Medicinal Music

I had a really good night last night. I went to see a concert and it awoke something in me that had been laying fast asleep. I had forgotten how much I enjoyed such things. I am a very technical person, especially when it comes to music. I love being able to hear every note played in it's perfection. Such is hard to do when watching a band live. The music sometimes gets drowned out by the screaming and whistling fans, the pyrotechnics, speaker location, distortion, seat location etc. However, having said that, there is something to be said for the sheer energy of thousands of screaming people singing along to the same song. Since I am an energy sponge, it can become somewhat overwhelming when one is soaking up such raw emotion. I almost felt under the influence, but knew that the only thing I was high on was the energy of the bands playing and the fans enjoying a night out experiencing a good old fashioned rock concert. It never ceases to amaze me how something such as a concert can invigorate a person's soul. I suppose that is why music is what it is; a universal language of emotions and experiences. Every song has a story to tell and the story can change depending on the person listening to it and how it relates to their own lives. As Brian May said once, and I am paraphrasing here, "music is like a conversation between the musician and the listener." I had many conversations last night. Some of them were about becoming recharged and restored, some made me remember certain events and times in my life and some made me appreciate the love of my husband and those close to me. There is a certain intimacy that steels over you when these conversations take place, like the music reaches in and strokes your very soul. I am really glad that I went last night and celebrated with thousands of other people, the little conversations we have all had with these songs and artists. There is so much healing to be found within the notes.
Namaste...and rock on!!!!!!!!!

I.O.U....A Mother's Day Thank You

Today is Mother's Day and I thought it very fitting to share a poem that was written by my mother for her mother. I hope you all enjoy it as it is very dear to me.

I.O.U

Dear Mum,

Today while I sat looking at some old bills, I came across a piece of paper which I had marked “To Mum, I owe you”

I owe you for being a physician to my body, my mind and my heart when reality seemed to be a mountain to high for my short amount of faith to climb.

I owe you for being my twenty-four hour a day teacher, teaching love and selflessness which would later serve as an amour for me.

Mum, I owe you for the bucketfuls of patience that you worked hard to acquire and administered in large and frequent doses, most often when I was convinced that I was the world’s biggest misfit.

I owe you for being a true and perfect representative of womanhood in its purest form in order that I may learn to discern quality in myself and learn not to judge a book by its cover.

I owe you for the loving, constant care dished out through measles, mumps, and yes; even tonsillitis, and I owe you for the faith and confidence that you have in your beliefs which kept you strong in spite of me and in order to serve me.

I owe you for the sacrifice of all your time and talents which you used faithfully and constantly on me.

For these and numberless things I will always owe you.

 And Mum, I know that no matter how long I hold on to this bill, if you could get your hands on it, you’d mark it “Paid In Full” and that’s because you are perfect and I just wanted to say thank you for my life and thank you for your life of continuous effort and sacrifice, for the high morals you gave us, for the dignity you gave us, and Mum, I love you. ~ Written by Margaret R. Davidson

Happy Mother's Day to you all and know that your sacrifices to your children do not go unappreciated.

A Letter To The Summerlands

It was twelve years ago today that I lost my sister. I had started to write this blog recalling every detail in the hopes that by doing so, I would maybe not grieve so much today, maybe not ache so much for my loss. However, during the course of writing I realized that, even though it may have been cathartic to me, reliving every detail of that day may hurt those I love more than they are already hurting. I know the details, as do they. There is no need to write them out. But how does one do something to help themselves, to heal themselves, without causing a renewed sense of loss to others? This question was rolling around inside my head when I had an idea. Instead of remembering the grievous details of the day 12 years ago, I am instead going to write a letter to her. I am going to lay it all on the line, the positive and negatives, and hope that this process will be the balm my soul needs to heal. I have a really hard time letting go sometimes and I feel my loss as deeply today as I did that day, maybe even more so. It is time to heal, to let go completely and between this idea of a letter and something that my husband is helping me with tomorrow evening, I can only hope that it is what I need to finally heal.

Dear Teresa,
         I miss you. There are so many times when I wish so badly that I could call you on the phone, tell you of the wonderful moments in my life, like when Nesa was born, or ask your advice when I am having a hard time coping with a situation. You were always there for me when I needed you to be, just as I hope I was there for you. I am still here for you. I have watched your girls grow and become women and mothers. I have shared in their celebrations as well as their tragedies. I have tried my best to be all that you asked me to be for them. I hope I have not failed you. Sometimes I am so angry with you for not being here and at those times I feel the loss of you so much more acutely. I could have used your strength when we lost mom. I felt so alone, so afraid. It was so hard on me to be the one to find her and then not have my sister here to hold me and anchor me. I needed you. Although I will never forget the day that your grand-daughter was born, never forget the moment when your line was reintroduced back into life and the honor I felt at being there to witness it, I would have given that moment up in a heartbeat to be the one waiting in the waiting room for you to come out, tears of joy streaming down your face as you told everyone the news. In that moment, as elated as I was, I was also angry that you were not here to hold Christina's hand as her life drastically changed. I have been so angry with you for leaving me with this task on my shoulders. It was so hard to watch them grow and know that no matter how hard I tried to be there for them, it was never going to be enough because I am not you. I am not their mom. It was incredibly painful to have to sit by and watch them act out and make bad choices knowing that the reason they did so was because of their grief for you. I see so much of you in them and although it makes me smile and most of the time I can think or comment on it and enjoy the moment, there is always a part of me that wishes that they could see how much they are like you for themselves. I can tell them, but a part of me wonders if they think I just say these things to help them feel connected to you. I hope they know that that is not the case and that they really do look and act so much like you because they are a part of you. I hope they know how special that is. Then there is Mya, your grand daughter who calls me grandma. As honored as I am by the title, by the relationship between her and I, again, I would give it up in an instant if it meant that you were here to be that for her. I show her pictures of you, tell her who you are to her. One day, when she is old enough to understand I will tell her all about you. The things Christina and Kimberly were not privy to. The things only a sister knows. You taught me so much Teresa and I miss your guidance, your sense of humor and just your very presence. I have so many memories and although they have become like treasures to me, sometimes, on days like today, they haunt me even while they make me smile and laugh through my tears. I just miss you so much. I don't think I will ever stop missing you. It is so unfair and I feel so cheated and robbed sometimes that it hurts. I love you my sister. Until we meet again in the Summerlands....good-bye, Namaste my sister.

All In A Touch

I had one of those moments last night. The kind that threatens tears and makes your heart feel as if it may burst with the sheer amount of pure love pouring into it. I was holding my grandson who, lately, has been going without the much needed scratch mittens, and as I was feeding him and pulling down the hands that he insistently keeps bringing to his mouth, I noticed something. He has my hands.This is the first time I have ever noticed something about him that is also a part of me. It was a very moving moment. Logically, I can say he is a part of me, as he is my grandson, son to my daughter whom is also a part of me. But to see something on him that is the exact same as something on me was a moment of connection for me. The fact that it happens to be, aside from the eyes, my favorite part of the human anatomy, just made it so much better. The eyes may be the windows to the soul, but the hands - the hands are the tether to the heart. They are the key component of touch and they can convey so much. They can be loving, erotic, comforting, healing, helping, supporting, encouraging, educating, empowering and active. They can also, on the flip side, be idle, harmful, hurting, dismissive and threatening. Yes, the hands and their touch, their movements, can say so much. And he has my hands. It makes me wonder what he will do with them as he grows and learns and changes. Right now, at almost 4 months old, he wonders in his ability to move them, put them in his mouth, suck on them, grab hair and fingers and play with his tongue. He will do so much yet with those hands, just as I have done so much with mine and will continue to do so. This physical connection is such a little thing, but it makes such an enormous impact on me. I wonder if every grandparent experiences these moments or if I am but a small percentage in the world who have allowed the moment to completely envelope me. I hope not. I hope that all people with all sorts of connections can stop their busy lives and allow all these precious moments to completely engulf them. Today's blog has not turned out to be what I had originally planned to write about but it is obviously what I needed to write about. I must say, I am happy for it. I leave you with a quote, a thought and perhaps a connection of your own to bask in.

“If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of these people.”   Thich Nhat Hanh

Namaste

Life is SO complex....or is it?

It has been a long while since I have written. There has been a lot going on around me lately and I just haven't felt that all consuming urge to write. I suppose the craziness that is the zoo of my household has just left me without the energy nor time to just sit and reflect on what it is I am doing, feeling, thinking or processing as of late. I am sitting here, it is early morning  and I have not yet finished my morning cup of tea but I am determined that something become of this blog posting today. What that something is, however, still eludes me. There is a lot percolating inside my head at the moment and some of it is just the mundane, such as what I should prepare for dinner, or the laundry waiting for my attention downstairs. Some of it is creative in nature; like trying to decide what I want to do to the gown I am in the process of making. Some of them are the result of the experiences I have been having and others have to do with the daily requirements and stresses of running a household.  All these random thoughts and I am not really sure which ones my mind will decide to latch on to for the day, So far they are all like little floating balloons with strings tied to their ends, each one waiting for me to pull that string and bring them closer for further inspection. As I sit here lost in these thoughts I can hear the birds singing their spring songs, I can feel the much warmer air outside and  I can see the tree in my front yard starting to bud. The ladybugs are out in full force, marching their way across my flowerbed and I wonder just what their plans are today. I am sure they are not nearly as complex as mine. Most likely they are thinking of getting from point A to point B in one piece and hoping to find some adequate food and shelter. Perhaps though, having to deal with constant survival is actually MORE taxing than having to wonder what to cook, or how to make a gown. We assume, because they don't have to maintain our human lifestyle, that things must be pretty easy for them and others like them. Perhaps though, without the civilities, life is actually more dramatic, more stressful and daunting. Maybe, just maybe, their lives are much harder than ours. Perhaps they all live in fear, terror that they might die at any given moment all because their surroundings are not the beauty we get to enjoy but are actually quite hostile towards them. They are constantly the easy targets of predators, they are continuously in danger of being stepped on and crushed, moved, played with and inspected by the fascination of the small children discovering their existence for the first time. They have to travel what would equate to thousands of miles to us humans just to get something to eat or find some place safe to rest. A life like this would make us so-called civilized human beings become insanely aggressive animals. So maybe all these animals that we assume have it easy because they don't have the thought patterns we are capable of, really are the ones who have it the most difficult. We just don't know, and we never will because they are not able to communicate these things to us in a manner we understand. There are so many people out there who are always complaining about the hand they have been dealt and how hard their lives are. I have been known to do it myself once or twice. This thought process really makes me feel bad for every time I have ever done so. I have WAY more opportunities available to me than that ladybug will ever have. My life is not the constant battle for survival that some of these "lesser" animals and bugs have to deal with. Food and shelter options are abundant and safe to me and I don't ever have to worry about being stepped on and crushed! So why should I get to complain? Perspective is everything and when things are looked at from a view point such as this, it really seems to change how we view our own environments, choices and opportunities and the things we consider to be too difficult to overcome.  The world can be a hostile, unforgiving place, there is no doubt about it. But instead of fearing it, or laying grievances about it, try being grateful that you are in the evolutionary position that you are in. You could have been born a ladybug.

Ireland Forever

Today is March 17, known mostly around the world as St. Patrick's Day. I, however, have a problem with celebrating it as such. I find it a little unsettling that a man, who at one point in time was a slave in Ireland, should be celebrated as some great hero of the land who "chased the snakes to the sea" of Ireland, thereby purifying the land once again for the Church. Here is what I think. Patrick was a little pissed off at the Irish. I mean, they had enslaved him for 6 years! So he escapes and makes it back to Britain where he enters the church to start his studies. He knows that in order to have any sort of influence he will have to make his mark within the church itself. Now, some may ask why he didn't become a politician etc as in our day and age, that would be how one gained influence and power. However, in the time of Patrick, the Catholic church was where the power was at if you were not Royalty. Add that to the fact that his father was a deacon and his grandfather a priest and it is easy to see why Patrick chose this path. So he makes a name for himself in the Catholic dynasty and become the bishop who is sent to Ireland to convert the savages from their Pagan ways to the ways of the church.  Does nobody else see the beginnings of a plot of vengeance on the Irish people and their Deities and ways beginning to unfold here? Unfortunately, history tells us that he was somewhat successful in this endeavor. The Druids "disappeared" from the land and many died rather than conform. But what else does history tell us if today we are still chanting the names of the Ancient ones, still practicing the rituals and following the teachings of the Druids? It tells us that all the success Patrick and the church thought they had to change the ways of the Irish forever, was not nearly as fruitful as Patrick and those of his ilk, had thought it was. WE are still here. The indigenous culture, beliefs and teachings of Ireland still survives in our blood. I know without a doubt that my ancestors before (and even those after) the time of Patrick, are exceptionally proud that I, like many others, continue to remember them and the Dieties that guided them. In remembering them, our roots, our dead, our histories and our beliefs, we have shown that there is no man, no religious occupation or exile from our homelands and no amount of time that can remove the calling of our ancestors back to our true paths.  And so on this day, March 17, while Christians are celebrating the life and death of their St.Patrick of Ireland, my Irish blood will celebrate the true culture of my people, my land and my Dieties.

Irinn go Bràch!

Count Your Blessings, Name Them One By One

My cousin lost everything in a house fire yesterday, including his beloved dog. Thank the Gods neither himself nor his two sons were at home when it all happened. I have let him know that I am here for him should he have need of me, but aside from that I am not really sure what more can be done unless he asks it of me. The offer has been made and aside from sending out positive thoughts and prayers for him and his family in their time of need, there is really nothing else I can do at the moment. I hope he calls me and allows me to give him what solace and help that I can. I am his kin and I empathize with what he is going through. It hurts my heart to know that someone I love is going through such tragedy as I sit here and write. It makes me realize how truly blessed I am that my children and grandchildren are safe, healthy and happy, that my husband sits by my side everyday, that my extended family is there should I need them, that my home is stable and inviting, that I have friends that surround me, that there is food in our bellies and clothing on our backs. What more could a person really ask for in this life?  Love, family, friends, health, stability, food, clothing and home...in my opinion those are the necessities of life and I have them all and then some. I think people, as a whole, have a bad habit of taking their blessings for granted on a daily basis.  I know that I am guilty of doing it myself, something I am always trying to work on. It should not take an act of devastation, grief, trauma, tragedy or loss to make us realize what is and is not important or where we need to change as human beings, but that is quite often the way it goes. We tend to get so caught up our own lives and dramas that we seldom take the time to self reflect on what is really important to us until it is forced into our consciousness by these acts of awakening. I can admit that such has been the case for myself numerous times over my life. In fact, I can admit that it has happened here today as I sit and think on what my cousin must be going through and become more grateful for what I have been granted in my life. It shouldn't be this way but the fact remains that it is - but now I have a choice to make. I can let the unfortunate circumstances bleed their lesson into me and change myself permanently in a positive way or I can let the lesson wear off with time as I allow all the non-perfect moments to interfere with my gratitude and blind me to what really matters most. The choice to count each blessing and be grateful for them everyday, instead of just in moments of hardship, is mine, just as it is for every other person on the planet. I know the choice I will make. Do you?
Namaste