Skip to main content

Take a Moment


On this anniversary eve of 9/11.

Yesterday I was deep in grief. It came on suddenly, surprised me. I have all kinds of reasons, but I want to say first that it was not a dreadful thing. Grief happens because we are ALIVE and feeling deeply, because we love and realize that we have this moment, and everything in it.

Somehow, if you stand still and get that, you can become overwhelmed by so many feelings: gratitude, joy, wonder, mystery, humility, and bittersweet sorrow.

Photo from Zamnar.com

I wanted to get this candle up in time for the surgery of three friends, a wellness vigil for the others who are getting diagnosed or starting up treatment, to honor those who lost their lives on 9/11 and those that loved them, for those who were displaced by the hurricanes and may be by the next one, for all the troops (not just ours but ALL of them), for the politicians who I hope can stay clear on why the are running and what they really stand for, and for all those who are so blessed as to be in good health, who are happy, well-fed, well-rested and safe right here and now, in the moment.

That would certainly include me.

Even if today is a bad day, there's gotta be at least 10 things you're grateful for, including that you're here to go through it.

And in this moment, as you're reading this, know that whatever's going on, whether "good" or "bad," you never know what the next moment holds. So Trust. 

The trick is in seeing that it's all a gift.

******************************************************************

Transferred from an old blog:  Here was a comment:
Joaqin said...
As you know me and my family were in NY on 9/11, just 1.5 miles away from the WTC site. Up to last year I caught myself tearing up about it from time to time. Unexplainable and sudden. This year I heard somebody cracking a joke about it - a tad tasteless, but nevertheless I laughed about it. So time heals. Here in Hawaii they had to get over Pearl Harbor. Think they did. Still the Arizona Memorial is a solemn place to visit. So is Buchenau and Srbeniczka and Bhopal and Hiroshima.

But all of those souls probably waving us to go on, not to mourn for too long. Just a bit. And fewer tears each years.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Excerpts from Notes from Paris: A Work in Progress, Part One

When I turned 30, I went to Paris for the first time, under circumstances far from what I'd envisioned when, sprawled across my bed as a teenager, I dreamt up a romantic vision of my adult life that included going there. But... I went, and it felt like home from the moment the plane wheels met the tarmac at Orly.  Soon after, I made a decision to put all my spare hours into  writing, to see what was there. Though I had written almost every day since I was 10, I wanted to try my hand at all it's forms in a disciplined way, and set the stage to discover once and for all if it was my calling.    I was living in Hollywood then and so ripe to leave, but I had a few commitments there, keeping me from a wish to move to New York. To cope, I began to go to Paris on a regular basis, even rented an apartment for the span that a long-stay visa would allow (6 months), to see where it took me. By the time I arrived, unexpected developments caused me to cut that plan short. But ...

Paris Was Burning

Yesterday was a BIG day.  I finally opened an air-tight box which contained my few, most prized journals, wrapped in acid free paper, stored for over a decade.  Ten years! I hadn't realized it had been that long. While there are many things of far greater monetary value, nothing compares to how precious these journals are to me. Their pages contain my raw experiences, captured in the moment, as I did the rare thing of living a long held dream -- a dream that ended up surpassing even my wildest hopes and imaginings: spending four weeks by myself in Paris, in an apartment I rented, just writing, reading, eating, observing, listening and walking at all hours, as I pleased.  Twenty five years later, I decided to finally turn those journals into something polished - for myself at least, to publish at best. It was a bucket list item for me as a writer - but in that highest category of things you must do to leave this world without regret. In 2013 took them with me when I rented...

Knives and Bones

He put the cleaver down, having no more use for it. The body parts were separated now, spread out and ready to further dismantle. He had just an hour – maybe less -- to finish before the family returned.   Selecting a boning knife from his cache of tools, he skillfully whet the straight blade in rhythmic strokes, relishing the sound of steel against stone, then raised the knife slowly, worshipfully, until the edge caught a glint from the light overhead. He ran his finger over the edge to test it– being cautious not to slice his latex glove.    He hoisted the whole, bloodless leg to the table top, which he’d taken pains to meticulously cover with plastic. Though the limb had bled out, a transparent   string of goo caught hold of his apron, stretching out like a thread of spiders’ silk, which snapped once the leg landed.    He worked quickly now, blade flashing, deftly separating skin from fascia, pushing remnants of fat aside to afford him a solid grip on th...