

There is truth in personal experience.
Yet it must allow for differing personal experiences
without falling into conflict.
This is where evolution comes in
and we struggle to transform basic instinct
to allow for seemingly conflicting truth.
In the face of all this dying I want to scream:
"it's fake...
they're not dead.
You just don't know where they are anymore
because it's not fitting your expectations.

The environment my Dad lives in here in Mesa
can be depressing, misleading, unless you see the other end:
the babies, the fresh incarnations.
When I hear him talk about his Grandpa Huffman
and his cattle businessand his longing to work in the same area
I am humbled by the patterns of manifestation.
I is the most elegant and lovely of all dances.

So, I'm still practicing seeing the glory,
today, at 7 am, in the middle of a senior's park pancake breakfast.
With Dad's friend, Dick, believer in spirits and psychics.
Listening to an aged keyboardist accompanying himself,
singing music that speaks to that particular crowd.
Dick took concertina lessons in college
from Betty Wolf, Cowgirl Betty, of Deuchmeister fame.
And still remembers her buying him a beer 
after he finished each lesson.
Perhaps she needed it more than he...

Our glory is not only in our accomplishments
and to be present to out own creative process
and to recognize our own power.
To be fearless in the face of certain death
without excuses or denial.
To live each day as if it were the last.
Minimal medication.
Zero need for protection.

My Mom can't work her phone
much less a laptop,
much less a CDplayer,
much less the dishwasher.
Do we get someone to come in
and watch a movie with them?
To turn things on and off.
To babysit, to clean take out the garbage.
It doesn't have to be this painful or complicated.
And it can be a whole lot cheaper than a nursing home.
Unless she starts to wander off
but I don't think she'll last that long.
Overdose is an issue.
Depression is an issue.
She's cold
and old. 

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